Moor(n)ing Lines

There once was a dinghy on a lake.  This boat was propelled by a single pair of oars in the hands of its owner.  The lake was vast and deep; its water was variably warm or cool.  The owner enjoyed giving people rides on his private lake, sharing with them why he loved the scenery.  Many times, he’d describe the views or even the depth and temperature of the lake during a prior solitary glide.  That is how he spent most of his time, rowing alone on the expansive waves of his lake. 

When he’d satisfied his need for adventure and beauty, he’d row to shore, seeking a tree or post to tie his rowboat to.  Even on the dock he built for his many pasengers, there was no securing his boat to anything.  When the tide came in, if he was not in his boat, the waves would plunge the dinghy across the water, tossing and jostling it toward the middle and deeper parts of the lake.  All he could do then was wait for his boat to land ashore again, as it always did.  But there were no mooring lines.

Creativity or Just Memoirs

I write for fun, I enjoy it that much.  I write about things I know and leave hidden in my imagination what I don’t know.  I hide many things, creatively.  I say without saying.  With metaphor, simile and fictional story.  But is that actually creativity, or imagination or just what I know?  Is all this just creativity and imagination on paper or is it just my story, feebly and vaguely committed to pages.  Twenty-seven, no twenty-eight chapters and verses.  Yet no one reads between the lines, or on the cover.  Is it creativity or just memoirs?

JA Menter 3

“I feel numb, I can’t come to life, I feel like I’m frozen in time. Living in a world so cold, wasting away…”