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Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

Some Poetry To Share!

Happy Labor Day for all who celebrate this holiday. I had to run some errands earlier and encountered many people on the road with their huge boats and canoes on trailers. I guess some people are off to the rivers and lakes today. Not me, of course. I’m sitting here working on my book. Like a good writer haha.

I wasn’t sure what I was going to write about today, so I decided to bring back some poetry I have written for those who may not have read it before. I used to do monthly poetry weekends on this blog but not a lot of people really participated and I got too busy writing the book to write poetry.  I am actually thinking about compiling my poetry and publishing them as a book. Please feel free to leave a comment with what you thought about the poems! I love to read feedback.

What I’ve Done

I walked up a mountain today,
Just for the scenery.
I jumped out of an airplane
Just to feel the thrill.
I swam the English Channel,
Just to see the fish.
I donated a million dollars,
Just to see a smile.
I ran with the bulls in Mexico
Just to show I had no fear.
I won a Nobel Peace Prize
Just to prove that I’m able.
I saved someone’s precious live
Just because they needed me.
I made my mark upon the world
Just to make you notice.
Did you?

Personal Demon

You are a shadow in the dark,
A ghost with a story to tell.
You soon came to haunt me
With your bright red eyes
And white gleaming teeth.
You become my personal demon,
Something I had to conquer.
Go ahead and slink the shadows.
I can feel your presence nightly.
You don’t scare me anymore.
You can’t intimidate me.
I believe in your existence,
But I won’t believe in your lies.

Our Garden Couldn’t Last

The day we met, you gave me some seeds
And I planted them in my garden.
As we become closer, our plants grew
Into flowering towers of green.
We laughed and sat there
With our toes buried in the dirt.
It was like watching our love grow.
Then, one day, a drought came
And our beautiful flowers went away.
It was then that I realized it was
Merely a cruel sign.
For that after, our love did die
As our plants crumpled to the ground.

Morning Pessimism

The sun is shining
And the birds are singing.
I guess that means it’s morning.
It’s time to start a new day,
Hopefully better than the last.
I think I’ll be just fine
As long as you don’t call.
Hell, don’t even write.
Each day is an honest mystery,
But what I know is this:
That sun is awfully  bright
And I lost my sunglasses.

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I’m preparing for a three day trip to St. Louis on Tuesday, so I’ll admit writing hasn’t been on my mind.  One thing any writer has to learn that it’s okay to not have writing on your mind all day, every day. It’s okay to not be focused on it so much that it takes over your whole life. I used to think that’s how it had to be. I always thought that I had to be sitting in front of my laptop, typing away until my fingers bled (okay, not literally but you get the point, right?)

Ever since I hit my major writer’s block, I had to learn that it’s really okay to forgive yourself if you don’t write every day. Sometimes we all need a break from things. We need to clear our heads so we can get back to the stories.  I’ve had to put away the book I was working on last year and focus on a different story. Sometimes that’s what we have to do in order to keep going.  I’ve had to learn to tell myself that doing that is okay, too. I’m not a failure as a writer. I’m just taking my time instead of rushing the process.

Don’t beat yourself up if you don’t hit your word count or you’re not able to write at all. My college creative writing teacher told me (and the class, of course) that as long as you write one word (just one word) that you have made progress so it’s okay. If you start feeling the pressure, maybe it’s time to take a step back and breathe. Take a walk, take a break, clear your head. Take some time out for you so you can continue your story. Don’t let writer’s block get to you.

I’m not sure if a three day vacation will help me or not, but I guess we will see.

In other news, I’ve been looking through the poems I have written (I miss my poetry weekends I had on here..). I’ve been thinking about compiling a bunch and maybe putting out a book of poetry. Granted, I haven’t really written any poetry in quite a few months, but I think I have enough to put a book together.

I hope….

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Memphis Blues

As I was walking down Beale Street,
I saw an old man,
Picking at an old guitar he held tightly
Between two weathered and worn hands.
I stood and watched as his fingers flew
Across the strings of that old guitar
His voice came on strong,
Singing of a broken heart
And wounds that won’t heal.
His guitar twanged and my heart
Leapt into my throat.
His pain became my own
As I listened to his sad song.
All of a sudden, his blue eyes
Locked onto mine, piercing my soul.
“How can you deal with such pain?”
I asked, desperate for some answers.
He shrugged and continued to make
That ancient guitar wail in his hands.
“It ain’t no big deal,” he sang softly.
“It’s just the good ole’ Memphis blues.”

 

Morning Pessimism

The sun is shining

and the birds are singing.

I guess that means it’s morning.

It’s time to start a new day,

hopefully better than the last.

I think I’ll be fine

as long as you don’t call.

Hell, don’t even write.

Each day is an honest mystery,

but what I know is this:

That sun is awfully bright

and I lost my sunglasses.

 

The last poem to end this month’s poetry weekend is the poem that brought out the serial story by the same name. 🙂

The Painter

The paintbrush flew across the blank canvas

as the bright colors began to bleed into the white.

Making the emptiness feel small again.

His wrinkled hands never shook when he

possessed that brush between his fingers.

It was like his powerful weapon

drawn and ready to show the world.

The scene he painted was of a magical world

that he wished he could back to.

A world where everything was peaceful.

The love of his wife waited for him

by the wooded area in the backyard

of their cobblestone house.

She stood there, smiling bright,

her blond hair blowing in the wind.

She would wait for hours for him to arrive,

so they could live happily ever after again.

Once he was finished, his hand fell to his side,

spattered with bright colors of paint.

The brush fell from his hand, clattering to the ground.

He knew that it was his time.

That magical world he created was waiting

and the painter had arrived.

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Let’s get right into it, shall we? Unfortunately, this month there were no poetry submissions from anyone which I completely understand. I’ve been way too busy to write poetry myself, so that’s why I’m doing some past favorites this time around. There’s always next month. 🙂

These Broken Stars

I look up at the sky above,
And see these broken stars.
They lay against the sky,
Just for my eyes to see.
Alone and cracked,
They shine so bright.
A pure marvel of beauty.
Nobody knows why
They became so broken,
A true mystery of the world.
Maybe they don’t really compare
To the normal stars in the sky.
But, honestly, I’d rather have
These broken stars.

 

Murderer

You’re nothing but a murderer.
Slinking out into the dark night without a sound.
Your whole being kills everything in sight.
Without remorse, without feeling.
Your victims are strewn across the floor,
You step over them gingerly,
Not wanting to disturb the dead.
Be aware!  The cops are coming.
I called them when I heard you sneak in.
I could hear every step, every move,
Every single breath you made.
My heart begins to pound.
I watch as the door starts to squeak open.
The thud of your steps echo in my mind
As I recall the stories of this nightmare.
The nightmares you have caused.
Please, oh please, I beg you.
Don’t do this to me.
I can see the blood on your hands
And the evil glint in your eyes.
The police sirens scream in the dark.
Breaking the horrible silent night.
Red and blue lights flash.
You creep slowly towards me.
You know you’re running out of time.
I want people to know the truth about you.
The one who tries to take it all away.
A murderer of my heart.

Guilt

As the air around me becomes colder,
I wonder what I did wrong.
As the silence around me gets thicker,
I wonder why you walked away.
There was no warning.
There were no signs.
I remember those three words
You used to tell me all the time.
I love you seems so simple
But yet so complex for those
Who may not understand.
I wanted to hold on to you
But you walked out the door.
I’m left here tending to my broken heart
While I can still hear yours in my head.
I probably still love you
Probably more than I should.
If I could give you up, I would.
I would erase all the memories
And all of the pain I feel.
You betrayed me
And yet….
I’m the one who feels like I did wrong

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It is the start of February’s poetry weekend here at The Undeveloped Story. For those who may be experiencing this for the first time, let me explain what goes on. Today, I’ll be posting a few of my own poems. Tomorrow, I’m hoping to be posting some of the poetry that you all have written (which you can still send to me with your blog link to thestoryinme@gmail.com). If I don’t get any submissions, I’ll just post some poetry. I end it all on Sunday with, you guessed it, more poetry.

The thing is, lately I have been quite busy with my book and serial story that I haven’t written many new poems. So, I’m going to be posting a few of my favorites for you. I hope you enjoy.

Just Your Ugly Sweater (Laundry Day)

Like a sweater discarded in a closet,

I am shoved away,

stored in a musty attic

in a cardboard box filled with mothballs.

Brought out only when needed.

I cry out loud for you to hear me,

but you don’t seem to listen.

You’re too busy with your other sweaters.

Sweaters more durable and vibrant.

With no holes or wears and tears.

I’m just your ugly ‘grandpa’ sweater,

a sweater you only wear on laundry day.

I’m a sweater to be ashamed of.

I’m not your second best,

your third or fourth even.

I’m just the ugly sweater you put away.

Never to really be considered.

Except for maybe on laundry day.

 

Personal Demon

You are a shadow in the dark,

a ghost with a story to tell.

You soon came to haunt me

with your bright red eyes

and white gleaming teeth.

You became my personal demon.

Something I had to conquer.

Go ahead and slink in the shadows.

I can feel your presence nightly.

You don’t scare me anymore.

You can’t intimidate me.

I believe in your existence,

but I won’t believe in your lies.

Not Perfect

Take a walk in my shoes

and see the road I have traveled,

the things I have seen

and the moments I’ve been through.

Your road must have been nice.

Smooth like a highway

with directions on where to go.

My road has been hell,

a rutted, rocky dirt road

with no signs for me to follow.

I’ve been lost so many times.

But, you can’t understand.

You may not be able to.

Before you start to criticize,

remember just one thing.

People travel on different roads,

see different things,

have different experiences on the way.

So, kick off your designer high heels,

and step into my worn shoes.

I’ll warn you before you start.

My road’s not perfect.

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It is the last day of this month’s poetry weekend. It went by so fast. 🙂 I hope you all have enjoyed it and you can look forward to next months. It’ll be here before you know it. To end this month’s, we have a poem from one of The Write Guyz, Husky Downs. You can check out their site here.

Guilty As Charged

Your crime is heinous and you do it without remorse
Conflicted I sit – Conflicted I weep
In shock from your actions, I lay still like a corpse

Such beauty driven by a beast, you speak in tongues
I react, for my actions are without God speed
I inhaled your scent on Day 1 and forever tainted were my lungs

Often I ask God to explain what I did to deserve such from you
I’m not a bad person, I’m not a bad soul
Is my crime the fact that I remain next to you through and through?

From wit’s end to eternity – I did vow to you, do you recall?
It is certainly true, when I wake up next to you
Truth is, I feel smaller than small

About as big as a bug, about as snug as one in a rug
We are tight like a hug, intoxicated with your love like a drug

With veins cold like a vamp, you can stare and steal my soul
Torturous and methodical you are
Your crime swallows me whole

Yet no police squad will ever whisk you away, you’re too smart
Such a crime of the century – least for my life time it is
You are guilty of loving me with all of your heart.

 

I’m going to end this post with a few poems of my own that I have written recently. As always feel free to comment and let everyone know what you think!

Dramatic Monstrosity

You seem to thrive on drama,
loving it as the intensity builds.
Building,
building,
building.
Just like a snow ball on a snow covered hill.
Growing,
growing,
growing.
It just never seems to stop
Not until it’s become a monstrosity.
This drama is your own doing.
I don’t want to look at the product.
I don’t want to feel the backlash.
You made this monster.
It’s your inevitable demise.

What I’ve Done

I walked up a mountain today,
just for the scenery.
I jumped out of an airplane,
Just to feel the thrill.
I swam the English channel
just to see the fish.
I donated a million dollars
just to see a smile.
I ran with the bulls in Spain,
just to show I had no fear.
I won a Nobel Peace Prize
just to prove that I am able.
I saved someone’s precious life,
just because they needed me.
I made my mark upon the world,
just to make you notice.
Did you?

Chaotic Thoughts

The thoughts collide inside my head,
pushing and pounding to get out.
They yell and scream to be heard.
They’ll do whatever it takes
just to escape.
It’s merely constant chaos,
a war brewing in my brain.
Negative versus positive,
Pessimism versus optimism.
Who will win the fight?
Who will remain the victor?
I have no control over this.
I can only stand by and wait
as my thoughts bring chaos
Into my world.

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It is day two of this month’s poetry weekend. I hope you’re all enjoying.  Feel free to comment on anything and let me know what you think. For all that don’t know, I do this once a month here, so if you missed out on participating this time around by sharing some poetry, there’s always next month. I’ll give out the details soon. The first poem tonight is  by a good friend of mine, Sosha, who has her own make up blog. Check it out here. The last poem will be one by me. So, let’s have Sosha’s poem take us into tonight’s edition of poetry weekend.

Lives of the Wicked

The wicked never rest
because the evil never dies,
caught up in the lies from birth,
their hands are tied.
If I sneak into your soul,
will I have your heart?
You woke up too late to make it to the other side.
Flick off the switch,
Stop painting numbers,
come with me you’ve found you’re niche.
Frozen oceans separate the sunlight,
but dont you want to melt the fate?
You appreciate failure
but I’m not the type to touch-and-go.
Just steal my heart and sell your soul.

 

And now for one of my poems:

Torment

There’s no excuse for what you did,
but yet here you remain
forever in my memories.
You’re my ghost,
my personal tormentor.
I should hate you for your deeds,
for what you took away from me.
But yet I still hold on to them,
clutched tight to my chest.
Near to my heart you stay.
I remember that night so vividly.
You stood over and dominated me.
You became the ruler,
and I was merely a subject.
It’s apart of the world’s cruel fate
that I can’t let this go.
You became fused into my soul
and now because of that,
because of what became of me,
I cannot let you go.
So, torment me if you must.

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