Ok, I almost never write poetry, but I've come up with a few. I thnk they might be decent enough with some work; I may try to submit them to the lit journal here at the university.

Rip me apart, thanks! _______________

Poor little girl, with your red tattoo on your sleeve.
Who did you bleed for?
Whose secret sign is it?
How many years will go by before someone knows
you branded love on your flesh for him, only him,
only him, forever.
And that you have been waiting -- as long as it takes --
whatever it takes,
whatever.

And now he sits, runs a finger along that red heart,
and smiles. It's him,
but as you hand him his beer and walk away
you wonder vaguely why he looks familiar.

Don't love the ending. Hmm.

My cousin's eventer loves jumping so much that he'll jump from one of their fields to the other in the middle of the night.

I remember seeing a special about stunt horses, and there was one horse who was really good at falling down as if shot. Apparently the horse enjoyed this stunt so much that he'd do it at random when out in the pasture. Gallop, gallop, gallop, THUMP....Gallop, gallop, gallop, THUMP...

ION, I am progressing not at all on NaNoWriMo.

Erin, at first glance, I really like the poem. I can see why you're a bit undecided on the ending, but I can't put my finger on what it needs. If I think of anything, I'll post.

Erin, I'm with on something off - damned if I know what - about that last verse. I think it may be the "It's him".

In other news:

1. I have BOOKS!

2. Amazon is now taking customer reviews of "Weaver", and recs as to what to pair it with. Go! Go forth, my beta readers, and love me to Amazon! Remember, it's the Tuscan Bitches compound at stake...

Ok, let's see...

Poor little girl, with your red tattoo on your sleeve.
Who did you bleed for?
Whose secret sign is it?
How many years will go by before someone knows
you branded love on your flesh for him, only him,
only him, forever.
And that you have been waiting -- as long as it takes --
whatever it takes,
whatever.

And now he sits, runs a finger along that red heart,
and smiles.
He looks familiar; wonder why? you think
as you hand him his beer and hurry away.

Ooh! Much better! It makes her hurrying away stand out so much more.

Yes. That falls far more effectively, methinks.

BTW, Deb, I hope to have some comments to you sometime this weekend.

b.org ate my post:

Deb, I'm so excited for your book! I looked at Amazon yesterday to see if any more reviews were up; I can't wait to see what people say!

Whoooo you!

Weet! Go, best seller! Choose, best seller!

Manoman. Plus I want to finish Matty Groves and get the sucker out in full final form to beta readers everywhere.

OK, since no one ran away screaming at the first one....

__________________________

Too many time you wander,
searching the night for the right --
the right boy, the right plan, the right excuse.

And sometimes you find all three.
Lucky you.

But I hear you searching in the night,
sounding your cry, shrill and plaintive,
over the clamor of the crowd,
and I am appalled by your naivte and boldness.

But I don't want to shelter you.
I want to watch you seek, and crash and burn, and rise.

Because then I don't have to.