lol, My nightmare book report was Silas Marner. I remember those days of summer that were stolen from us.

Oh, thank God! For a moment I thought this would be some dry learned lecture, then the first verse got me chuckling. When Ishmael asked the others to call him, I just howled and my wife came back here and asked me what was wrong. I told her, “I’ll just have to read this to you.” So I did, and we both roared with laughter all the way through. Thank you so much for this one, Jake. We really needed that. You have any more like this? I can go put on the popcorn!

Cleverly penned, Jacob. Amazing write my friend. Appreciate you.

Damian

Mary Magdalene has always felt to me like Jesus, most loyal follower. Even if she wasn’t at the Last Supper, I can imagine her being the one who set the table and prepared the meal. She feels like an everywoman – someone who carries the judgment and misunderstanding that so many women have faced, whether for past mistakes, perceived flaws, or simply for not fitting society’s expectations.

I don’t believe she was a prostitute. I think she was a strong, capable woman who may have simply been ahead of her time. People judged her and labeled her unfairly, but Jesus saw her for who she truly was – a good and faithful person. And really, that’s what all of us should strive to be. Great write, j

Powerful work, my friend.

Thank you, Thomas.
j.

Powerfully penned, Jacob. Not to mention she penned a gospel that was left out of the Bible, of course it was. A lot of sexist men in power, who never wanted women to be treated equally. Just my opinion. lol. Excellent write my friend. Appreciate you.

Damian

Well said, my friend. How can we possibly know those buried under thousands of years of dust, when we do not know those who live among us, friends we see and hear, and touch, who share our very houses, not even those who stare blankly back from mirrors?

What an enigmatic poem for an enigmatic figure. Perhaps it shall unravel the collective misunderstanding of the centuries and provide a new light for her.

How sad that all things must change. I can relate in some ways just walking out my front door and seeing rows of houses where once woods where we played sat. All my childhood friends left when they heard of other boroughs moving in. They were right. I can imagine how hard it must be for you to go back and see a different world, one not so loving.

This poem is full of gentle nostalgia – the raspberries, the cows, the hills all bring the past vividly to life. It’s quietly profound, and I could almost step into that memory myself. Beautifully done, j

Phenomenally penned, Jacob. Love the nostalgic flavor, and the memories in a small corner of a past universe. Excellent write my friend. Appreciate you.

Damian

Some say you should never go back. Not me, I am a great one for nostalgia. Things change, not always for the better, but memories last a lifetime. Fabulous poem and your latest book title too. I love our bovine friends. Can remember walking through meadows myself as a child.

Chris

That is a horrible feeling when you think about it. You had it in your hands to write then it gets dashed away.

Did you ever have a really great idea, but you are driving somewhere, and by the time you get where you are going….abracadabra….poof.
the thought has left you?
Ugh!
Thank you, Fia.
j.

Yes, the mojo being torn away or lost. Often it’s the frustration of knowing what could have been that really hurts.

If we weren’t poets, we would probably just say “Oh well.”

But we are, so it hurts deeply when we lose good ideas…and at my age, I really have to catch them fast.

We have all been. I was black coffee with three sugars for years. I cut the sugar and the coffee and many other desired tasty stuff. Sucks. But, I’m only 9 years away from the ages my parents were when they died. I want a bit more time.

Cleverly penned, Jacob. The life of a writer, I think we’ve all been there. Great storytelling my friend. Appreciate you.

Damian

If you lose an idea you will always have another. If you have it brewing it will resurface or it will fly on.

A very vivid scene painted with few words

Regards James

I have always found a cup of coffee to be a great conjure of thought. Just like a rainy day that puts you in the mood for film noirs at TCM. Somehow, I just can’t imagine you ever being at a loss for words!

Kind of an ironic ending. I sense a kind of lightheartedness in this. Nice one, J.

A cancer among the freckles…now that is an interesting take. As a poet, you are saying they heal..Are short story writers considered a placebo?
Being that I write both, would I be considered a test subject? Hmm
I like this.

This poem is so clever and darkly funny. The metaphors are brilliant, especially the idea of freckles as little poems and “melanoma words” as a threat. It makes the piece feel both whimsical and sharp, a tone perfectly captured by its fantastic title, “Dangerous Advice from a Poet Playing a Doctor.” Great Write, j.

Brilliant work, my friend.

hmmm let’s see, I don’t write short stories, I don’t have freckles, so all I can do is read your poem Jacob. And if you don’t mind my saying, it’s one fukin’ freckley good poem. The kind of freckle poem that gets under the skin of those who think they know art but understand nothing at all. Why do such people run our society, create cultural wars, and are a menace to humanity?!

So here goes a reading: once upon a time in Frecklesville….. LOL
-Curt

Powerfully penned, Jacob. Incredible write my friend. Appreciate you.

Damian