ㅁ Kiamon struggled to understand things. Clues were provided: short, causal strings. Still, the essentials eluded her grip. Outside, the rain pushed a slow, steady drip.
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter.
ㅁ Kiamon struggled to understand things. Clues were provided: short, causal strings. Still, the essentials eluded her grip. Outside, the rain pushed a slow, steady drip.
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter.
ㅁ Kiamon knew that she'd face things alone, setting her jaw, with her face made of stone. Fragments of snow still polluted the town, winter still ruled and the trees were still brown.
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter.
ㅁ Kiamon walked down the path in the wood, looking for signs of the past, if she could, hoping to find some small, relevant clue. No simple answers appeared. What to do?
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter. The continuing saga of Kiamon, a fictional being.
ㅁ Kiamon went out and into the wood hoping the time off would do her some good; but she discovered the ghosts living there, calling her name and distorting the air.
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter.
ㅁ The rails bestrode the busy street; the trolley made its way. The lake beyond was torn by wind: a sketch drawn green and gray.
– a quatrain in ballad meter. The setting here is the imaginary city of Ohunkagan, in the Ragged Point neighborhood south of downtown.
ㅁ Kiamon made an attempt to control feelings and impulses roiling her soul; but in the end she gave up and just sighed somehow the will in her body had died.
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter.
ㅁ Not-A-Wolf tested the ground with his feet: icy, and gaining a layer of sleet. Nevertheless, he decided to move. Soldiers were coming. He'd something to prove.
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter. Not-A-Wolf is Kiamon’s great-great-great-great-grandfather.
ㅁ Rosalie laid out the cards that she'd made; winter, outside, sculpted snow and conveyed endings to things that she hadn't yet schemed: Kiamon's name came to her as she dreamed.
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter. Rosalie is Kiamon’s great-great-grandmother, and Not-A-Wolf’s granddaughter.
ㅁ Kiamon dwelt in the house by the shore, built by her grandmother's mother, before; lately she'd taken to sitting alone, there by the trees on an outjutting stone.
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter.
ㅁ Kiamon counted the times she had tried, Each time as if she had somehow just died. Now here she was, trying once more, again, Still she compelled herself: think where she'd been.
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter.
ㅁ Kiamon dreamed that the wind was her friend, Happy to blow through a life near its end. Waking she realized she wasn't yet dead; rising, she went out to see where things led.
ㅁ Kiamon sat and considered her slump: nothing moved forward, she just was a lump. Nevertheless things would brighten, she thought. Then she would finally find what she sought.
ㅁ Kiamon watched as a raven took wing, pondering just what engendered this thing. Doubts seemed to flee as she hardened her soul, knowing she'd finally take on the role.
ㅁ Kiamon never considered the fact: others disliked her avoidance of tact; personally she just viewed it as truth... slightly heroic, to be so uncouth.
ㅁ Kiamon drifted along in a daze; life had become an ineffable maze, endlessly throwing up difficult games, sending on detours her previous aims.
ㅁ Kiamon struggled to bring it together. All of the clues were piled up like the weather; when you see storm clouds all laden with rain, moody and dark, premonitions of pain.
ㅁ Kiamon sat and gazed out at the fog: seemed she was facing a bit of a slog. Not so much bodily as with her mind; somehow she had to escape from this bind.
ㅁ Kiamon yielded to sleep's dull caress. What they had said had all failed to impress. Nothing she knew was in fact making sense: she'd have to wait now for future events.
ㅁ Kiamon felt slightly positive then, still at a loss as to exactly when winds would begin to die down for a while, ghosts would at last pause a bit, give a smile.
ㅁ Kiamon barely remembered her name. Trying but failing, she'd ended the game. Tired and broken, she needed to rest. So her antagonist gloated, "I'm best!"
ㅁ Kiamon felt that the dreams were obscure. Meaning was vague and she just wasn't sure. Grandfather's ghost never laid it all out: rather he seemed to throw symbols about.
ㅁ Kiamon never imagined there'd be obvious answers to questions we see; nevertheless she still could not deny ghost-given answers were often quite sly.
ㅁ Kiamon doubted they'd ever make sense: ghosts always tended to opt for suspense; speaking at times when she danced for them, true; sadly their meanings gave no single clue.
ㅁ Kiamon maybe once thought to herself "might just be better to put on a shelf; face all the ways that we each reach our end; face just the fact that the gods' wills don't bend."
ㅁ Kiamon gazed at the fog on the lake weather had forced her to take a short break. Still she grew frustrated, time passed her by... hopes were obscured just as clouds hid the sky.