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 |  I blog therefore I (r)am(ble). |
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Poems, Prose, and Promises. My name is
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Given to me by susanL  --- Created by kelly1202I write songs
I write poetry
I write short stories
I'm in love with susanL
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| My thoughts assailed me. I knew what I was thinking was wrong, but somehow, in my secret fantasy world, the punishment paled infinitesimally in comparison to the pleasure I was assured to experience with the naughty object of my desires. I found myself unable to think about anything else, and though I knew my path led to destruction, I found myself even fascinated with the destruction, as long as it came at a date future than the realization of the temptation. Deep inside, too, I knew that the temptation itself was more exciting and satisfying than its realization, but still it demanded fulfillment. The images and feelings associated with my secret desire took on their own existence. It was no longer I who was feeding my desires, but my desires who were demanding sustenance and satisfaction. I was merely the obedient slave. I realized that my sin was no longer an issue of 'if' but one of 'when' and 'where'. My free will, which was at one time wholly mine and under my complete control, was now subjugated to the path in which I had laid out for it. On one hand I could no longer be held accountable for my actions, but at the same time it was my actions which surrendered my free will to the inescapable journey in which it now undertook. Does she know? Does she suspect? Have I become so intoxicated by my delusions that I am no longer capable of disguising my hurtful desires? Maybe she does know or suspect, but has herself succumbed to her own brand of illusions in which her faithful husband is still entirely hers, devoted and unwavering. But here I stand at what appears to be a crossroads. Not a crossroads anymore, due to my own selfish decisions, but an expressway heading into my nearly sealed fate. It is said that fate can be cruel, but more accurately fate is a voyeur. It continues watching its victims long after their condemnation becomes guaranteed. Fate watches and tempts one into thinking that a solution still exists and then with its near criminal accuracy, it can pinpoint the exact second of my condemnation. I am not proud of my actions, yet I am no longer capable of shame. The following is my telling of the events as if I were a neutral bystander or uninvolved narrator. Let me know if you want me to continue this story... |
| What would you do if you were walking along the beach, minding your own business, lost in your own thoughts, when all of a sudden, something sparkled in the waves off to your right? Mildly curious at first, you turn to see what might have shone and grabbed your attention and find yourself, mouth agape, staring at the most beautiful gemstone you've ever imagined. It's floating a ways offshore, but even from that distance, you can tell it's value is immeasurable. You have no idea how many obstacles you will have to face to reach this precious booty, but you sense deep down in your soul that any hardship will be way worth the effort. Do you decide to take an unexpected detour to recover this priceless bauble or do you continue on the path you were on when that day started? Well, I can't give any specifics right now, but a few days ago, I discovered a precious gemstone that I have decided to recover. Wish me luck and stay tuned as I regale this exciting journey. |
| On Thursday, February 22, 2007 at 2:00 in the afternoon, I passed the one year point—smoke free. I’m so proud of myself. And I have a lot of encouragement for those who want to quit as well. You see, the past year has been anything but stress free. It probably was the most stressful year I’ve ever gone through, but nothing to do with not smoking. Why is that encouraging? Well, because I was able to quit during the most stress I’ve ever endured because I found out MY secret to not smoking. My secret to give up smoking, a secret that I believe will work for anyone, is to program yourself to derive pleasure from being an ex-smoker. Once you view quitting as something more valuable and more satisfying then smoking, it isn’t a struggle. You still have craves, but they are entirely manageable and if you are familiar with the craves you get when you don’t really want to quit, you will be more than pleasantly surprised. Make a list of all the positives you will receive from not smoking and find the ones that mean the most to you. Include at least one that is personal and selfish. Is there someone that doesn’t believe in you? Use that. Is there an activity which you love that you can’t take part in as a smoker? Focus on that activity. Once you make the benefits of quitting outweigh what you perceive smoking does for you, you’ll find walking away a very satisfying endeavor. Good luck. |
| In 1988, my first wife left me for another man. To be fair, we were both in different branches of the military and stationed about a thousand miles apart. The physical separation meant we didn’t see each other that often and I’m sure she got lonely. Still, I was lonely as well and I didn’t cheat on her so I have to consider myself an innocent party. She left me in January, and I drove out to see her the second I found out, but the shock of what happened didn’t land with its full force until September. Setember 13th to be exact. You see that was the anniversary of our first date. I’d met her some time before, but our first date was Friday, September 13, 1985. I was still in the US Army at the time and even though I had leave time coming and an understanding platoon sergeant, I took off from Fort Bragg, North Carolina without approval. I wasn’t planning on visiting her when I took off, I just needed to get away from the emotional onslaught I felt on such an emotionally charged day as our anniversary. I drove through South Carolina and then Georgia. I continued on through Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana and into Texas. It took me three days, but with only a couple hours of sleep each night, I finally arrived in Los Angeles, California. By the time I arrived, the weight of what I had done was dragging me down. I felt the loss of my wife on top of the fear of what would happen to me when the authorities got a hold of me for being AWOL from my unit. The excitement of being in California quickly diminished in light of my circumstances and I soon found myself heading East again on Interstate 10. I drove through Arizona and New Mexico on into Texas. I drove all the way through Texas and then on to Louisianna where my wife had become stationed after she left me. I tracked her down and tried to talk to her, but all she would say was, “It’s over Tom. Move on.” I guess I realized that I needed to move on, but my heart still didn’t want to, so I left, in tears and without even the slightest hint of where to go next. I found myself heading West again and ended up in Dallas before I remembered that my sister lived just a bit north of there in Witchita Falls. I realized I needed an ally and I drove up to her place. She was of course aware that I was AWOL and being in the Air Force herself, knew that what she needed to do was get me back to my unit where I could face up to what I had done. A life on the run wasn’t in my best interest and my sister knew this. She welcomed me into her home. We had a great time playing games and watching movies that night but she said we had an appointment to take care of the next morning. That was all she said. The next morning, my sister who loves me very much, drove me down to the Witchita Falls police station where I was transferred down to Fort Hood, Texas and eventually taken back to my unit at Fort Bragg. I did get an article 15 for my actions, but since I had such a clean record and so many of my superiors stood up for me at the trial, the battalion commander gave me a relatively light sentence. So while I praise the desire to drive across country from coast to coast, I highly recommend having permission to do so first. |
| As far as the jw being a cult, there’s zero doubt about this fact in my mind. The leaders claim to represent the creator of all things, a person they disrespectfully refer to by what they believe is its first name, Jehovah, and yet when questioned, they vehemently deny they are prophets. They boldly challenge everyone from every other religion to dissect their beliefs to see if they can pass the litmus test of truth while threatening any of their supposed brethren with ex-communication if they even show an interest in attempting the same. They claim to the governments that they don’t sell their literature, yet they have their circuit and district overseers hound the congregations for donations. Their primary tactic of motivation isn’t love and empowerment, but fear and the threat of abandonment. They teach husbands to treat their wives like posessions and they teach their kids to sacrifice their childhoods and dreams on the altar of kingdom interests. They mandate that all who follow their dysfunctional teachings play Russian roulette with their lives with regards to blood transfusions. They subtly teach their members to be bigots and self-righteous, insinuating that all people who serve God apart from their Patriarchal organization are evil servants of God’s greatest enemy. Their teachings are destructive and their forced adherance criminal. |
| My recovery's coming along fine. Standing up to the abusers of the Watchtower has helped me in nearly all facets of my life. I've begun to stand up for myself as an aspect of my personality and there are few things I've experienced that are as satisfying as having the self-love and self-respect to stand up and refuse to be pissed upon. Instead of assuming that the emotional crap I've endured for years is a sign that God is disappointed in me, I'm taking the time to understand why I'm not very capable in some situations and what I can do to make improvements. Instead of walking around each day in a chartreuse haze, imagining those around me are evil followers of Satan, I look forward to the connections I'm blessed to make with those whom I come in contact. I no longer have to feel guilty for having dreams and goals that have absolutely nothing to do with a group of anal-retentive assholes in Brooklyn, New York. I'm able to wallow and wade through the rippling waves of my desires without feeling the need to confess them to my local window-washer or apologize to someone who spends his time reading my mind. I don't have to understand the universe. I don't have to give a damn about creation or evolution. I'm simply honored with the ability to appreciate that there are some amazing things going on around me and I'm here to enjoy them as best I can. |
| Here’s what I know so far. I’ve decided to go with a 6” by 9” page size and I’m looking at just over one hundred pages. Here’s which items I’ve completed on my to-do list:  Decide on final content Decide on final order Decide on book size. I’ve also taken a number of photos and have two of them inserted into the document. I’m hoping to have the rough draft done, with photos, by the end of March.  |
Hey everyone. I have a new poem in my quest to expose the Watchtower Society as a destructive, mind-control cult. I'd sure appreciate some reviews.
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| I didn't realize until this year, how much baggage I'm still carrying around from my many years associated with the Jehovah's Witnesses. From my experience, I believe that organization is both a cult and destructive. There are a lot of reasons why I say this, but one of the primary ones is related to the view they paint of God. From almost the first day of your Bible study with the Witnesses, you learn that God is going to destroy all those people who aren't following the rules dictated by the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society. If you don't attend meetings regularly, you are showing disrespect for God and He's going to let Christ Jesus kill you at Armageddon. If you don't preach enough, He's likewise going to be mad at you and all you'll have to look forward to is being destroyed by His executioner. What happens with all this negative programming, is that you start to see God, not as a loving, helpful Father, but as a vindictive madmen, ready to exact vengeance for the pettiest of crime. On the one hand, they exhort you to draw close to God and on the other, they paint a picture of God that is worse than mankind's worst criminals. Adolf Hitler killed millions of Jews in World War 2. But those deaths are not even a percentage point of the billions that would be killed if Armageddon were to happen today. If questioned, the witnesses will answer that who gets destroyed is left up to Jehovah (what they believe is God's personal name). But in reality, they teach that all other religions are from Satan the Devil and an abomination before God that will be destroyed in the fast-approaching Great Tribulation. So, while they side-step the question of whether they believe that only Jehovah's Witnesses will be saved, that is exactly what is taught in the Kingdom Halls. They also teach that if you ever stop being a Jehovah's Witness once you have been baptized that you are condemned and are simply killing time until God destroys you. So, between the indoctrinated belief that God now hated me because I couldn't follow their Byzantine collection of rules and regulations – a collection of rules and regulations that more resembles the teachings of the Pharisees than those of Jesus – and the fear of living in a universe run by an emotionally unwell God, I have a mound of worthless baggage that I carry around every day. I'm making a lot of progress though. I'm recognizing the negative beliefs and thoughts that kept me shackled to that dysfunctional religion and I'm replacing them with ones that are rational, empowering, and based on love. |
| I have collected twenty-three of my short stories and I’m going to prepare them for publication. I have a lot more to do before I see this item completed, and since I’ve been so encouraged from this site recently, I’m going to list off and keep up with the remaining steps here. I’m going to use www.lulu.com for publication. I haven’t decided if I’m going to get an ISBN number yet, but my reticence is related to my whole purpose for publishing this book. I’m doing it to have it more than sell it. Normally, people don’t have a lot of success with short story collections until after they’ve broken out in some other fashion—like with novels for example. So, my main reason for getting this book in print is to have it to give to people when I’m trying to sell my other work. I have designed, formatted, and published one other book. It isn’t available as I did it for a friend as a gift, but because of my experience with that and how well it turned out, I’m very comfortable that I can make this a success. Here’s my to-do list on this item: Decide on final content Decide on final order Take at least one picture to use for each story Decide on book size (leaning to 6” by 9”) Write brief intro to each story Format document Set up book at lulu.com Proofread until perfect Publish itThe item that has me so excited is the one about taking pictures. I’m going to try and come up with a self-shot photo that is relevent to each of the 23 stories. I’m really looking forward to this part. |
| I don’t know where to begin. I had a date last night that wasn’t really a date and yet it was the most uninhibited dancing fun I’ve ever experienced. I met a friend at an online forum that I frequent regularly. We wrote back and forth for about a month and decided it would be cool to meet face to face. Like I said, this wasn’t a date as we hadn’t ever seen each other before. We didn’t really know that much about each other, but we did get together and it was a blast! We spent some time at a quaint coffee shop to talk and then went to this cool Hindi restaurant for dinner. It was still relatively early and we were having a great time so we decided to go to a bar for some Karaoke and dancing. Now, I haven’t gone dancing in years, although I used to go out every weekend. But it sure came back to me fast. The lovely lady I was with danced like a princess and even though I kind of held us back a bit, she shined like a brilliant star. Before long she had me dipping her, spinning her, supporting her, and wiggling along side of her like a contestant on Dance Fever. The most amazing thing about this night is that we danced without inhibitions. We slow-danced, hip-hopped, two-stepped, and shimmied, shook, and swayed as though there weren’t anyone else in the building. It was, without a doubt, the best time I’ve ever had dancing. And the company couldn’t have been better. |
| I’ve always been able to see words in my mind – at least for as long as I can remember. They’d play tag in my head, tempting me to chase them yet always remaining just out of reach. This teasing and toying went on for many years; until one day I learned the secret. I learned the secret of words. It isn’t so much a secret as a habit. If you want to catch the words that dash to and fro from neuron to synapse, you have to corner them and lock them up in a notebook or in a file on the computer. Now when you first start out rustling words and corraling them to paper, most will get away. Only an occasional word will wind up making the circuitious journey from the mind to the page. But if you keep working at it, in no time at all you’ll find that more and more of these rascally words are being rounded up and hogtied live on the tablet of your choice. |
| I made it through another NaNoWriMo relatively unscathed. I’m still checking myself over, but I’m pretty sure that I’ve not been scathed anywhere. If I find any scathe marks (or are they scathe points) I’ll make the appropriate announcement. But I made it through. I don’t have a piece of work that knocks my socks off, but that isn’t what NaNoWriMo is about. It isn’t about coming up with your freshmen masterpiece or your opus, it’s about setting a daunting goal and reaching it anyways. It’s about bragging rights and it’s about camaraderie with fellow creative and daring souls. Oh, and caffeine. It’s definitely about the caffeine. So here I am again at the other side of NaNoWriMo with the rough draft of something and the motivation of a parapalegic turtle. Should I edit this to brilliance? Should I hire a team of highly motivated Amazonian monkeys to type randomly on typewriters for a month and merge their results with mine? Would there additions add to or subtract from what I have already? Well, it doesn’t matter because luckily, NaNoWriMo takes place the month before the holidays and so right now, there are more important things to think about than editing novels. Like, for instance, what happened to that extra pan of fudge? |
| I think everyone has heard about the importance of perseverence when confronting life's problems. If it weren't for perseverence, we wouldn't have any cities, culture, classical books and poetry, or possibly our own lives. Perseverence has been behind every problem solved from the beginning of time and yet sometimes, perseverence is just plain stubborness. Sometimes a brick wall isn't an opportunity to persevere and conquer, sometimes it's a test of whether we're smart enough to not try and tackle a wall made of bricks. I don't have any surefire suggestions for determining whether a brick wall is an opportunity to show perseverence or a sign to change directions, but I do have a couple observations. First, if the wall is a test of perseverence, even during the darkest moments, a possible way of passing the wall will be visible. There will be a crack in the wall, or possibly some debris nearby that can be used for climbing over. If the best direction to go is through the wall, the way to do that will be discernible. If not, then this may be a sign to plot a new course. Sometimes a wall will appear at a crossroads or Y in the road. The wall may only be blocking off one of the possible paths. If you've determined that a particular wall is not meant to be a test of perseverence, feel along the wall in both directions and see if there may be an end to the wall hidden in the underbrush. Maybe the wall, instead of being an obstacle, is a loving signal that one of the possible paths in front of you in is not worth the effort to maneauver it. The bottom line is that we do well to consider the layout of our house or apartment when we encounter walls in our lives. When going from the living room to the dining room, we don't crash through the sheetrock or climb over a room divider - we look around for the door and changing rooms isn't even a challenge. |
| In my previous post, I mentioned that I was indoctrinated by a dangerous cult for many years and finally escaped in 2002. I didn't say any more about the identity of this corrupt group other than that they are very powerful and quite well-known. Some of you know which group I'm talking about and some of you may have guessed the target of my accusations, but before I reveal their name, I must first relate a bit of background. In 1986, I fell in love with one of the most beautiful women I've ever met. She was a couple years younger than me and still in high school, but I was convinced I'd met my soul's mate. Falling in love was quite exciting but it scared me as well. While I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with this lovely lady, I also knew that I wasn't mature or responsible enough to manage a family. So, without discussing my concerns with her – a pattern that would prove detrimental – I signed up for the United States Army. When I told her that I would be going away for over six months of training, I could see the hurt on her face. She told me she loved me, however, and would support my decision. By taking charge without considering her opinion, though, I damaged the deep respect she'd felt for me. In July 1986, a couple days before her birthday, I flew out of Minneapolis, St. Paul airport for Fort Jackson, South Carolina. I'm not skilled enough with words to describe the loneliness I felt that first night apart. The reception station where all of us new recruits remained for our first week in the Army was cold and impersonal. We had a place to eat and sleep but as a group it's as though we'd been sucker punched in the stomach. Finally, we received our basic training assignments. I was sent to an area of Fort Jackson called New Hollywood. Named such, because at the time, they were the newest barracks buildings built. I was assigned to Bravo company, first platoon. The first few weeks are still a blur but we were taught how to march, how to make a bed with hospital corners, how to spit-shine our boots, and how to act like a soldier. I tried my best to handle the very foreign challenges placed upon me but I missed my fiancé very much and at times, it made it difficult to concentrate. The weekend before Labor Day, 1986, our drill sergeant informed us that we'd be marching in a holiday parade on Monday and that we should spend Sunday washing a uniform and spit-shining our boots. I fully intended to follow her instructions, but it took me all day to finally get a hold of my fiancé on one of the few phones available to us and thus I let this responsibility slide. I went to bed that Sunday night with not one clean uniform hanging in my locker and my only pair of combat boots covered in a healthy layer of red, Carolina clay. I woke up for inspection by our drill sergeant the same way. Imagine the scene. Sixty disciplined recruits, all wearing smartly pressed uniforms and highly spit-shined boots, standing at attention for inspection. Sixty neat and clean soldiers, ready to show their pride, respect, and patriotism – and then one complete and total mess. She walked up to me and stopped. She stood a good four inches shorter than I. There was absolutely no reason for me to be intimidated, yet I was shaking like the leaves on a November tree. She remained controlled, resolute, even though I could feel the anger radiating off of her. "Private Thomas, I'm going to make you smell like you look," she told me. For the next hour she had me do more squat thrusts, push-ups, sit-ups, and jumping jacks then I'd done during my previous month of basic training. I did indeed smell as bad as I looked. She wasn't yet done teaching me a lesson though. Even though I was an embarrassment to our unit and looked like the very antithesis of a real soldier, she had me march in front of the rest of our platoon in the Labor Day Parade. I definitely had learned my lesson. I still am amazed at the efficiency of her discipline. She didn't need to carry a grudge. She didn't need to instruct the rest of our platoon to shun me. In fact, she never even brought up my display of disrespect again. She simply showed me that I was in the wrong in the most memorable way she could muster and then let it go. If the leaders of the cult I was indoctrinated into understood this basic precept, I might still be enslaved by them. |
| Hello everyone. Most of the time, I try to make my comments here at WDC as positive as my situation allows. I think it's healthy to try to focus on what's working rather than what isn't - unless it's something that can be fixed. Soon, however, I'm going to begin detailing some disturbing aspects of my history. In the late 1980's I was indoctrinated into a very powerful and well known cult. I finally escaped it's clutches in 2002, but it's taken until this year for me to finally feel emotionally strong enough to talk about this painful part of my past. Some may wonder what do I hope to gain from telling my story. Well, the group I belonged to for so many years is one that claims to be the only organization doing God's work here on the earth. They claim that they are God's one source of instruction and the only religion that will be saved when God soon destroys the wicked at armageddon. If the leaders of this group were simply interested in selling literature, I would walk away and not be overly concerned. The truth is, however, that this organization places demands on it's members that damage them mentally, financially, socially, and spirtually, and while I have no desire to decide for anyone else what they should or should not do with their lives, I think the people who are being brought into this organization, under the guise that it will bring them salvation, have the right to know the deeper secrets their leaders don't want them to know. |
Hey everyone. I have a couple excerpts of my 2006 NaNoWriMo novel posted in my port. Take a look at one or both of them and let me know what you think.
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| Once upon a time in a fictional world called Sunset Senior Living a young prince named Hom Tarper accepted a job working with the memory-impaired. Hom found the work to be very challenging at times, but was energized by how much these memory-impaired people needed his help and strove to give his best every day. He would sing songs, tell jokes, cook supper, and assist these lovely people in many ways. Unfortunately, not all the people who worked at Sunset Senior Living were as kind. Some of them felt threatened by Hom’s energy. Some of them didn’t like that he was a man in a primarily female environment. And some of them just didn’t like to see other people happy when they themselves were miserable. One day Hom was visiting with one of the residents and he overheard another resident comment how she wished she had all of her jokes in one book. Jan, the lady who made the comment, made a practice of hanging up a new joke on the bulletin board every day. She would write the joke out on construction paper and then decorate it. She just loved making the staff and residents smile. As it turned out, Hom knew a little bit about publishing. He had written a few books himself and he knew about an internet site where he could publish one copy of a book for under twenty dollars. He would have to do all the formatting himself, but he had plenty of experience with Microsoft Word and so putting the book together would be no problem for him. It took him three days to enter Jan’s jokes into the computer, group them by topic, and design the layout. Once he finished, he uploaded the information to the website he knew about and ordered one copy of the book to give as a gift to Jan. Hom was sure she would be both surprised and thrilled to see her book. To make it even more special, he included an about the author section where he placed a photo of Jan that he’d taken when he had taken her to visit a friend of hers who lived in a nursing home. It took about a week for the book to show up. Hom was excited by how beautiful the book was and by how professional it looked. His family was impressed as well. He couldn’t wait to deliver it to Jan. Hom delivered it to Jan, but evil forces were a foot. Some of the people at Hom’s job that didn’t like Hom were in management. They tried to find some way that they could turn Hom’s kind gesture into something evil. They tried to say he had broken Sunset policy by taking an unauthorized picture of a resident, but the picture Hom had taken of Jan was taken off site when Hom had brought her to visit her friend. In the same way he refused payment for the book, Hom had refused any gas money when he took Jan to visit her friend. Hom just wanted to do a kind deed. The evil people in Sunset management, however, weren’t satisfied with trying to get Hom in trouble with the photo. Then they tried to suggest that Hom was selling these books with Jan’s photo in it and making money on Jan’s jokes. This was ludicrous and the evil managers soon realized that they had no proof and they had to let the issue drop. Or did they? Hom finally realized he would be better off not working among so many two-faced people and he quit his job and found one where people are kind. The evil managers of Sunset, however, were not satisfied. They tried again to get Hom to do something improper. They actually managed to talk Jan, the lady who Hom had helped on all these occasions, to try to get Hom to accept money for his kindness. They were determined to find something to pin on Hom. Hom learned of their underhanded ploy, however, from a former co-worker at Sunset and made it publicly clear that he didn’t want a single remuneration for any of the acts of charity he performed on behalf of the people who reside at Sunset. The evil managers continued their unhealthy plotting, but Hom lived happily ever after. |
| OK, one week from tomorrow, eight days from now, NaNoWriMo 2006 (http://www.nanowrimo.org) officially kicks off. In a little over a week, nearly one hundred thousand people all over the world will be attempting to write a fifty thousand word rough draft of a novel in thirty days. Almost a hundred thousand participants sounds like a lot of people but not when you consider there are over six and one half billion people on the planet. So with only one and one half thousandth of the population taking part, I have to wonder – what’s up slackers? Get with the program. Novels don’t write themselves – unless of course you subscribe to the theory of that small but vocal group of NaNo participants who feel that novels do indeed write themselves. Either way, they still need someone to transfer them from synapse to paper. |
| This past Saturday I had the sublime pleasure of showing one of my photographs and reading one of my poems for a poetry/photography contest called poetography at http://www.crossingsatcarnegie.com. What's Poetography? It's a two-part contest where poets and photographers work in tandem. For the first part of the contest, the photographers send in their photots. The judges choose the top thirty and then post a small version of them on the web. Poets then, write poems based on the photos. The judges choose their favorite poem per photo and Crossings displays the winning photos and poems during the entire month of October. The photo that I had accepted, "Invalid Item"  , featured the top of a Denny's restaurant sign against an amazing sunset. I was standing outside of Denny's with my brother. Being clueless, I didn't even notice the breathtaking vista right in front of me, but luckily my brother is sharper than I am and he pointed it out to me. I loved the juxtaposition of the man-made sign and the god-made sunset. It really touched me.The poem of mine that won, was inspired by a picture of five young Vietnamese kids carrying packs of sticks or reeds. The youngest appeared to be around three and the oldest looked about eight or so. Here's the poem I wrote for that photo. "Invalid Item" I had a great time participating in this event and recommend it to anyone who dabbles in photography or poetry. The contest takes part twice a year but there's a difference between the spring and fall versions. In the spring, the poets send in their poems and photographers take pictures to match the writings. In the fall, the photographers start it off and poems then match the winning photos. |
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