The Best PIECE of Writing You Have Written So Far

[cacian]

That is from a short story "Ekwamedha's Child".

If I do think of another good one, then I will post it.

great oh and what an unusual name.

[PeterL]

I think, this is my best:

I don't recognize you in any letter
In no word I can see you
No verse reminds me of my getter
Please, write a poem new

I kind of like your poem.

Even from the slightest bit of matter
You can be deduced. No word defines you,
But each and every word includes you.

[PeterL]

great oh and what an unusual name.

Ekwamedha is the Proto-Indo-European Goddess of inebriation. The name literally means "horse mead", or kumiss.
http://www.wineintro.com/wineforum/u...otic_Wine_Talk
There a lot about her online.

[cacian]

Ekwamedha is the Proto-Indo-European Goddess of inebriation. The name literally means "horse mead", or kumiss.
http://www.wineintro.com/wineforum/u...otic_Wine_Talk
There a lot about her online.

Peter thanks that is a great read.
the website looks good too.

[PeterL]

Peter thanks that is a great read.
the website looks good too.

You are more than welcome.
Yes, that site is good, and Lisa Shea, who runs it, is a pleasant and interesting person.

[YesNo]

Breakfast at the Outdoor Cafe

She brings coffee and croissants to eat
While fat pigeons peck food at my feet
Seeking crumbs out of love
I might drop from above
As I search for her smile when we greet.

[Emil Miller]

brilliant reads.
keep them coming.

As a result of this thread I have taken to re-reading parts of my first novel after some years and I note that there are
a number of passages that vye for what I would consider the best of my attempts in telling the story.
Throughout the post-war period, industrial and social upheavals were not infrequent as the following passage tries to show:

The crowd had now become a mob, and he felt himself being swept along on an irresistible tide towards the wall of shields held by police armed with riot batons. Ray Parsons and the other union leaders had disappeared into the melee and, except for Jimmy Carew a few yards in front, he was in a sea of unknown faces.
As the demonstrators collided with the riot police, a baton felled the communist shop steward, but he was immediately back on his feet and, with his face covered in blood, he tore into his assailant with a fury that sent the officer crashing to the ground. Suddenly, fists and batons were flying everywhere and a full-scale riot had broken out. Vic had never been so frightened in his life as he took a blow in the face from somebody’s elbow and, stumbling over an abandoned placard, went down with others falling on top of him.
The police found themselves overwhelmed by sheer weight of numbers, and reinforcements began pouring from police vans parked around the square, but before they could shore up their colleague’s crumbling resistance, the mob had broken through, and a series of running battles took place with rioters hurling banners and abuse at parliament as more and more demonstrators fought their way into the area to clash with mounted police trying to break up the crowd already there.

[free]

I kind of like your poem.

Even from the slightest bit of matter
You can be deduced. No word defines you,
But each and every word includes you.

Thanks, PeterL

[Hwo Thumb]

An excerpt from an old poem I dug up. I didn't like my english teacher much. We had to write a bunch of poems, but we never got the chance to write stories. I preferred prose over poetry, so I produced this pesky piece of poetry.

“The Prose Producer’s Problem with Poetry”
I really don’t like poetry
It just isn’t the thing for me
I have no sense of rhythm, tone, or rhyme.

But write a story that’s superb
A narrative I’ve never heard
And I am sure to find your tale sublime.

Oh, poetry is awful.
Poetry just sucks.
Speak about your sonnet and I’ll stuff my ears with socks.

But the teacher says to write this;
She says it will be fun.
Maybe for a poet but I’m sure as hell not one.

The full thing is quite a bit longer, but I liked these stanzas

[Sir Guyon]

An excerpt from an old poem I dug up. I didn't like my english teacher much. We had to write a bunch of poems, but we never got the chance to write stories. I preferred prose over poetry, so I produced this pesky piece of poetry.

“The Prose Producer’s Problem with Poetry”
I really don’t like poetry
It just isn’t the thing for me
I have no sense of rhythm, tone, or rhyme.

But write a story that’s superb
A narrative I’ve never heard
And I am sure to find your tale sublime.

Oh, poetry is awful.
Poetry just sucks.
Speak about your sonnet and I’ll stuff my ears with socks.

But the teacher says to write this;
She says it will be fun.
Maybe for a poet but I’m sure as hell not one.

The full thing is quite a bit longer, but I liked these stanzas

As a poet, I must applaud your clever attempt.

[YesNo]

I liked the last stanza, Hwo Thumb.

I wrote something similar when asked to write a haiku for a competition. It's probably no worse that anything I would consider as my best, so here it goes.

Haiku Drivel, Youku Drivel

1

My teacher insisted a haiku be written.
I sharpened my pencil and let out a scream.
I chewed the eraser. My nails were bitten.
I hoped I could puncture some part of this dream.

But, no, it was real, and she said she would flunk me
If I didn't do it, and do it right then.
I felt like a fool with a sign that said, "Dunk me!"
Who falls in the water, and falls down again.

Then suddenly something occurred. Was it clever?
I proudly displayed it. She freaked with surprise.
She said it was awful, the worst she'd seen ever.
She flunked me with pleasure in spite of my cries.

2

Haiku: Japanese
form that is unworthy of
the English language.

[Sir Guyon]

I liked the last stanza, Hwo Thumb.

I wrote something similar when asked to write a haiku for a competition. It's probably no worse that anything I would consider as my best, so here it goes.

Haiku Drivel, Youku Drivel

1

My teacher insisted a haiku be written.
I sharpened my pencil and let out a scream.
I chewed the eraser. My nails were bitten.
I hoped I could puncture some part of this dream.

But, no, it was real, and she said she would flunk me
If I didn't do it, and do it right then.
I felt like a fool with a sign that said, "Dunk me!"
Who falls in the water, and falls down again.

Then suddenly something occurred. Was it clever?
I proudly displayed it. She freaked with surprise.
She said it was awful, the worst she'd seen ever.
She flunked me with pleasure in spite of my cries.

2

Haiku: Japanese
form that is unworthy of
the English language.

I understand why she flunked you, though I find the first poem explaining the occurrence to be quite good.

[AuntShecky]

I really hate doing what my sainted mother used to call "throwing bouquets," so I'm reluctant (as well as reticent) about pointing to what I'd consider my "best" work, since I'm honest enough to admit that my "best" would probably be someone else's "worst." Despite all that, here's the link to a piece which first appeared in February of 2012 in the "Anti-fiction" thread, replies #83 through #85.

http://www.online-literature.com/for...=1#post1113584


Thanks for asking, Cacian.

[cacian]

I really hate doing what my sainted mother used to call "throwing bouquets," so I'm reluctant (as well as reticent) about pointing to what I'd consider my "best" work, since I'm honest enough to admit that my "best" would probably be someone else's "worst." Despite all that, here's the link to a piece which first appeared in February of 2012 in the "Anti-fiction" thread, replies #83 through #85.

http://www.online-literature.com/for...=1#post1113584


Thanks for asking, Cacian.

you are welcome.I personally feel it is part of writing to be able to say or recognise that one's work is better best or not. one must like the sound of one's own voice. inspiration is from within.