I am having a party with a small group of people. They are all friends from various social groups I am a part of. I have joined a new group of friends and in this group I (24 female) really got along well with one person (31 female), we’ll call her Emma.
Eventually, Emma told me that she liked me. I told her that I didn’t feel the same way, but I would still like to be friends. I ended up being quite busy after that finishing the semester, visiting family and whatnot. I would still see her on the occasional weekend outings with our other friends. At these hangouts, I was more hesitant with Emma because I wanted to gauge how she felt/give her the space she needed.
It became increasingly clear, every time we were hanging out with friends, that she was avoiding me more and more. At one group hangout (trivia), I arrived late so everyone was already on teams. So I just talked to people. Emma was already drunk. It ended with her joining into the groups I was talking to and bumping me and making me bump into people. At one point she put her hand over mouth. She kept wanting to talk bout me not hanging out with her anymore (to which I told her we could talk about it later).
I later asked Emma what was up that night and she said she did not remember anything (I found it hard to believe). Another night, she ended up walking me to my car and we talked about the whole thing and she told me her friends suggested that we should be friends. After that I gave her space, it was clear she needed it. There had been several hang outs we were at, and our interactions were a little awkward. We had a long conversation about things again. And it seemed like things were fine and we could interact and it wasn’t too weird.
Fast forward to last week, I went to trivia and Emma was really avoiding me. I had invited a few people from our friend group to my party, so when Emma, one of the people I invited, and I were in conversation they brought it up. I asked her if we were good and she told me that was a weird question to ask, so I sort of just let it go. On another occasion, at a club, Emma started making small digs at me in front of people. So I decided to leave.
When I got home I ended up talking to Emma for hours. She told me that she did’t trust me and said she was hurt that I ghosted her. Which surprised me. But I explained that I did’t see it that way. There was one conversation, in particular, she mentioned, where she sent me poems, and she wanted me to send her poems back but I didn’t want to send her poems (I already sent one).
It was clear that she was mad about the poems. Towards the end of the call, she said she was mad that the party came up and she should have left earlier and that I was in the wrong for it having come up. I know she wanted me to invite her then and that’s what she was hoping for in bringing it up, but I don’t want to feel uncomfortable or feel like there would be drama. So, AITA?

my brother sent a Unicode text within our siblings group chat and has given us 72 hrs to decode it and I have set my mind towards finishing the quest first. I have gotten this far: \uf605\u97df\uf0c7\u3b05\u7286\u62f5\u34a5\u91c4\ue945\u2064 but honestly have no idea about ciphers at all. after 24 hrs had passed, he attached the following poem:
In the heart of ancient lands, where empires clash, Lies the tale of Caesar's cipher, a code with a brash flash. But amidst the echoes of history's grandeur and might, Stood Qin Shi Huang, with secrets veiled in night.
His cipher, a whisper in the wind of ancient tongues, Wove through scrolls, where the sage's wisdom hung. Not mere substitution, but a dance of strokes refined, Each character a thread, in a tapestry enshrined.
While Caesar boasted of his shift, a simple spin, Qin Shi Huang's cipher danced with cunning, akin To shadows in moonlight, elusive and sly, A puzzle unsolvable, beneath the emperor's eye.
In Unicode's embrace, the Chinese characters gleam, Each stroke a symbol, in Qin's cryptic dream. Caesar's cipher pales against this oriental art, A masterpiece of secrecy, tearing logic apart.
So let Caesar tout his cipher, in Rome's grand fray, But in the realms of secrets, Qin's cipher holds sway. For in the silent corridors of ancient lore, The emperor's cipher reigns forevermore.
I am now asking you to help with me the last step onward. With the quest completion, a grand price awaits me...

my brother sent a Unicode text within our siblings group chat and has given us 72 hrs to decode it and I have set my mind towards finishing the quest first. I have gotten this far: \uf605\u97df\uf0c7\u3b05\u7286\u62f5\u34a5\u91c4\ue945\u2064 but honestly have no idea about ciphers at all. after 24 hrs had passed, he attached the following poem:
In the heart of ancient lands, where empires clash, Lies the tale of Caesar's cipher, a code with a brash flash. But amidst the echoes of history's grandeur and might, Stood Qin Shi Huang, with secrets veiled in night.
His cipher, a whisper in the wind of ancient tongues, Wove through scrolls, where the sage's wisdom hung. Not mere substitution, but a dance of strokes refined, Each character a thread, in a tapestry enshrined.
While Caesar boasted of his shift, a simple spin, Qin Shi Huang's cipher danced with cunning, akin To shadows in moonlight, elusive and sly, A puzzle unsolvable, beneath the emperor's eye.
In Unicode's embrace, the Chinese characters gleam, Each stroke a symbol, in Qin's cryptic dream. Caesar's cipher pales against this oriental art, A masterpiece of secrecy, tearing logic apart.
So let Caesar tout his cipher, in Rome's grand fray, But in the realms of secrets, Qin's cipher holds sway. For in the silent corridors of ancient lore, The emperor's cipher reigns forevermore.
I am now asking you to help with me the last step onward. With the quest completion, a grand prize awaits me...

Here we go—I'm finally making a post!
So, after months of lurking (and a handful of half-written posts), I'm finally taking the plunge and giving this a shot. I know they say the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, but in my case, it begins with a single post. So, here goes nothing, right? Haha.
What am I looking for?
In a nutshell—authentic, meaningful conversation. A few days ago, a few other faculty members and I met up for an evening out to celebrate the end of finals. A few of us stayed pretty late, pontificating about life, talking about the most random topics, and basically just enjoying each other's company. I don't know about you, but in today's world (where so many of us are glued to Zoom screens and remote work), we need more of that sort of dynamic—just genuine, authentic, long-form discourse. I like to believe with the right sort of person (and the right sort of conversational skills), you can cultivate that sort of vibe in online conversation.
For example, when I think back to the past, one of my favorite memories was a lengthy conversation I had with a random stranger at a cozy little coffee shop in a small town in Upstate New York. We talked about everything from philosophy to the best type of coffee beans. That's the sort of conversation I crave!
A bit about me:

• I'm 34, male, and work in higher education.
• I finished my doctorate a few years ago (Finally! I can now add "doctor" to my name without having to prescribe anything or perform surgery, haha — although that dissertation was brutal, just sayin').
• I love the outdoors and often take local day trips to explore new trails and scenic spots.
• I have a passion for photography, always trying to capture that perfect shot (though my cat remains a stubbornly uncooperative model).
• Journaling and poetry are my ways of reflecting and expressing my thoughts, even if my poems often end up sounding like Dr. Seuss after too much coffee.
• Long hikes are my therapy. Nature has a way of putting things into perspective.
• I have a knack for making terrible puns. Consider yourself warned.
• I like to pretend I'm a trivia night enthusiast, though my knowledge of obscure 90s cartoons is more impressive than practical.
• I'm convinced that breakfast foods are acceptable at any time of the day. Pancakes for dinner, anyone?
• I’ve been known to binge-watch documentaries about anything from space exploration to ancient civilizations.
• I’m a coffee enthusiast and love experimenting with different brewing methods and beans.
• I’m secretly training for the “Olympics of Procrastination,” and I’m a gold medal contender.
• I pride myself on my ability to parallel park in one go – a skill I wish I could add to my résumé.
• My superpower is finding the perfect GIF for any situation.

So basically...
I'm hoping to find thoughtful interactions with folks who genuinely want to discuss all that life has to offer. I'm drawn to people with a natural zest and curiosity for life, who embrace a growth mindset, and who value emotional intelligence and strong communication skills. Whether we're delving into deep philosophical questions or sharing our favorite recipes, I'm looking for someone who appreciates the beauty of a well-rounded, engaging conversation.
If this sounds like you, send me a chat message! I'm looking forward to hearing from you!

So me and my ex recently broke up, again and we were together nearly one year(longest relationship thus far)…. The relationship was somewhat toxic, but i was enduring relationship as it was, with physical and mental abuse towards me, i can proudly say i have never risen my hand against a female, and i was angry barely at few times, but never have i screamed, or anything, cuz i dont see the point, like, im relaxed, i try to communicate even tho i get denied 9/10, i dont drink, i dont do drugs, i do house work, ok yes financial state is going pretty rocky at the moment, but me pulling everything together also is a bit of a challange, but i tried and did everything for her, and by everything, i mean everything, run to the store at middle of the night, go for night drives, i tried taking her to places but she declined every offer, so i just gave up on offering, i tried every possible way to be different, to show that im loyal to one e.c her parent loved me, her brothers and sisters too, but me telling my close friends after the breakup, the situations i went thro, when she cheated on me, all the manipulation, all the lying, all the disrespect i got, ungreatfulness, and the way she pushed me away like im just another guy, barely any love, barely even communication, barely any attention (even tho i wrote her poems of why i love her, complimented her, cleaned the house nesrly all the time(clothes, floors, dishes e.c)tried to communicate but all she did mostly was scroll tiktok, or get angry n hysteric or made me the bad person) lovebombed e.c e.c essentialy making it abit toxic… Im not saying im perfect, but for relationship ill try my best to be there for her, supported respected and love, humble and protect her, and again, did everything to make her comfortable and loved and relaxed, but all i got back was mostly just something…. She did return the first time, but then i was desperste for her, now im lowkey over it… will she come back again?

Hi guys, I’m a hobby poet and I really enjoy using my creative outlets to give some dignity to my insane Limerent thoughts. Lol. Now I’ve got quite the collection built up and just for fun I thought I’d draw a few illustrations and self publish it on amazon (for free of course). Was wondering, as I cleaned it up a bit, if anyone had any suggestions or prompts to use to write a few more poems or perhaps add some elements to already created ones. Obviously stuff you yourself wouldn’t use. If you are interested in my style here is some of my work (not related to limerence):
“Heavy May:
Leave to others mild browns, let them twist their daisy crowns into emblems of their life; free of blizzards, free of strife Hand me winter's tortured twigs stain my lips with august figs. Suicide's breath is springs's warm air, how I wish I loved the fair! I have switched my white with yellow, only sought the sweet and mellow, Yet I ache for freezing lungs miss the wildfires on my tongue. My hearts needs its howling nights Bethlehem's raging candlelight. Hear, I have observed one thing, who rests in winter, dies in spring.”
“Electric Shocks:
My rainbow boy, disturbed by none is lying on the bed,
his mother is the august sun, the lightness in your head.
His father is the steady rain that lulls you back to sleep, she spread her warmth in every vein he gave him strength to keep.
But I am not admired by crowds, the envy makes me shudder the product of two thunderclouds will always be an other.
They have made something frightening in their violent clash.
My fingers burn with lightning beware my wild flash.”

I'm stopping by a bar on Wednesday that has open mic night. I want to read a poem, or poems, and I'm curious what the community here would read.
I might do something by Lucile Clifton, I'm still looking around for something light and fun but also memorable with some depth to think about. Suggestions welcomed. Thank you.

Humans are Weird – Storm Watching

Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-storm-watching
“Why did we even bother building a base on the land anyway?” Rollsaround asked as he absorbed the dim light filtering through the wide windows of the base.
The windows gave an impressive view of what the humans in their generosity called a “coastline”. Instead of gently undulating coral beds easing down into the water the glittering volcanic rock dropped abruptly from the graminoid covered highlands and dove down dozens of meters to where it usually met the heaving surface of the water below. Today however the water had seemingly decided to express its objections to the separation and was attempting to scale the cliffs in massive waves. The base vibrated from the force of a gust of wind and Rollsaround hunkered deeper into his mineral bath.
“Do you require another introduction of thermal-loaded water?” Tenth Cousin asked from where she perched on a Shatar couch, reading something that was supposed to be very masculine poetry from her homeworld.
“I do not,” Rollsaround reassured her. “I was just reacting negatively to the storm.”
She tilted her head to examine the weather conditions with a thoughtful set to her antenna.
“I think it is a pleasant change,” she said. “The harsh, unfiltered lights of the suns here means that we have no real night. The clouds at lest allow the illusions of dusk, and the wind overhead is not entirely unlike breezes in Father’s canopy if you can focus your attention on some pleasant task.”
“Well if we can’t go outside during clear weather without protection due to the radiation,” Rollsaround grumbled, “and we can’t go outside in stormy weather due to the, well, the storm, I say we should have just built a floating base that we could submerge during storm weather.”
“There is perhaps logic in that,” Tenth cousin agreed, and very deliberately tilted her head back to the poetry.
Rollsaround drooped his leading appendages over the edge of the bowl and absorbed the storm light in a slightly sulky mood. The airlock cycled open and Third Sister stepped in with the brisk stride that Rollsaround had noticed that high ranking sisters only used when they were looking for someone who had committed some infraction. Tenth Cousin brought the poem up closer to her face and started moving her mandibles as if she was completely focused on sounding out the words. Third Sister tilted her head the examine the cousin and then abruptly swiveled her body to focus on Rollsaround.
“First Ecologist,” she began, “do you know First Mechanic’s current location? The exterior vents in my lab require percussive maintenance.”
“He is off shift by now,” Rollsaround said. “You should check the washrooms and his quarters.”
However even as he offered this sound advice Rollsaround felt a ripple of unease. Human Friend Conner almost never went to his quarters after his shift. He was highly social, even by human standards and usually came to the main room to chat first thing.
“I have already checked both of those locations,” Third Sister stated. “He is not there and he is not answering his comm.”
Rollsaround mulled over that. Clearly Third Sister needed to find the human. An improperly vented laboratory in such a base as theirs was a serious health risk.
“Have you checked the storage areas?” he asked.
“I did a ping for his comm,” she replied, “but it is not reading as in the base at all so I could not locate the room he was in. I was surprised as I didn’t think we had any shielding strong enough to block the comm signal in the base-”
She cut off as Rollsaround suddenly surged up out of his mineral bath and crawled out of it.
“What is the matter First Ecologist?” Third Sister asked in confusion.
“He has gone out for a walk,” Rollsaround said, forgetting in his rush to add emotional undertones to his words.
“Out?” Third Sister demanded, her antenna going lax with confusion.
“Out to watch the storm from withing the wind currents,” Rollsaround explained.
“How do you gather that?” Third Sister demanded.
“He has described storm watching on his homeworld to me,” Rollsaround explained as he opened the hatch to the sub floor currents. “He also mentioned what he thought the perfect storm watching spot would be on these cliffs. That spot is behind enough rocks to block the signal. Now if you will excuse me I am going to go fetch him.”
“He has broken regulations!” Third Sister clicked, her frill flashing red with alarm.
“That on a secondary vine,” Tenth Cousin interjected as she came up to them. “The same regulations apply to you First Ecologist! The wind-”
“I am rated as fully wind resistant under these conditions,” Rollsaround said with a dismissive wave, “one of the perks of not being built like a windmill.”
“Your thermal mass-” Tenth Cousin tried again.
“I am fully warmed at the moment and I will turn back if my core temperature drops too low,” he interjected again. “Now if there are no further objections?”
Without waiting for their objections he dropped down into the sub-floor current and tapped the control panel to direct the current to the main outlet. He bundled his appendages and let himself be swept into the cold, but fresh exterior water. He bumped up against the smooth rise of the outlet and edged up out of the water. The wind was powerful. He could feel it tug at him if he raised a gripping appendage high, but at least over the main path there were eddies along the ground that were so comparatively we that he couldn’t even feel them. He began shuffling at top speed along the path. A the crest of the first high spot the winds did hit him, shoving his body sideways. However, as he had expected it required barely a fraction of his strength to grip the path firmly with his set appendages as he moved the free appendages forward. It barely even slowed him down, the roar of it was rather disconcerting when it wasn’t muted by the base walls however. He did wonder how the human had made it this far. After a long steady shuffle he rounded the corner that was blocking the signal and spotted a tall figure down at the cliff’s edge that wasn’t normally there.
Rollsaround activated the comm he was holding pressed against the ground. There was a significant delay before the human responded.
“Human Friend Conner,” Rollsaround said, trying to put firmness in his tones. “Come now and carry me back to the base. I am at the crest of the hill looking down at you.”
There was an odd sound from the comm that suggested the human was trying to say something back, but human speaking organs were not optimized for shielding the microphone of a comm while speaking so the human simply gave two short radio bursts and the tall figure on the cliff’s edge began swaying back and forth as it moved towards the path. Rollsaround anchored himself more fully against the blasts and watched in grim interest as the gusts blew the tall human form to one side and then the other as the human struggled up the path.
When Human Friend Conner finally did reach him the human didn’t bother speaking. He just reached down with a grin and tried to lift the Undulate off of the path. For one long moment Rollsaround hung on to the ground in a show of strength. He wasn’t sure if it would impress the human but a little dominance display did seem called for. He let go when the look of perplexity fully formed on the humans face but before he could give a more powerful tug and they headed back to the base.
Being carried over a meter above the ground in this wind was another experience altogether. The swaying of the human in the wind felt far wilder than it had looked, and Rollsaround found himself clutching tightly to the human’s coat as the wind tried to rip him away. They finally made the base airlock and stepped through to the blessedly still air. Rollsaround dropped to the floor and shook the cold water off of himself.
“I think Third Sister would like a word with you,” he said.
Granted she would probably want a word with him too, but Human Friend Conner didn’t need to know that.

Science Fiction Books By Betty Adams

Amazon (Kindle, Paperback, Audiobook)

Barnes & Nobel (Nook, Paperback, Audiobook)

Powell's Books (Paperback)

Kobo by Rakuten (ebook and Audiobook)

Google Play Books (ebook and Audiobook)

Check out my books at any of these sites and leave a review! "Flying Sparks" - a novel set in the "Dying Embers" universe is now avaliable on all sites!
Please go leave a review on Amazon! It really helps and keeps me writing becase tea and taxes don't pay themselves sadly!

https://preview.redd.it/292890cl190d1.jpg?width=1024&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=80452218955753005afd72dfd6f5c56b3cf0c658

Humans are Weird – Storm Watching

Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-storm-watching
“Why did we even bother building a base on the land anyway?” Rollsaround asked as he absorbed the dim light filtering through the wide windows of the base.
The windows gave an impressive view of what the humans in their generosity called a “coastline”. Instead of gently undulating coral beds easing down into the water the glittering volcanic rock dropped abruptly from the graminoid covered highlands and dove down dozens of meters to where it usually met the heaving surface of the water below. Today however the water had seemingly decided to express its objections to the separation and was attempting to scale the cliffs in massive waves. The base vibrated from the force of a gust of wind and Rollsaround hunkered deeper into his mineral bath.
“Do you require another introduction of thermal-loaded water?” Tenth Cousin asked from where she perched on a Shatar couch, reading something that was supposed to be very masculine poetry from her homeworld.
“I do not,” Rollsaround reassured her. “I was just reacting negatively to the storm.”
She tilted her head to examine the weather conditions with a thoughtful set to her antenna.
“I think it is a pleasant change,” she said. “The harsh, unfiltered lights of the suns here means that we have no real night. The clouds at lest allow the illusions of dusk, and the wind overhead is not entirely unlike breezes in Father’s canopy if you can focus your attention on some pleasant task.”
“Well if we can’t go outside during clear weather without protection due to the radiation,” Rollsaround grumbled, “and we can’t go outside in stormy weather due to the, well, the storm, I say we should have just built a floating base that we could submerge during storm weather.”
“There is perhaps logic in that,” Tenth cousin agreed, and very deliberately tilted her head back to the poetry.
Rollsaround drooped his leading appendages over the edge of the bowl and absorbed the storm light in a slightly sulky mood. The airlock cycled open and Third Sister stepped in with the brisk stride that Rollsaround had noticed that high ranking sisters only used when they were looking for someone who had committed some infraction. Tenth Cousin brought the poem up closer to her face and started moving her mandibles as if she was completely focused on sounding out the words. Third Sister tilted her head the examine the cousin and then abruptly swiveled her body to focus on Rollsaround.
“First Ecologist,” she began, “do you know First Mechanic’s current location? The exterior vents in my lab require percussive maintenance.”
“He is off shift by now,” Rollsaround said. “You should check the washrooms and his quarters.”
However even as he offered this sound advice Rollsaround felt a ripple of unease. Human Friend Conner almost never went to his quarters after his shift. He was highly social, even by human standards and usually came to the main room to chat first thing.
“I have already checked both of those locations,” Third Sister stated. “He is not there and he is not answering his comm.”
Rollsaround mulled over that. Clearly Third Sister needed to find the human. An improperly vented laboratory in such a base as theirs was a serious health risk.
“Have you checked the storage areas?” he asked.
“I did a ping for his comm,” she replied, “but it is not reading as in the base at all so I could not locate the room he was in. I was surprised as I didn’t think we had any shielding strong enough to block the comm signal in the base-”
She cut off as Rollsaround suddenly surged up out of his mineral bath and crawled out of it.
“What is the matter First Ecologist?” Third Sister asked in confusion.
“He has gone out for a walk,” Rollsaround said, forgetting in his rush to add emotional undertones to his words.
“Out?” Third Sister demanded, her antenna going lax with confusion.
“Out to watch the storm from withing the wind currents,” Rollsaround explained.
“How do you gather that?” Third Sister demanded.
“He has described storm watching on his homeworld to me,” Rollsaround explained as he opened the hatch to the sub floor currents. “He also mentioned what he thought the perfect storm watching spot would be on these cliffs. That spot is behind enough rocks to block the signal. Now if you will excuse me I am going to go fetch him.”
“He has broken regulations!” Third Sister clicked, her frill flashing red with alarm.
“That on a secondary vine,” Tenth Cousin interjected as she came up to them. “The same regulations apply to you First Ecologist! The wind-”
“I am rated as fully wind resistant under these conditions,” Rollsaround said with a dismissive wave, “one of the perks of not being built like a windmill.”
“Your thermal mass-” Tenth Cousin tried again.
“I am fully warmed at the moment and I will turn back if my core temperature drops too low,” he interjected again. “Now if there are no further objections?”
Without waiting for their objections he dropped down into the sub-floor current and tapped the control panel to direct the current to the main outlet. He bundled his appendages and let himself be swept into the cold, but fresh exterior water. He bumped up against the smooth rise of the outlet and edged up out of the water. The wind was powerful. He could feel it tug at him if he raised a gripping appendage high, but at least over the main path there were eddies along the ground that were so comparatively we that he couldn’t even feel them. He began shuffling at top speed along the path. A the crest of the first high spot the winds did hit him, shoving his body sideways. However, as he had expected it required barely a fraction of his strength to grip the path firmly with his set appendages as he moved the free appendages forward. It barely even slowed him down, the roar of it was rather disconcerting when it wasn’t muted by the base walls however. He did wonder how the human had made it this far. After a long steady shuffle he rounded the corner that was blocking the signal and spotted a tall figure down at the cliff’s edge that wasn’t normally there.
Rollsaround activated the comm he was holding pressed against the ground. There was a significant delay before the human responded.
“Human Friend Conner,” Rollsaround said, trying to put firmness in his tones. “Come now and carry me back to the base. I am at the crest of the hill looking down at you.”
There was an odd sound from the comm that suggested the human was trying to say something back, but human speaking organs were not optimized for shielding the microphone of a comm while speaking so the human simply gave two short radio bursts and the tall figure on the cliff’s edge began swaying back and forth as it moved towards the path. Rollsaround anchored himself more fully against the blasts and watched in grim interest as the gusts blew the tall human form to one side and then the other as the human struggled up the path.
When Human Friend Conner finally did reach him the human didn’t bother speaking. He just reached down with a grin and tried to lift the Undulate off of the path. For one long moment Rollsaround hung on to the ground in a show of strength. He wasn’t sure if it would impress the human but a little dominance display did seem called for. He let go when the look of perplexity fully formed on the humans face but before he could give a more powerful tug and they headed back to the base.
Being carried over a meter above the ground in this wind was another experience altogether. The swaying of the human in the wind felt far wilder than it had looked, and Rollsaround found himself clutching tightly to the human’s coat as the wind tried to rip him away. They finally made the base airlock and stepped through to the blessedly still air. Rollsaround dropped to the floor and shook the cold water off of himself.
“I think Third Sister would like a word with you,” he said.
Granted she would probably want a word with him too, but Human Friend Conner didn’t need to know that.
https://i.redd.it/gdoknun0390d1.gif

Science Fiction Books By Betty Adams

Amazon (Kindle, Paperback, Audiobook)

Barnes & Nobel (Nook, Paperback, Audiobook)

Powell's Books (Paperback)

Kobo by Rakuten (ebook and Audiobook)

Google Play Books (ebook and Audiobook)

Check out my books at any of these sites and leave a review! "Flying Sparks" - a novel set in the "Dying Embers" universe is now avaliable on all sites!
Please go leave a review on Amazon! It really helps and keeps me writing becase tea and taxes don't pay themselves sadly!

I(18f) and a boy(20) were very good friends when he confessed his feelings for me . He texted me around1-2 at night ..I was already offline as i went to sleep . Everything was going fine ...it's been 5 months now. One day we were randomly talking about that time when he confessed his feelings. He used the word "tem love " that time which I thought was a typing error but he told me that he meant temporary love..I was unsure how to react and told him that I didn't like that term to be used for me . But he said that it's normal and there is nothing wrong in that word. I ignored at that time but later again he addressed me as his temporary love and he added that it is tem and true love. He even wrote a poem for me and told me that I am special for him but still temporary. I don't know what does this temporary love means ....idk whether he sure about me or not ...or he would just leave me after sometime..idk what to do ...I really love him but I am just tem for him😔 ...what should I do. Plss any suggestions???

3rd poem I've written, let me know how to improve, thanks.
I'm scared.
I can't see the world clearly, my eyes have been damaged from a screen.
As I reach for my phone, I let out a guttural scream!
The news headlines are crowded with death, and horror.
The videos I cross through are drowning in hate.
//
I keep getting these adverts, for things I don't need;
and yet they're the things I want.
I'm like a fish to bait.
//
I reach for my glasses and nothings all that more clear.
I get a new prescription but that too didn't take away my fear.
I stare at my phone like a deer;
in headlights, traumatised from bright lights.
As I stumble across another video of a gruesome fight.
//
Maybe exercise will fix it, I thought one night.
I got up the next morning, and bought a bike.
When I peddled round and round, somehow I stayed still;
as though I'd already given up my free-will.
//
So I hopped off the bike.
Sat down on a bench.
Looked around at the trees, bushes and flowers;
and submitted to their angelic powers.
They spoke to me in words that are clear;
"Don't worry your safe, mother nature is here."
//
I grabbed my phone the next day;
I didn't look at the screen;
instead I gazed at the ponds wondrous gleam.
I spoke to the trees, bushes and flowers again,
as I buried the phone among the resting place of no men.
Feedback I left
1.https://www.reddit.com/OCPoetry/comments/1cqtd83/comment/l3vyp9c/?utm\_source=share&utm\_medium=web3x&utm\_name=web3xcss&utm\_term=1&utm\_content=share\_button

1. https://www.reddit.com/OCPoetry/comments/1cqwql2/comment/l3w1sqt/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

[All are welcome, provided you dress accordingly, lest you disappoint the count. It’s a Masquerade ball at a faux medieval castle.]
Sazabem Castle on Lake Kardos looked ancient but appearances are deceiving, it was only a few years old, renovated specifically for a fairy tale atmosphere by its latest owner, the illustrious Count Fazekas Bertalan. He was known as an outgoing romantic poet and such a residence fit the bill for the grand parties he threw, where guests would step back in time, to a more elegant age. It was at once such party that allegedly he proposed to the silver screen actress Luca Boros and was turned down. It was the final saga of a whirlwind romance that brought him to the attention of the nation. It is likely a number of his poems were written about her, but she wasn’t the first, he had a bit of a reputation as a playboy. His own ancestral estate in Lower Astana was never in his mind up to par and as a result, he paid little attention to it. Sazabem was his crown jewel where he did all his entertaining.
For his latest party, Fazekas planned an elaborate masquerade ball, where he would invite the most interesting people in the nation, not just aristocrats but politicians and celebrities. He longed for engaging discussion. While not overly political, Fazekas has lent his name to certain liberal causes, such as women’s suffrage and has expressed support for some Liberal party figures, along with some in the PLP. Even then he did not discriminate in his invitations on that basis.
His main goal however was not just conversation, but a more profound connection. He found himself lonely and wished to meet someone that would make him soon forget about Luca. One such lady he hoped to meet was Princess Fruzsina. Perhaps they could strike up a relationship, but that remained to be seen, he would not make that assumption. Still when she confirmed she would be attending, he was quite excited.
The evening of the party, any guests had to cross a bridge to the castle, the gates were ‘guarded’ by his staff in costume. With the exception of the upstairs, guests were free to explore the grounds. The ballroom, one of the private dining rooms and the gardens. Many rooms and spots had great views of Lake Kardos.
Count Bertalan went from room to room, talking to his guests, and making sure the food was good and the beverages were flowing, partaking himself somewhat. Only the finest would do. He himself was dressed up as an 18th century gentleman, in a blue jacket with gold trim. His mask was also gold with a similar pattern. He also wore a carnation.

Unveiling the Allure of the Ghazal Form**
Summary:
A ghazal is a poetic form with Middle Eastern origins, typically composed of rhyming couplets and a repeating refrain. Each line of the poem shares a common meter, and the last word of the second line in each couplet rhymes throughout the poem.
Examples:

1. "The Beloved" by Rumi.
   
2. "Ghazal" by Agha Shahid Ali.
   
3. "The Ghazal of What Hurt" by Peter Cole.
   

Tips for Creative Writing:

• Embrace Repetition: The consistent refrain creates a melodic quality.
  
• Convey Emotional Intensity: Ghazals often explore themes of love, loss, and longing.
  
• Play with Imagery: Use vivid imagery and metaphor to enhance the emotional impact.
  

Questions for Exploration:

1. How does the repetition of the refrain contribute to the overall tone of the ghazal?
   
2. Can you think of other cultural traditions that incorporate similar poetic forms?
   

Additional Resources:

• Read the works of contemporary poets like Fatimah Asghar and Safia Elhillo for modern ghazals.
  
• Explore classical ghazals by Mirza Ghalib for insights into the traditional form.
  

Creative Writing Prompt:
Step 1: Choose a theme or emotion to explore in your ghazal.
Step 2: Craft the first rhyming couplet with a meaningful refrain.
Step 3: Continue developing the theme in subsequent couplets, maintaining the rhyme scheme.
Example:
In the night's embrace, a silent moonlight gleams (A) Lost in the echoes, the heart silently dreams (A) Whispers of love in the gentle night's streams (A) A ghazal's refrain, where longing redeems (A)

KEEP GOING

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(It got too long, sorry, but I needed to explain) I (27F) met this INTJ online (28M) and we talked for about 3 months. Our messages were really deep and we exchanged and shared many values and it felt like we developed a deep connection and shared many views or future visions (marriage, kids etc).. we became closer until we almost every day alept on the phone (he is from another country). He said so many seeet things which even surprised me and I'm a bit shy in the beginning to say such things. But he made me thaw and open up more and more until we both became kinda lovey dovey like a couple. (But wanted to wait till we meet) I wanted to go to his country again anyway, but he gave me another reason to look forward to it a lot. It seemed so obvious that we will start a relationship after meeting that we even searched for Airbnbs together (like for 2 people).
So I went there, he was picking me up from the airport with flowers. But within the first days of my 1,5 month stay he told me he thinks he can't have a relationship now.
Now about all the more confusing things (only the things he did): - He said he started to worry earlier, so not just suddenly. But to me he kept the lovey dovey behaviour up till we met. He even kissed me the first weekend we stayed together. And he cried in my arms while talking about the not being together. - He still spent my whole stay together with me everyday, even though he had to come late after work. He cared so much for me, always asked me if I'm hungry and brought food etc. or cooked for me - Everyday before and after his work we hugged each other and wished us a good day - He told his mom and brother about me during my stay, how kind I am etc and told me his mom said she wants to meet me (why would he mention that though?) - Even though he mentioned one worry is money and time he invited me to eat out a lot and always insisted to pay except for the times I managed to give my card earlier. Even though I told him I don't care about money or his job. We all started somewhere. And I care about him as a person. - I asked for more reasons and he said there are so many worries, more about himself and that he can't tell me everything - He mentioned that I have so many "perfect girlfriend" attributes and something a man would want and wife material, but maybe some men could also think they are not good enough (maybe he also thought that?) - I told him that I usually don't like situations like this, like couple behavioubeing close like this without relationship. He agreed but he said that I am different/we are different. And when I mentioned that maybe because of that we shouldn't stay together in one place he looked really sad and in the end we stayed together till the end and I tried my best to maybe lose his fears/make him feel comfortable and enjoy time with him - He has nobody to talk to other than his family and me, because he prefers to be alone and has no friends. so it meant even more to me that he spent so much time and seemed to like me. - He said I'm a gift to him, the biggest one in his life - He told me how precious I am to him - He said he wants to always help me - He called me "cutie" in my language a lot - We practiced our languages together - Towards the end he opened up more and became more and more comfortable with me, he also mentioned then that he doesn't know if he is deserving of a relationship and when I told him that he seems quite confused he admitted that - He also became more "close" Like hugs or cuddling (not more), like initiated by him - Sometimes he said things quite randomly/surprisingly, like when we were outside he one time said that usually when he is alone he feels nothing, but with me he is happy. Later he also said that multiple times again, that with me every moment was happy and he thanked me for that - He said he also feels guilty, but guilt is not a big reason to spend time with me, if he wouldn't like spending time with me, he wouldn't - Till the end I was in his phone as "My home " with a emoji with the hearts around the head - He made me a very expensive gift in the last night before I left (even though he mentioned that his job isn't that great etc), he thought about it from before I went there - he held my hand when we went to the airport - He said I shouldn't worry too much and we will meet again and can still text, call and maybe videocall
All this effort and how he thinks about me, but being so unsure about his feelings confused me so much. I always wondered why would make someone such effort even after rejecting someone and spend so much time? So I believed in his words and I thought he is just confused and very unsure about himself and his life, from what I felt.
After I left the country he wrote things like he wants to go home together and how thankful he is and happy he was etc. We still texted afterwards but I also always kept the hope, even afterwards. He said I can't change his decision easily, but why are his actions so different from his decision? I asked him clearly if we really won't be ever able to be together, because I thought it's easier for me to accept it and move on after a clear statement. But even the response to that was unclear. Because he said something like "For your sake I think it's right to say that this is right. But you also could feel my heart"
I left him a birthday gift before I left, becaus his birthday was upcoming. And he sent me pictures after opening and also longer messages how it's touching and to thank me a lot. And also saying that I am luck to him and etc. It made me happy that the personalised gift seemed to mean a lot to him. But some days later I noticed he texted less and his responds took so long. (for the first time in months) So I asked him if he is OK? And that I thought he maybe wants to not text that much anymore or that there is a problem.. but it made him go into lecture mode, that I shouldn't assume things, because that's not the case etc. So I felt a bit sorry to express my feelings but I also told him that he also can always tell me when he needs space or something and I just try to understand him better. But he also told me he wished I wouldn't try to understand better. In my case I think an effort to understand each other better is needed though for human relationships. He later also apologised in the middle of the night, that he never wanted to hurt me but did now and that he just doesn't want me to hurt alone anymore. And I also thanked him for caring about me (since his lecturing way is also one of his ways of caring and it also helps me).
He also said if he wouldn't want to text with me or value me he wouldn't do this lecturing and just not respond. After that we exchanged a few longer positive/appreciative messages for 2 days and onto my last one he only put a heart reaction and didn't reply anymore. He liked my story when I wrote a poem in his language which was about him (nobody would know) and saying he shouldn't be too hard on himself. He still looks at my story and didn't change the stickers on his profile (which represented us) etc. I wondered if I should reach out, because it's on my mind everyday too much. Since almost 3 weeks now. But I also said and did everything I could during our time. And I also want to give him space to figure himself and his life out because he spent so much time on me before and he seems very confused about what he wants in life.. I still don't think he is someone who just says meaningful things easily..
I feel like it can't be the end like this.. Do you think he would come back by himself after some time?

Loneliness is still time spent with the world.
Woken up by the usual anxiety attack. Lying in bed feeling like sinking into an agonizing void. It has been two weeks since I broke up, but today hit hard.
You see the hardest part of it all is the loneliness. A loneliness I alone created. I've been living abroad for three years now. Had no friends back there made no new friends here. No people to account for and the one I had is now gone.
Anxiety, depression and loneliness are all here once again. Keeping me company in this empty space I called home. I keep repeating loneliness is still time spent with the world.
It has been a week now since I started smoking again. Like a metronome, every time, when this calamity of my own design happens, I find comfort in lighting a cig and smoking my lungs away. Pointless as it never lasts long. I gaze the city skyline as I did with my person from the balcony we shared many laughs. All those nights. Masochist.
The anxiety uses all of this to tear you apart. Trully shatter you, your heart, your will. You try to make this inanimate pain into something, something tangible, tearing your nails apart until they are bloody. And as an insult to injury, you hate this. These fingers that you told yourself will hold your lover's; embrace your friends; hold flowers; write poems. They but wipe the tears of your face.
And at the end of the day you lie once again in the bed you made for yourself. Alone. Questioning how it all came down to this. But you get no answer.
Loneliness is still time spent with the world.

Does my chicken need to be euthanized?
I have a hen that has for literally months now been sneezing and wheezing. It does it all through the night and all day. It shakes its head when it sneezes.
I've wormed it twice, with no change in symptoms. It was given to me by mum and hatched in her backyard, whereas the other hens in my flock that show no symptoms were purchased from a reputable breeder so I assume they were vaccinated.
From reading, if it's CRD the damage is permanent but I don't really want to spend $120 getting a chicken checked by a vet.

"I played major league baseball for parts of 10 years, and I played in the magnificent city of New York, and as a child in St. Croix that was beyond dreams. Yes, I am a happy man." -- Horace Clarke
The worst stretch of Yankee baseball since the Highlander days, the mid 60s to the mid 70s, is remembered by those who lived through it as the Horace Clarke Era. Unfairly or not, the bespectacled switch-hitting middle infielder from the U.S. Virgin Islands came to symbolize all that was wrong with the Yankees in those sad years.
Horace Meredith Clarke grew up on the island of St. Croix in the U.S. Virgin Islands. He was just the fifth player from the U.S. Virgin Islands to play in the majors, and the first Yankee. His father had grown up playing cricket, and because there were no youth baseball leagues on the island, young Horace played softball. He said he didn't see his first baseball game until around age 13, when he saw some U.S. Navy sailors playing.

“We were poor kids in St. Croix. We played on a field which was right on the ocean and had no fences. We couldn’t afford baseballs. So the coach made the lefthanded batters hit righthanded and the righthanded batters hit lefthanded. This was so they couldn’t hit the ball so far. It saved us from losing the baseballs in the ocean.”

Clarke was spotted by a Yankee scout in the Caribbean and assigned to the lowest run of the Yankee farm system -- the Kearney Yankees in Class D ball. Imagine being an 18-year-old kid from St. Croix in the Caribbean, and arriving in Kearney, Nebraska in the spring of 1958. The culture shock must have been overwhelming. Maybe not surprisingly, Clarke hit a disappointing .225/.322/.283 in 187 at-bats. He said the biggest adjustment wasn't the cold weather, but night games played under the lights, something he'd never done before.
The following year Horace was in the Florida State League, and he thrived in the warmer weather, hitting .293/.375/.366 in 571 at-bats. He also stole 34 bases that year. The year after that, he was back up north, playing for Fargo in the Northern League, and hit .307/.389/.369 in 537 at-bats. The following year was Amarillo in the Texas League, where he hit .300/.364/.429.
Then the next three years in the International League, where he hit .281/.345/.352 in 1,494 at-bats while playing shortstop and second base.
But despite Clarke's promise, he was blocked by Bobby Richardson. By the time Clarke had reached Triple-A at age 24 in 1963, the 27-year-old Richardson had already been a four-time All-Star, a two-time Gold Glove winner, and had won three World Series rings... plus the MVP for the 1960 World Series, the only time in baseball history a player for the losing team won the award!
But the Yankees knew Richardson was planning on retiring, so they kept Clarke waiting in the wings. He opened the year with the Toledo Mud Hens, then the Yankees' Triple-A team, and then after a month he finally got the call to the show.
Fifty-nine years ago today, on May 13, 1965, Clarke was sent up to the plate in the 7th inning as a pinch hitter to make his major league debut in a game the Yankees were losing, 4-1, to the Boston Red Sox in Fenway Park.
Clarke, facing Dave Morehead, beat out an infield single. It was a promising beginning. But, as if scripted to be symbolic of his career, Clarke's success was short-lived as the next batter bounced into a fielder's choice. Forced out at second base, Clarke watched the rest of the game from the dugout. The next day he'd get the start and go 0-for-4.
Hitting .250/.298/.269 at the end of June as a utility infielder, Clarke was sent back down to Toledo for two months to get more regular playing time. It helped. When he returned on September 3 -- coincidentally, also against the Red Sox -- he went 3-for-5 with an RBI. Overall that month, Clarke hit .273/.298/.327, and for the season, .262/.298/.299 in 115 plate appearances. But the Yankees, the reigning A.L. champions for the past five seasons, finished a shocking 77-85, all the way in sixth place.
That off-season, Phil Linz -- the harmonica playing utility infielder -- was traded to the Phillies, opening up a roster spot for Clarke. Richardson, though only 31, had told the Yankees he would retire at the end of the 1966 season, and the Yankees wanted him to mentor Clarke as his successor.
Clarke started just seven games over the first half, but a series of injuries forced him into regular service. Over the second half, he played almost every day, hitting .276/.334/.404 in 300 plate appearances. He was mostly used at shortstop, where his defense wasn't great, but in 16 games at second base he looked good enough that the Yankees were confident he could be a regular there. Yankee fans were no doubt a little sad when Richardson officially announced to the press on August 31 that it was his last season, but at least we knew who would be playing second base the following year.
Indeed, second base was the least of the Yankees' problems. New York finished dead last at 70-89 in 1966, the team's worst performance since 1925, as injuries fell Mickey Mantle, Roger Maris, Elston Howard, and Whitey Ford.
Entering 1967 as the starting second baseman, Clarke hit a solid .272/.321/.316 (94 OPS+) in 633 plate appearances while leading the league in fielding percentage, assists, and range factor as a second baseman. He also stole 21 bases in 25 tries, a second-best .840 SB%. His 3.7 bWAR that year was better than any season Richardson ever had -- his career high was 3.2 bWAR in 1962.
The following year, the Yankees finished 83-79 -- above .500 for the first time in four seasons -- but a whopping 34.5 games out. Clarke had one of the worst years of his career, hitting .230/.258/.254 (60 OPS+) as he played through injuries all year.
He rebounded in 1969 to .285/.339/.467 (101 OPS+), with 33 stolen bases. It was, statistically, the best season of his career (3.9 bWAR). But once again the Yankees were terrible -- 28.5 games out.
In 1970, Clarke again disappointed, hitting .251/.286/.309 (68 OPS+). The Yankees won 93 games that year, but it amounted to naught as the Orioles ran away with the pennant, going 108-54 to win it by 15 games. In fact, it was pretty much over by July, with the Yankees 7 games out at the All-Star break.
It was around this time that Yankee fans began focusing their frustration on Clarke. One New York sportswriter routinely referred to him as "Horrible Horace". Miscast as a leadoff man -- he had a career .308 OBP -- and criticized for "bailing out" on double plays, manager Ralph Houk years later offered a tepid defense of his second baseman:

“I know I got a lot of criticism for playing Horace Clarke as much as I did, but he was a lot better ballplayer than anyone gave him credit for. He did a lot of things good but nothing great, and that was his problem. Besides, I didn’t have anyone else.”

The lack of a replacement was certainly an issue. In 1971, there was talk in The Sporting News about a prospect named Fred Frazier being the heir apparent to Clarke at second base. That year, Frazier hit a disappointing .261/.316/.313 in Triple-A; the next year, .216/.302/.281. The year after that, he was in the Orioles organization. He never made it out of the minors.
In fact, Clarke was the only constant in the Yankee infield in the late 1960s and early 1970s. The Yankees during the, ahem, Horace Clarke Era had holes everywhere, with a revolving door at first base, third base, and shortstop. For five years, from 1967 to 1971, Clarke was the Opening Day starter at second base; during that same stretch, there were five different third basemen, five different third basemen, and three different shortstops. Between 1967 and 1973, he started 1,017 games at second base, or 90% of all Yankee games.
But that, explained Yankees PR man Marty Appel, was kind of the problem. "Fans especially didn’t like the second baseman, the beleaguered Horace Clarke, whose major flaw seemed to be longevity. It wasn’t his fault that no one better came along, and he was a better player than the fans gave him credit for. But because he was out there, year after year, he came to stand for this disappointing run by the club."

"I always did my best. I always played as hard as I could. I never was concerned about how the fans reacted to me." -- Horace Clarke

The following year Clarke hit .250/.321/.318 in 696 plate appearances, but the Yankees again were out of it, finishing 82-80 in 1971.
Yankee fans had been miserable since 1965, but frustration with the team in general -- and Clarke in particular -- reached a boiling point in 1972. It had been seven years since the Yankees had been in the post-season, and 1972 was the first year the Yankees had the playoffs within our grasp since winning the pennant in 1964. (The "closest and latest" the Yankees had been since the 1965 season was 9 games out of 1st place on September 8, 1970.)
On September 12, 1972, the Yankees were a half-game out of 1st place at 74-64, with 17 games left to go in the season. The Red Sox were in 1st at 73-62, the Orioles tied with New York at 74-64, and the Tigers a half-game behind at 73-64. Over the rest of the season, the Yankees went a heartbreaking 5-12, while the Tigers won 13 out of 19 to win the A.L. East.
There was plenty of blame to go around for that collapse, but Yankee fans were particularly irate at Clarke, who hit .225/.267/.296 during those final 17 games.
To his credit, Clarke never complained about the boos from fans or the criticism in the press. As quoted by Dick Young in the New York Daily News in 1972:

"Sure, I would feel bad when I saw in the papers that, 'the Yankees can never win the pennant with that guy at second base.' But why get mad. I figure that's his opinion, and he's entitled to it. I must have been able to do something. Don't tell me a ballplayer can fool a manager for seven years."

Years later, Thurman Munson said his adversarial relationship with the media was based on how Horace Clarke was treated.
In 1973, the 34-year-old Clarke hit .263/.317/.308 (80 OPS+), his defense was no longer among the league leaders, and the Yankees were once again double-digit games behind by Labor Day.
It was finally time to move on. That off season, the Yankees acquired 23-year-old utility infielder Jim Mason from the Texas Rangers and installed him as the starting shortstop for the upcoming 1974 season; Gene Michael, the Yankees' on-again, off-again shortstop since 1968, was moved to second base; and Clarke to the bench. It wasn't exactly an earth-shattering move -- Mason was coming off a season in which he hit .206/.273/.290, and Michael .225/.270/.278. If anything, the two represented a substantial downgrade from Clarke's numbers. (By bWAR the previous season, Clarke was still the best option of the three, 0.6 compared to Mason's -0.7 and Michael's -0.9.)
After hitting .234/.294/.255 in 53 plate appearances as a pinch hitter and spot starter, on May 31, 1974, the Yankees finally ended the Horace Clarke Era by selling his contract to the San Diego Padres along with minor league pitcher Lowell Palmer for $25,000. At the time of the deal, Clarke was still the Yankees' best option at second base as Mason was hitting .214/.287/.307 and Michael a putrid .134/.224/.179!
Six weeks later, the Yankees tried to address their second base problem again by acquiring former All-Star Sandy Alomar from the Angels. Alomar, who fathered major leaguers Sandy Jr. and Roberto, played for the Yankees for the next two and a half seasons, hitting .248/.287/.302... again, worse than Horace's career average of .256/.308/.313.
And yet getting rid of Horace Clarke immediately turned around the Yankees' fortunes. With Horace, the Yankees were 23-27, the worst record in the American League; without him, a second-best 66-46. New York finished 89-73, just two games behind the Baltimore Orioles.
The Yankees finally found a solution to the second base problem on December 11, 1975, trading previously forgotten Yankee Doc Medich to the Pirates for Dock Ellis, Ken Brett, and a 20-year-old prospect named Willie Randolph.
Meanwhile, Clarke went to San Diego and hit .189/.255/.200 in 99 plate appearances. He was released at the end of the season and retired. He was a frequent attendee at Yankee Old Timers' Games, and promoted baseball in the U.S. Virgin Islands. He died at age 81 on August 5, 2020, from complications due to Alzheimer's disease.
The Clarke Side

• Horace's nickname was "Hoss". Yankee play-by-play man Bill White loved to draw out the "s" sound.
  
• Clarke had a reputation of being timid on double plays -- the team's pitchers thought he was apt to hold onto the ball and hop aside rather than try to get off a throw if it meant getting barreled over by the runner. (And in those days, runners came in hard -- just ask Willie Randolph!) Yankee pitchers complained to the press about it, and fans started watching for such plays. Any time the 175-pound Clarke didn't complete a double play, the boo birds came out. To be fair, despite his reputation as being afraid of contact, Clarke led the league in double plays turned as a second baseman in 1969 and again in 1971, and finished in the top five every year he was a regular.
  
• Clarke was the last Yankee to live within walking distance of Yankee Stadium, at the Grand Concourse Hotel. His commute to work was a three-block walk... which could be a problem sometimes. Sportswriter Dick Young reported Clarke had an awkward moment when a fan, "this kid, maybe 11 or 12," walked up and asked: "Hey Hoss, how come you can't make the double play?" Clarke replied: "Well, we can't all be stars. I guess I'm just a lousy ballplayer."
  
• Clarke had an unusual batting stance, a throwback to the Deadball Era. He stood with his legs far apart and he choked up high on the bat. Not surprisingly, he had just 27 home runs in 5,243 career plate appearances... but apparently all of them were of the over-the-fence variety.
  
• The first of those 27 home runs was a grand slam! It was off Floyd Weaver of the Cleveland Indians on September 21, 1965. The two-out grand slam in the 4th inning helped power the Yankees to a 9-4 win.
  
• And Clarke's second career home run? Another grand slam! It came on July 16, 1966. Clarke came up with the bases loaded and one out in the top of the 10th of a 5-5 game. Clarke crushed Jack Aker's offering to deep right to clear the bases and give the Yankees a 9-5 lead; Pedro Ramos pitched a perfect 9th to preserve the victory. Whitey Ford, who had entered the game in the 9th inning in relief, got the win. Clarke's first and second home runs were the only grand slams of his career!
  
• Aker was later Clarke's teammate with the Yankees from 1969 to 1972, and the sinkerballing reliever was one of the pitchers who criticized Horace about bailing out on double plays.
  
• Long before John Olerud made it cool, Horace sometimes wore a batting helmet while playing the field. He never explained why; some speculated it was because he'd once been hit in the head by a thrown ball.
  
• Clarke said he grew up listening to Yankee games on the radio, and Phil Rizzuto -- a similarly undersized infielder -- was his favorite player. Horace was 11 years old when the Scooter won the A.L. MVP in 1950.
  
• Mickey Mantle, his knees shot, moved to first base for the final two years of his career. Clarke, the regular second baseman both of those seasons, said that Mantle told him to get every ball he could. Horace led the league in range factor as a second baseman both of those seasons.
  
• The Sporting News reported on March 14, 1970, that Clarke had a "novel twist" during salary negotiations for the upcoming 1970 season. He told the Yankees he'd take less money in salary if they helped him secure a $1 million loan for a construction project in the Virgin Islands. Sportswriter Dick Young speculated: "It's a very simple gimmick. First you get the Yankees to lend you $1 million for an investment. You bank it at seven percent. That brings in $70,000 a year. Then you negotiate your contract with the independent feeling that you don't have to play baseball for a living." Clarke and the Yankees eventually agreed on a more conventional contract at $32,000 -- and no loan.
  
• Check out Horace Clarke's leadoff single on Opening Day in 1970, called by Phil Rizzuto! #23 playing first base for the Yankees is not Don Mattingly, but previously forgotten Yankee John Ellis.
  
• Clarke set the major league career record -- since tied by Joe Mauer -- of most no-hitters broken up in the 9th inning. Both players did it three times in their career... but Clarke did it three times in the same season! He had 9th inning singles to break up no-no's by Kansas City's Jim Rooker on June 4, 1970, Boston's Sonny Siebert on June 19, 1970, and Detroit's Joe Niekro on July 2, 1970. No other hitter has broken up more than two no-hitters in the 9th inning in his career, according to the book Baseball's No-Hit Wonders by Dirk Lammers, but Clarke amazingly did it three times in 24 games spread over 28 days. Mauer's 9th inning heartbreakers came over a six-year stretch.
  
• Clarke went 5-for-6 with an RBI in the second game of a doubleheader on April 19, 1970 -- and had 11 other games where he had four hits. In terms of fantasy scoring, his best day was either May 21, 1969, when he went 4-for-6 with three runs scored and three stolen bases, or July 22, 1971, when he was 4-for-5 with three runs scored and three RBIs.
  
• Clarke was involved in one of the most surreal moments of baseball history on the final day of the 1971 season. The Yankees were playing the Washington Senators -- not the original Senators, who had moved to Minnesota to become the Twins in 1961, but the expansion team founded that same year to replace them. Rangers owner Bob Short, who had bought the team three years earlier, announced he was moving the team to Arlington, Texas, to become the Rangers. (Coincidentally, in 1957, Short had bought the Minneapolis Lakers and, three years later, moved them to Los Angeles.) The final home game of the Senators at RFK Stadium in Washington, D.C., was on September 30, 1971 against the Yankees. The game was tied, 5-5, but the soon-to-be Rangers scored a pair in the bottom of the 8th to take a 7-5 lead. In the top of the 9th, Felipe Alou and Bobby Murcer grounded out to bring up Horace Clarke. Before he could get to the plate, however, a fan ran onto the field and pulled up first base, prompting hundreds more fans to run onto the field in search of their own souvenirs. Clarke and the Senators ran off the field and the umpires called it a forfeit in favor of the Yankees.
  
• Horace wore #20 all 10 seasons he was with the Yankees. It was never a particularly popular number before him, as the only player who wore it more than a few seasons was Tiny Bonham (1940-1946). Bucky Dent wore #20 from 1977 to 1982, and previously forgotten Yankee Bobby Meacham from 1983 to 1988. Another previously forgotten Yankee, Mike Stanley, wore it from 1992 to 1995, then Jorge Posada had it until Stanley returned in 1997 and reclaimed it. After Stanley left the Yankees, he asked Posada to take it back, saying that number should belong to a catcher. And now it always will, as it was retired for Posada in 2015.
  
• His obituary in The New York Times noted that among major leaguers from the Virgin Islands -- "a relatively small roster" -- Clarke still holds the records for games played, hits, runs, RBIs, and stolen bases.
  
• After he retired, Clarke helped promote youth baseball in the U.S. Virgin Islands. One of the players he mentored was Jerry Browne, who played 10 years in the majors between 1986 and 1995 with the Rangers, Indians, A's, and Marlins. In his SABR biography, Browne credits Clarke with teaching him baseball fundamentals.
  
• According to the book Where Have All Our Yankees Gone? by Brian Jensen, Clarke played a uniquely Caribbean instrument called "the vibes." "The vibes is like a xylophone, marimba-related type sound. It's a keyboard-type related instrument." Clarke said he played the instrument during his Yankee days, but -- unlike Bernie Williams, who frequently strummed on his guitar in the clubhouse -- only during the off-season. "When I was with the Yankees, ya know, the instrument that I had, the vibes, I was doing it, ya know, but never in the clubhouse, though. Once you are in the clubhouse, it is all work, ya know. That was never so much allowed. I had the instrument all the years that I was a Yankee but I was involved with baseball. That was my full time and I didn't have full time to play music but, ya know, in the off-season I would have a vibe and try to learn a song by hearing from a tape or a record and that's what it was." After retiring, Clarke played the instrument with a local band called Out of Nowhere.
  
• Of the 15 major leaguers to have been born in the U.S. Virgin Islands, the only other Yankee was Elrod Hendricks, a backup catcher for the Bombers from 1976 to 1977. Jabari Blash, born in St. Thomas, gets an honorable mention for the three months he spent as a Yankee during the 2017-2018 off-season. Blash was acquired from the Padres for Chase Headley on December 12, then traded to the Angels for a PTBNL or cash considerations. I guess we got the cash, because apparently no player was ever named.
  
• There's a Horace Clarke High School in Jamaica, but it's not named after the Yankee. It's named after the Horace Clarke who was a member of parliament in Jamaica from 1972 to 2002.
  
• Also not him: Horace Clarke, a teenager shot and seriously wounded by a Blackfeet Indian named Owl Child on August 17, 1869. Clarke's father, Malcolm, was killed in the same attack, which was purportedly revenge for Malcolm Clarke having attacked him two years earlier... which Malcolm claimed he'd done because Owl Child had stolen horses from him... which Owl Child said he'd done in revenge for yet an earlier dispute. The pursuit of Owl Child resulted in a massacre of at least 170 people, mostly elderly men, women, and children. As for Owl Child, he escaped to Canada and was never seen again.
  

"I remember the first game I played in Yankee Stadium in 1965. There were more than 40,000 people in the stands. I had just come from my country where there are 30,000 people in the entire country. That was some adjustment." -- Horace Clarke

Overall, Horace Clarke hit .257/.309/.315 in 5,144 plate appearances as a Yankee. His numbers aren't quite as bad as they appear, as he played during one of the lowest offense eras since deadball... an 84 OPS+. That ranks him ahead of fondly-remembered Yankees like Shelley Duncan (81 OPS+), Rick Cerone (80 OPS+), Miguel Cairo (80 OPS+), Bucky Dent (72 OPS+), and... Bobby Richardson (77 OPS+). And while many complained about his defense, his defensive metrics -- such as we have for his era -- indicate he was at least an average defender. He led the league in range factor three times, in fielding percentage once, in assists six times, and in double plays twice.
People tend to think about Clarke -- if they think about him at all -- as either a terrible player, representative of the teams he played on, or a good player who was wasted on bad teams. The truth is somewhere in the middle. As sportswriter Maury Allen said, he was "an average big-leaguer on below-average Yankee teams."
And in fact, Clarke's 16.0 career bWAR as a Yankee is twice as much value as the player he replaced, Bobby Richardson (8.0 bWAR). But Richardson was a fan favorite, while Clarke was scorned. But of course... Richardson won three rings. And Yankee fans love a winner!

"New York is New York. You don’t win, you’re going to hear about it. I was in the middle." -- Horace Clarke

Had Clarke come along a few years earlier and been part of the early 1960s dynasty, he might be remembered fondly as a scrappy infielder, a Tony Kubek or a Bucky Dent or a Scott Brosius -- a good but not great player who had some memorable moments.
Instead, Horace Clarke defines an era of futility.