My Creative Writing: Poetry

Many of my creative pieces can be linked back to the specific songs that inspired them, and this one is no exception.  Music can evoke such potent emotion, and I love letting that emotion just carry me away.  As always, I appreciate each and every comment and critique!  Thanks for reading!

 

Cursive Lines

sometimes I wonder what it is
beneath my ribs
that beats and flutters so
and rises with the words
of a crooning song,
the lyrics a cry for freedom
the notes a bid for flight

it feels as though it wishes to burst,
as if
(if it swells any more)
I will rise on its current,
floating away in the wind,
the freest bird in the sky

but the cold of the world
drags me down –
the beat within the white cage
labors on,
the fluttery throb of hope
all but lost

for though I reach out,
my fingers grazing the rough edges
of my unfulfilled dreams,
they tease my fumbling grasp
and withdraw
out of reach

I wish to sing,
to let my voice be carried
to the ends of the world
as my inky fingers
dip again into the feathery depths
of the well of my inspiration,
my fingerprints everywhere
touching everything
everyone
with the words of whispered rhymes
and heart-rending tales

who hasn’t wished
for the beautiful dreams
that haunt the gold of sleep
to come true at last?
but ah, few get
the reward of white doves
and the chance to dream on

I wish that the beauty
                                                         higher

                                                me

of cursive lines would  take
as the sun in my heart burns on
longing for what?
its own song is a complicated string
of arpeggios and dissonant chords
that beg for my attention
as my mind wanders
following the flapping wings
of my fleeing fantasies

no diamond tears
or crystalline cries
will make the music of my heart
and the ink of my soul
translate itself into the weeping voice
and dancing fingers
of my wandering dreams

yet still I wail and    s  t  r  e  t  c  h    out my hand
toward something that seems
to move slowly away
an enigma of the flowing river
its caresses cold and gentle
against my bloodless body

so yes, I wait
as the condensation
of all that I wish to be
falls on the ground of
who I am.

 

 

 

~   fly me away
on wings of old
up to stay
among the stars so cold

on wings of white
and dreams that soar
show me the sight
of what flying is for

My Creative Writing: Poetry

Ok, I must admit that I’m really excited about this post.  This week’s piece of poetry is “balloons and fairy wings.”  Of all the poetry I’ve ever written, this one is my favourite. :3  I realize that in saying that, I’m setting myself up for high expectations from my readers, but I’m going to say it anyway!

This poem also happens to be one of the few pieces I’ve read aloud, so if you’re interested in hearing it, here’s the link: https://soundcloud.com/mistressofquills/balloons-and-fairy-wings.

Anyway, I always love and appreciate comments on the quality and writing I display in the “My Creative Writing” posts, so thanks for reading!

 

balloons and fairy wings

I wish emotions
could be tied to words
the way they’re tied
to memories:
like the way strings
are tied to balloons
or the way wings
are tied to fairies’ backs –
with a bow and a knot
so the words
are never forgotten
and the emotions
that swayed the heart
and captured the soul
at the time of their birth
are never lost to the snatching,
jealous fist of time

you see, it’s quite a journey
being born as a writer’s words:
you open your eyes
to a world of vivid color
and (sometimes)
crippling emotion
feeling the sharpness of reality
hearing the noise
of a deaf world weeping
tasting the tang
of an infant’s breath of old air
and noticing the scent
of a cruel, unsympathetic universe

an infant word
is like an infant star:
when you grow
(and become loved
by your Creator)
you mature to shine
with your own beauty –
a brilliance
to which very few things
can ever compare

yet you are distant
and your light so very cold…

but I love you
and the stars
anyway

My Creative Writing: Poetry

Finally I’m getting to show you some poetry that isn’t ancient history!  I feel like I’ve come a long way in improving my poetry since I started writing it regularly, so it’s nice to look not-so-far-back and feel good about the quality of these pieces.  Today’s poem is one that I wrote in March, called “I Never Said I Was Ordinary.”  As always, I would really appreciate comments about the poem’s quality – what works and what doesn’t?  Does the meter flow well?  Do the images make sense/ are they clear to you?  Do the rhymes work?  Is it too long/ are there parts you think are unnecessary?  Thanks for reading!

 

I Never Said I Was Ordinary

you look at me as if there are stars in my eyes
blinding you with an unknown brilliance~
at least, unknown to me.

you say I don’t know it, but that I am wise
and I push you to the limits of resilience,
though I am too far gone to see.

you say the glimmer in my heart
shows itself in my written art,
yet I can’t see what it is I write,
as though my mind takes flight.

for though you see an innate beauty in me,
I only see what my eyes perceive~
if that is truth, then so be it.

I only see the world in its reality
with all the pain of humanity it can conceive
and the fleeting beauty within it.

my mind roams amongst the sea mist,
floating like a bird o’er the water, sun kissed
so yes, my eyes take on the absence
and glimmer with the reflection hence.

you say I am noble, radiating poise,
that I show a dignity born of confidence –
if I do, it was born of a once profound disquiet.

you say my voice is light and lilting, a sweet noise,
that my words leave you listening in suspense,
but I only hear the beauty of the still and quiet.

my dear, I am simply crying to the moon,
aching to sigh and sing and croon,
my voice rising with the song of a faery –
for, my love, I never said I was ordinary.

My Creative Writing: Poetry

Hello all!

Well, the summer is finally getting interesting now that I’ve got a weekend job and am in the process of getting employed as a nanny for the weekdays, and now I’m finally making some headway on my commissions!  New stories are coming to mind, and the time is ripe for inspiration!  I’m excited to show you what I create next, but for now we’ll stick to the things that have been written for a while and have been critiqued and improved(:

I wrote this poem after reading most of the book by Wes Moore called “The Other Wes Moore.”  It’s a wonderful story, and it gave me the inspiration to write this poem. Let me know what you think!

“…it’s hard sometimes to distinguish between second chances and last chances.”
– Wes Moore

 

The Street

Under lamps as tall as trees
And loud or laughing conversations buzzing like bees,
There lies an old grey street.

Many a car and pedestrian
Has its cracked sidewalks and faded line-paint seen,
And policemen, gazes keen.

Small children playing ball
As mothers yell warnings, using full names and all,
Summer sun, bright and hot.

But not just as a playground
Has its purpose served, but also drug-dealer spots
And beds for bums, minus cots.

The people wear old eyes,
Jaded, faded, and worn with time’s desperate cries,
Aged beyond rightful age.

Slow steps walk the street,
Shuffling and dragging like nowhere is worth going,
Ash-grey concrete-wandering…

Dull sky and lifeless world;
Even the yellow paint is cheerless, even if it’s curled
In its sharp, winding turns.

Hope is scarce, love more so
And kindness is a thing forgotten in the distant past,
Hiding from people harassed.

These are the grey streets
That crisscross our cities, rain coming down in sheets,
Poverty reigning just as heavy.

The fear is hard to grasp
When you’re from a background and home like mine,
Where safety is benign.

So many different realms
Can exist in the very same city! The change overwhelms
And awakens us to reality.

Looking into the recent past,
So calloused to – and ignorant of – life’s reality we’ve become;
We’ve become so very numb.

What is life really like outside
Our own little personal worlds? What could one little stride
Have changed if it was wrong?

Life’s details and how we cope
With what we endure – these are what seem to decide our fate,
And if the path we walk will be straight.

My Creative Writing: Poetry

Hey guys!  I think one of the best things about learning is that you also improve in whatever you’re learning about. I love looking back at my writing and seeing how far I’ve come! I used to write all fixed-form poetry, stuff that has fixed lines and syllable counts, as well as specific rhyme schemes, but now that I’ve grown more in my writing style and skill set, I’ve taken to writing a LOT more free verse poetry. So! Flash from the past, this is a poem I wrote almost a year ago, and it’s from that time when I almost exclusively wrote fixed-form poetry. I hope you like it! Tell me what you think, and, as always, thanks for reading!(:

 

Poison

There’s ice in my blood, in the blue veins,
and Pain whips its scorching-hot reigns,
yanking and tightening its cruel hold
until my whole body grows very cold…

Licking crimson fire and creeping cobalt ice –
they clasp my limp body in an iron vice
so steel-strong and diamond-hard
that the black cords leave me scarred…

The fire drags me into the deep black,
the ice shows me memories of way back.
Colors dance before my feverish eyes
and images roam with deafening cries…

Voices softly whisper and gently plead,
but I can’t hear that they and their words bleed.
They don’t realize that this mortal disease
isn’t visible, nor recognized with ease…

Painful? Certainly. Serious? Yes. Deadly? Aye.
But completely hidden from the human eye.
Outside I’m calm, composed, but fake,
the true illness lying buried but awake…

A toxic poison slowly spreading to its goal,
eating, chipping away at my blackening soul,
and my weak, fluttering excuse for a heart,
malady oh so stubborn, refusing to depart…

Thoughts and dreams of just one image:
a face – dragged from the past’s muddy dredge –
once sweet and dear, now loathed and despised,
a face which hid a black heart well-disguised…

He fills my head, my heart and my soul,
for my ignorance, my innocence he stole,
leaving me empty, alone and searching…
seeking, questing, looking, but never finding…

I fear my heart will remain vacant and closed
until the One, my doctor, calm and composed,
can come to drive the poison away forever,
replacing deadly disease with loving care.

Published!

Well, at long last, we finally got copies of my University’s annual art book, and my poem “Ink” got included! It’s not a huge publication, but it’s my first time getting my work put into anything that the public will read, so it’s pretty cool for me(: If you haven’t read my poem from a previous post, I’ve put it below. Thanks for reading, and thanks for your support!

 

Ink

I wish I could inhale ink,
infusing my fragile body
with the ichor of inspiration
I wish it would mark me as its own
a beautiful child of the Muse
born to wield ink and pen
like a jagged ebony sword
I would be born with the ability
to sing truth and spin epics
I would be the quintessence
of a writing-imbued soul.

I wish the ebony liquid
of the poets and great storytellers of old
would seep its way into my veins
cloak my blood in thick shadow
color my hair in dark secrets
so that every glimpse of me
would echo with the whispers
of spider-webbed story
and tattooed poetry
every reflection of me would shriek
with the screams of unuttered truth.

My eyes would shine with dreams
full of wonder and glorious chaos
whirling with the ideas of humanity
and the conundrum of eternity
the beauty of nature
and the simplicity of children
the epics of ancient time
and the words of the new
the complexity of emotion
and the raw surge of knowing
what life really is.

What can control me but
the black splashes of feathery ink
on the pristine white of death?
I live for the moments of
licking fire and leaping flame
power infusing my words
as they reach out their hands
calling their siren songs
to those who have wistful souls
and beautiful minds
easily ensnared by eloquence.

I dance in the black pools
my heart melting in the shivery warmth
it is comforting, it is home
I sink into its depths
letting its art coat me with beauty
tattooing me in verse and story
with writhing patterns
and screaming words
my lungs inhale the poetic air
and I gasp as it sears me
with eternal heat

With every shuddering breath
I would breathe life into the bloody ink
I would be the embodiment of writing
I would be words incarnate
rumbling thunder would echo
in memory of my words
as they were etched into eternal stone
starspun threads of silver,
shining veins of life woven
amongst the ebony ink
I would live forever.

Sorry for the Sudden Hiatus! — My Creative Writing: Poetry

Hey everyone!  I know it’s been almost three weeks since I posted something, and there is a good reason for it, I promise!  School has been finishing up, and as of now I am in the middle of Finals week.  The school year ends this Friday and then I’m free for the summer!  So that’s why I haven’t been posting – I’ve been swamped with papers, projects, presentations, tests, and now finals, so I haven’t really had the time to post anything… Sorry about that!

But I’m back now and I bring more of my creative writing!  Oh, and I should hear soon whether the pieces I submitted got added to the book of art my University is publishing, so I’ll let y’all know as soon as I know!

Anyway, here’s a poem I wrote last year in August.  Each stanza represents a different kind of grief: stanza 1: loneliness, 2 and 3: the death of a loved one, 4: missing a loved one who is far away, and 5: disappointment/betrayal.  Thanks for reading!

 

Colorful Sorrow

Orange clouds,
Stone grey life,
Shim’ring shrouds…
Green mist haze,
Blood-red tears,
Empty gaze…
Full pink lips,
Blackened heart,
Sailing ships.

Heated blood,
Tender words,
Emotions flood…
Cold hard mind,
Warm body,
Words so kind…
Open grave,
Beating rain,
Standing brave.

Gone forever,
Empty rooms,
Ties to sever…
Time’s a blur,
White roses,
Are you sure?
Crystal drips,
Absence felt,
Blank fear grips…

Beaten gong,
Moonlight grass
Sad little song…
Silver lining,
Little bells,
A voice crying…
Long thin sighs,
Parted lips,
Golden eyes…

Ashen face,
Purple eyes,
Silken lace…
Yellow dress,
Bad tattoo,
Cobalt tress…
Mother’s eyes,
Saddened gaze,
Respect dies.