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<P style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class=MsoNormal><FONT size=3
face="Times New Roman">Hi all,</FONT></P>
<P style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class=MsoNormal><o:p><FONT size=3
face="Times New Roman"> </FONT></o:p></P>
<P style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class=MsoNormal><FONT size=3
face="Times New Roman">I don’t have any strong feelings about how we choose the
order of readings, and Abbi’s suggestion is fine, but I have some questions for
consideration. </FONT></P>
<P style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class=MsoNormal><o:p><FONT size=3
face="Times New Roman"> </FONT></o:p></P>
<OL style="MARGIN-TOP: 0in" type=1>
<LI
style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in"
class=MsoNormal><FONT size=3 face="Times New Roman">If the order in which each
of us receives the submission e-mails is the same, than there is an element of
predictability. Some people are procrastinators and will tend to have their
pieces read last, while others tend to get their work finished early and will
tend to have their pieces read first. Early on, it was decided that we didn’t
want predictability about these things. </FONT></LI></OL>
<P style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class=MsoNormal><o:p><FONT size=3
face="Times New Roman"> </FONT></o:p></P>
<OL style="MARGIN-TOP: 0in" type=1 start=2>
<LI
style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in"
class=MsoNormal><FONT size=3 face="Times New Roman">I know that when I receive
messages on my telephone the messages sometimes are delayed substantially in
their transmission. At least I think that’s what happens. So since we are all
working with different servers and vary in our equipment, can we be sure all
of us will receive these submissions at the same time? If someone really knows
the answer to these questions, I think it would be good to know them before we
decide on this course of action. </FONT></LI></OL>
<P style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class=MsoNormal><o:p><FONT size=3
face="Times New Roman"> </FONT></o:p></P>
<P style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class=MsoNormal><FONT size=3
face="Times New Roman">Leonard </FONT></P></DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV>
<DIV>In a message dated 10/24/2016 4:31:59 P.M. Eastern Daylight Time,
abbie@mysero.net writes:</DIV>
<BLOCKQUOTE
style="BORDER-LEFT: blue 2px solid; PADDING-LEFT: 5px; MARGIN-LEFT: 5px"><FONT
style="BACKGROUND-COLOR: transparent" color=#000000 size=2 face=Arial>
<P dir=ltr>Leonard, I'm suggesting we critique pieces in the order that people
send them to the list. For example, if I were to send mine first, then Alice,
then Brad, then you, then Valerie, that would be the order in which pieces
would be critiqued. That way, it's the luck of the draw, depending on when
people send pieces. This is the way we do it during our regular critique
sessions. I hope this is more clear.<BR></P>
<P dir=ltr>Abbie Johnson Taylor, Author
http://abbiescorner.wordpress.com<BR>http://www.abbiejohnsontaylor.com<BR>abbie@mysero.net<BR>Order
my new memoir at http://www.abbiejohnsontaylor.com/memoir.htm</P>
<DIV class=quote>On Oct 24, 2016 2:21 PM, Tuchyner5@aol.com wrote:<BR
type="attribution">
<BLOCKQUOTE
style="BORDER-LEFT: #ccc 1px solid; MARGIN: 0px 0px 0px 0.8ex; PADDING-LEFT: 1ex"
class=quote>
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<DIV>
<P style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class=MsoNormal><o:p><FONT size=3
face="Times New Roman"> </FONT></o:p></P>
<P style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class=MsoNormal><FONT size=3
face="Times New Roman">Abbi,</FONT></P>
<P style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class=MsoNormal><FONT size=3
face="Times New Roman">I’m not sure what you mean by , (the order in which
they come to the list) Please explain. </FONT></P>
<P style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class=MsoNormal><o:p><FONT size=3
face="Times New Roman"> </FONT></o:p></P>
<P style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class=MsoNormal><FONT size=3
face="Times New Roman">Leonard </FONT></P></DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV>
<DIV>In a message dated 10/23/2016 9:05:17 P.M. Eastern Daylight Time,
abbie@mysero.net writes:</DIV>
<BLOCKQUOTE
style="BORDER-LEFT: blue 2px solid; PADDING-LEFT: 5px; MARGIN-LEFT: 5px"><FONT
style="BACKGROUND-COLOR: transparent" color=#000000 size=2 face=Arial>To
make it easier for me to read and make notes on pieces for Tuesday
<BR>night's meeting, I decided to compile them in the order Leonard
<BR>suggested in one file like I do with pieces for our regular critique
<BR>sessions. It then occurred to me that this might be helpful to the
rest <BR>of you so here's my compilation. In the future though, I would
like to <BR>suggest we critique pieces in the order they come to the list
the way <BR>we do with our regular critique sessions. That would save us
all some <BR>time and effort.<BR><BR>###1. Valerie’s Piece<BR><BR>Love
Notes<BR>10-8-16<BR>Your voice surfaces in my mind<BR>like ocean touching
shore,<BR>flowing, then subsiding as my<BR>heart answers<BR>and the
minstrel sings of sorrow.<BR>On this journey of loss<BR>I never wanted to
take,<BR>I walk along grief's shoreline,<BR>smooth sands and craggy
rocks<BR>and the minstrel stays in shadow.<BR>Waves break in and
out,<BR>heart tide often deep, then shallow--<BR>I move ahead, pebbles
underfoot<BR>as the singer leads me toward tomorrow.<BR><BR>###2. Abbie’s
Piece<BR><BR>ADVENTURE<BR><BR><BR><BR>The big black fox stood and gazed
with a curious expression at the <BR>little white Terrier who lay snoozing
in the grass in a sunny meadow <BR>next to a babbling brook. The pooch,
sensing a presence, opened her <BR>eyes with a start and stared,
horrified, into the fox's green, glinting <BR>eyes. Giving a yelp of
terror, she leapt to her feet and dashed, <BR>barking, across the field to
the couple on the blanket, her white back <BR>and tail becoming a blur.
The fox turned and scurried in the opposite <BR>direction, crashing into
the adjacent woods.<BR><BR>After a three-mile hike, Scott and Brenda were
exhausted. They ate a <BR>picnic lunch, then dozed, entwined on their
blanket, surrounded by <BR>empty Subway sandwich wrappers and water
bottles. Awakened by the dog's <BR>shrill barks, they sat up and rubbed
their eyes. Brenda extended her <BR>arms, and the little dog jumped into
them, apparently not giving the <BR>remnants of their meal any
thought.<BR><BR>"Snowflake, what is it, sweetie?" said Brenda, holding and
rocking the <BR>little dog. "You're shaking like a leaf!"<BR><BR>Scott
surveyed the landscape. "I don't see anything," he said. "The <BR>last
time I looked, she was sleeping in the sun, drying off after <BR>playing
in the creek. Maybe she just had a bad doggy dream or
something."<BR><BR>"You're okay," said Brenda, cuddling Snowflake against
her. “You’re <BR>safe with Mommy now.” The dog licked her
face.<BR><BR>"Jesus," said Scott. "You'd think she was your
baby."<BR><BR>Brenda turned to her husband, her eyes filling with tears.
"Well, you <BR>know we can't have children because of my stupid body, not
to mention <BR>my vision loss, and you don’t want to adopt. Snowflake is
all we have."<BR><BR>Scott sighed, shrugged, and lay down. Brenda could
hold the tears back <BR>no longer. She buried her face in Snowflake’s fur,
and the dog <BR>delivered wet, slobbery, comforting kisses. Eventually,
Brenda lay down <BR>on the blanket next to Scott, without touching him.
Soon, the couple <BR>and their dog were asleep.<BR><BR><BR>In the woods,
the fox cowered, fearing the humans on the blanket would <BR>come after
him at any moment. When they didn't, and after an <BR>interminable amount
of time passed, the fox was distracted by a <BR>tantalizing aroma born to
his nostrils by a cool mountain summer <BR>breeze. Curious, he snuck out
and stood in the open field for a moment.<BR><BR>In the distance, he
glimpsed the figures on the blanket, lying <BR>motionless. The breeze grew
stronger and so did the aroma. He inched closer.<BR><BR>Snowflake sensed
the fox's approach first. She whined and started <BR>shaking. Alert,
Brenda held the dog close to her and said, "It's okay, <BR>sweetie. You're
just having another bad dream."<BR><BR>In answer, Snowflake barked once.
The fox stopped. Brenda opened her <BR>eyes, sat up, and spotted the
creature in the distance. With her <BR>limited eyesight, she couldn't tell
what it was but sensed it was a <BR>predator by the way it just stood
there. "Scott!” she cried.<BR><BR>He sat bolt upright. "What the hell!" He
flung a nearby rock at the <BR>fox. It hit the animal’s nose and thudded
to the ground. The fox <BR>yelped, turned, and dashed into the
woods.<BR><BR>Now Brenda and Snowflake were shaking. Scott put an arm
around Brenda’s <BR>shoulders and said, "It's okay, babe. It was just a
fox. He won't come back."<BR><BR>Brenda rested on her husband's shoulder
for a moment, feeling his <BR>comforting warmth. Then, remembering their
earlier conversation, she <BR>looked at her watch and said, "It's getting
late. We probably should <BR>head back."<BR><BR>"Whatever," said Scott
with a sigh.<BR><BR>As they packed the remains of their lunch, Snowflake
whined constantly <BR>and stayed by Brenda's side. As she stuffed items
into her back pack, <BR>she murmured soothing endearments to the dog.
Scott ignored them both.<BR><BR>As they trudged along the rocky trail,
Brenda holding Scott's arm so he <BR>could guide her, they said nothing
except for the occasional moment <BR>Scott pointed out logs or other
obstacles. Snowflake scampered ahead, <BR>then turned and rushed back to
see if they were coming. She <BR>occasionally barked at squirrels and
birds in trees, and Brenda <BR>laughed, but Scott said nothing. When they
finally reached the car, the <BR>pooch was only too happy to collapse onto
her blanket on the back seat <BR>and fall fast asleep.<BR><BR>###3.
Leonard’s Piece<BR><BR>Just Do It<BR><BR>Once a zygote came to
be,<BR>formed by two specks of he and she,<BR>motes of motion and
desire.<BR>Do these add up to an intention?<BR>Is it all explained by
devotion?<BR><BR>Yang will always seek to find.<BR>Yin will always seek to
be found.<BR>Yang lives for that new union.<BR>Yin reaches out
patiently,<BR>awaiting sparks of new conceptions,<BR>in seas of
possibilities.<BR><BR>Great mother has countless faces,<BR>all shrouded in
varied veils,<BR>from black opaque of stygian night<BR>to alluring lucid
water light,<BR>whose eyes reveal a sky of eyes.<BR>all peeking behind
their mantles,<BR>beguiling discovery.<BR><BR>One zygote made an Albert
Einstein,<BR>another Adolph Hitler.<BR>One gave birth to quantum
mechanics,<BR>the other to a Holocaust,<BR>both driven by their passion
visions,<BR>mileposts on creation’s roads,<BR>Pandora’s box already
unlatched,<BR>its substance never fully voided.<BR>Still we’ll reap its
unknown gifts.<BR><BR>Yet I’ll follow creation’s way.<BR>It is passion,
love and devotion<BR>that fills my willing, stalwart sails.<BR>Though I
may never know in full<BR>wherein will be my destiny,<BR>I’ll always have
a star to follow.<BR><BR><BR>###4. Alice’s Piece<BR><BR>Evidence of
Emotion<BR><BR>by Alice Jane-Marie Massa<BR><BR><BR>In the courtroom of
the heart,<BR>I offer you Exhibit A--<BR>clear lenses of
glasses<BR>stained with teardrops.<BR><BR>Washing these unnecessarily
prescription lenses<BR>on this nearly frosted morning,<BR>I think of the
evidence of emotion,<BR>the tear stains,<BR>disappearing beneath<BR>a
cascade of water<BR>and the touch of my finger.<BR><BR>Is the sadness of
yesterday<BR>now erased, forgotten,<BR>evaluated, or
forestalled?<BR><BR>Back in the courtroom of the heart,<BR>an unqualified
judge asked,<BR>"Why do you wear these glasses<BR>if you have no
vision?"<BR><BR>My testimony began:<BR>"Since I was seven,<BR>I have been
wearing glasses:<BR>they seem as much a part of me<BR>as my right
hand<BR>and my left leg,<BR>as the clothes<BR>I don each day.<BR>Exhibit A
has protected me<BR>from hurt<BR>or from greater injury<BR>when I fell off
my bike,<BR>when a door was accidentally slung into my face,<BR>when I
encountered a piece of construction equipment<BR>on the Kilbourn
Drawbridge.<BR>Wearing these glasses<BR>calms my concerns<BR>about being
poked<BR>by a low-hanging branch.<BR>Through so many seasons of
walking,<BR>these glasses have shielded my broken eyes<BR>from raindrops,
snowflakes,<BR>stinging sleet, and drying winds.<BR>Believe me, I do not
wear them for vanity:<BR>I let my congenitally impaired vanity<BR>dissolve
decades ago.<BR>Most of all,<BR>I wear these glasses<BR>to catch the
tears<BR>of emotions<BR>so that I have proof<BR>that I did not
squelch<BR>nor hide<BR>all that I felt<BR>on any yesterday.<BR>I will
admit<BR>that I am not<BR>an amateur holder of emotions:<BR>I ascend from
Italian descent;<BR>I am<BR>a professional holder of emotions--<BR>a
poet<BR>who translates<BR>tear stains<BR>into the adversities of
verse,<BR>the joy of injamment,<BR>and the strides of
stanzas."<BR><BR>Midst the murmurs<BR>magnifying in the courtroom,<BR>the
judge,<BR>with unknown poetic license,<BR>tapped his gavel and
bellowed,<BR>"Poetic order in the court!"<BR><BR><BR>October 14, 2016,
Friday<BR>number of words: 318<BR>number of lines:
70<BR><BR>***<BR><BR>Evidence of Emotion<BR><BR>by Alice Jane-Marie
Massa<BR><BR><BR>(Verse 1)<BR>In the courtroom of the heart,<BR>I offer
you Exhibit A--<BR>clear lenses of glasses<BR>stained with
teardrops.<BR><BR>(Verse 2)<BR>Washing these unnecessarily prescription
lenses<BR>on this nearly frosted morning,<BR>I think of the evidence of
emotion,<BR>the tear stains,<BR>disappearing beneath<BR>a cascade of
water<BR>and the touch of my finger.<BR><BR>(Verse 3)<BR>Is the sadness of
yesterday<BR>now erased, forgotten,<BR>evaluated, or
forestalled?<BR><BR>(Verse 4)<BR>Back in the courtroom of the heart,<BR>an
unqualified judge asked,<BR>"Why do you wear these glasses<BR>if you have
no vision?"<BR><BR>(Verse 5)<BR>My testimony began:<BR>"Since I was
seven,<BR>I have been wearing glasses:<BR>they seem as much a part of
me<BR>as my right hand<BR>and my left leg,<BR>as the clothes<BR>I don each
day.<BR>Exhibit A has protected me<BR>from hurt<BR>or from greater
injury<BR>when I fell off my bike,<BR>when a door was accidentally slung
into my face,<BR>when I encountered a piece of construction
equipment<BR>on the Kilbourn Drawbridge.<BR>Wearing these glasses<BR>calms
my concerns<BR>about being poked<BR>by a low-hanging branch.<BR>Through so
many seasons of walking,<BR>these glasses have shielded my broken
eyes<BR>from raindrops, snowflakes,<BR>stinging sleet, and drying
winds.<BR>Believe me, I do not wear them for vanity:<BR>I let my
congenitally impaired vanity<BR>dissolve decades ago.<BR>Most of all,<BR>I
wear these glasses<BR>to catch the tears<BR>of emotions<BR>so that I have
proof<BR>that I did not squelch<BR>nor hide<BR>all that I felt<BR>on any
yesterday.<BR>I will admit<BR>that I am not<BR>an amateur holder of
emotions:<BR>I ascend from Italian descent;<BR>I am<BR>a professional
holder of emotions--<BR>a poet<BR>who translates<BR>tear stains<BR>into
the adversities of verse,<BR>the joy of injamment,<BR>and the strides of
stanzas."<BR><BR>(Verse 6)<BR>Midst the murmurs<BR>magnifying in the
courtroom,<BR>the judge,<BR>with unknown poetic license,<BR>tapped his
gavel and bellowed,<BR>"Poetic order in the court!"<BR><BR>###5. Brad’s
Piece<BR><BR>The promise of the Guardian<BR>C by Brad Corallo<BR>Word
count 301<BR>With water diamonds sparkling in her eyes<BR>fell Guardian of
Morning, through twilight autumn skies.<BR>In skewed formation, birds
around her flew<BR>their gold eluminated by light no longer true.<BR>>
From her hair were scattered brilliant blazing sparks<BR>bits of Morning
love which<BR>all did reach their marks.<BR>At the point where crystal
blue caressed the land<BR>her Light touch down ,<BR>morphed, to bright
triumphant stand.<BR>"I am Guardian of Morning returned<BR>and I bring
renewal of the days.<BR>I decree this is once again<BR>the First
Morning<BR>where all is washed clean with freshness dawning.<BR>Love will
rein as Lord of<BR>all emotion and sensation.<BR>and the wonder of
creation<BR>will be as light in the eyes of the children.<BR>These things
all, I clearly see<BR>and nothing will prevent them, I decree!"<BR>But far
off in grumbling grayish growling gremlin gloom<BR>loathsome chattering
time demons from the mists began to loom. They <BR>would not see their
Confining work undone.<BR>They were committed to the dimming of the
sun.<BR>Among their tools were tedium, repetition and routine.<BR>They
worked to bind free spirits<BR>with chains of time unseen.<BR>At Forever
Plains they fell upon her.<BR>She swept them from her path like shattered
dreams.<BR>And strode forward undeterred, resolute with her renewal quest
redeemed .<BR>In multitudes, they once again fell upon her like a
hand.<BR>Their sheer increasing quantity her burdon to withstand.<BR>Their
waxing mass eventually bore her to the ground.<BR>The light of the renewal
no longer could be found.<BR>But the bits of love that earlier showered
from her hair<BR>sowed seeds of hope and will to joy which ever fought
despair.<BR>So down the yawning ages her legacy remains<BR>and whenever
spirit hearts give freely, demon power wanes.<BR><BR>-- <BR>Abbie Johnson
Taylor, Author
http://abbiescorner.wordpress.com<BR>http://www.abbiejohnsontaylor.com<BR>abbie@mysero.net<BR>Order
my new memoir at
http://www.abbiejohnsontaylor.com/memoir.htm<BR><BR>_______________________________________________<BR>Group2
mailing
list<BR>Group2@bluegrasspals.com<BR>http://bluegrasspals.com/mailman/listinfo/group2</FONT></BLOCKQUOTE></DIV></FONT></BLOCKQUOTE></DIV></FONT></BLOCKQUOTE></DIV></FONT></BODY></HTML>