Oh my goodness it’s been an exciting rollercoaster of emotions this morning. I’ve gone through self doubt, to excitement, to fear that something might become of my writing project, to fear that something won’t. I’ve had to restrain myself from just giving up and doing something else and now I’ve finished this particular task I finally feel I’m breathing properly again. Such fun!
Poet Laureate '19!!!!!🥳🥳🥳
At Torie's Blog we understand the peculiarity of language, which is why we want to create a platform in this year's Poet Laureate for creatives to showcase their talents, by giving a voice to their unique language forms and expressing art even whilst highlighting the problems evolving from lack of communication. .
"Poet Laureate is an 'honorary' position conferred by 'Tribesmen' as an institution"
To be conferred with this great honour🥇, you need to participate in the annual literary competition organised by The Tribesmen!
Selection shall be done by the tribesmen with a poll on twitter, voting on Instagram and the assessment by a set of anonymous judges. Poems do not necessarily have to be posted on the blog 📝📝📝but could be tagged to the Instagram account for a specific period of time. .
After the poll, the people’s poet and most outstanding creative would be and given a prize🎁
How to register?
Make sure you meet the following criteria to be Eligible.
🔖- You are a tribesman (you should have subscribed to Torie's Blog and received our toolkit. 🔖- You have your poem, prose or short story (1000 words max).
🔖- Submit your poems, prose or short stories for the poet laureate at www.thevictoriao.com/poetlaureate
And you're good to go💃🏼💃🏼💃🏼
Part 6: .
St Catherine’s seemed to return to normal and there was a smile on her face when she peeped in to see Enid, in her wheelchair, sitting placidly by the window, examining the tulips. She wasn’t talking, but that passive smile had returned to her face. The passive smile of a resident that was comfortable and content.
The other carers too, barely reacted to her presence as she stepped into reception, finding the receptionists and four other carers gathered in a huddle at the desk.
“What’s going on?” She asked, a prickling in her arm telling her not to be quiet.
“We are talking about Enid.” Liam answered, without a hint of remorse in his voice. She was angry at him. Angry that he had taken Enid from her, had stopped them from escaping. But then she remembered it was only a dream and tried to calm herself.
“My mind is a little foggy,” She admitted, “Did she really walk last night?”
“Enid? She has been wheelchair bound for a decade!” One of the receptionists snorted.
“We are talking about her grandson, you remember Owen?” Liam offered.
“He…he was waiting at the bus stop and –“
“He died.” The receptionist finished the sentence that Liam could not. Suddenly she began to feel very hot, as though her whole body was burning from within.
“Twenty minutes from his home.”
His home. His home. His home was Enid’s old home.
She felt dizzy, as though she would faint, and removed her cardigan. The room was too hot, that was the problem, they always kept the home very well heated to stop the residents freezing. Wrapping the cardigan around her waist she turned back to Liam and began to ask a question when there was a shout.
“What the hell happened to you?” The receptionist screamed, pointing at her arm.
Looking down, Bronagh saw the purple shadow of four fingers. Bruises that couldn’t be mistaken from anything else but a hand that had gripped her too hard.
//// You can reread the whole story, see how I feel about the ending of this story and also general behind the story inspiration in my new blog! Link in bio lol!
Do you all know that India's best author was MULK RAJ ANAND. Mulk raj anand was the Indian author who had written so many books before and after independence era. He always writes on social issues like one of his famous written book named untouchable and other books.
As you all are familiar with the practices of untouchability happened in past times. He has raised his point of views through his writing. A author can easily express them through their writing which engages many people. Mulk raj anand's writings had something that had been used to change the world to end untouchability. He had subjected many aspects in his book like people perspective towards village people or low caste people and that is the most drastic thing at that time. During british rule,we had heard about the brutal behaviour towards poor people and mulk raj anand had traced that by himself.Among his other major works are The Village (1939), The Sword and the Sickle (1942), and The Big Heart (1945; rev. ed. 1980). Mulk raj anand wrote other novels and short-story collections and also edited numerous magazines and journals, including MARG.
"I remember the days he would come home drunk and sloppily make his way towards the bedroom. Those were the good days. If luck was in my favour, my father couldn't even get out of his work clothes before he fell face-first onto the bed. On the bad days, I could hear his shouts reverberating through the walls of our tiny flat. This was my first meeting with verbal abuse. At home.
On the terrible days, I would wake up to my mother screaming as she struggled to get free from the hands of the man she had married. Her eyes would be chaotic as she struggled to breathe. My father's hands would be on her throat. This was my first meeting with physical abuse. At home.
Today, I feel like reminding my mother of these incidents when she says that she does not hate my father. I am too young to fathom the depth of a person's virtue, but my mother seems to know that this abusive man was not her husband."
Photograph displayed at Guwahati Artist Guild, Assam.
❤️ DO WHAT YOU LOVE ❤️ It makes perfect sense doesn’t it?
I mean I definitely try to do more of what I love than what I hate. Who doesn’t?
In a perfect world I guess this one solution would solve the vast majority of our problems.
Now unfortunately as idealistic as the opening phrase is, Life doesn’t work like that I’m afraid and there comes a time when you must do the things you need and not the things you want (or love). Take training, given the choice, most human beings will choose the type of training they need the least because it’ll be the one the love the most and as a result are probably pretty well adjusted to it. ⠀
Cardio queens love those 10k runs and those HIIT sessions. So they do more. ⠀
The meat heads crave that strength work. So they do more.
Most of us if we’re honest, know where our weaknesses lie. And if you don’t, let me help you identify your deficiencies.
What’s the stuff you keep telling yourself you ‘need’ to start throwing in at the end of your sessions, or adding into your weekly plan ‘just once a week’ but it never gets done.
We all say it, I really need to start doing some Yoga… Cardio… Abs…. whatever it is for you… we’re all guilty.
If you attend group exercise, think about when in a workout you rest or hold back. The upper body strength work… The warm up… The high resistance standing climb in spin… where ever it is you don’t ‘show up’… That’s your weakness! ⠀
You go hard on what you’re good at! Because you look good doing it… It doesn’t hurt… You feel accomplished! And then… you relax a little on that bits of the workout that don’t quite ‘work’ for you… because you don’t like it… how it makes you feel… how it makes you look… It’s going to shine a light on that area of your training you’ve been neglecting. ⠀
I agree a training regime should largely be made up of stuff we enjoy, stuff we want to do. It’s going to help with adherence and enjoyment and they’re the two biggest contributors to achieving success and results. (Continued in comments)
“Orpheus fell in love with the Divine Eurydice
In the mythos of Ancient Greece
As soon as he laid eyes upon her form while she danced
And all he could do was marvel at her beauty and burst into melody;
A symphony he never stopped composing even as
She was taken from him by the venom of a viper
And he travelled to the gates of the Underworld to retrieve his love,
A song he never could stop singing even when
He failed and his love was lost and his head severed from the rest of him,
Still carrying the tune down the river's current.
But that was then and this now and
There are no more tales of love in the Underworld and
No more Opera House balconies from where a second
Violinist can hope to win the love of a Lady and
No more Beethovens to hear the music even through
The congenital deafening slience of both ears.
But this is now and it's about the dull vibration of your
Text messages in the back pocket of my blue jeans
Too scared to become a love song turned up to full volume
In the middle of a morning lecture, but a sound I hear nonetheless
Headless like the song of Orpheus but I'll be damned
If I go voiceless down the river and into the night.
And now wherever Orpheus may be, may God rest his soul for
This millennium it only seems like the lovers have stopped composing
But the truth is we're louder than ever through earphone wires
And he hears our song and sings it back to us
In the memory of something we've all once lost: A Love Song.”
~Anmol Kang: The Symphony🎶