Numbers 8, 9, and 10

I know it's been a while. Sorry. But here are a few that I need to catch up on!
New/first post of the year!


For some unknown reason, this Blogger is not letting me copy and paste. It sucks. Honestly. It does. I'll provide the links then...

"This Rhyme is no Chime", Written on December 24, 2009

Lonely am I on this dark afternoon,

Sitting on my bed in my room.

As days darken to nights

And streets twinkle with Christmas lights

I sit here typing

with all hope lost in terms of rhyming.

I am no good at this

For rhyming to me, never was bliss.

The Spanish music next door fails to agree

for its rhymes are (as of now) better than me.

I don't know why I am writing in epitaphs

It's better than math homework, oh I hate those graphs!

Christmas approaches and winter is here

I sit still and alone and things feel quite queer

That there is silence in my head

no wondrous thoughts hanging by a thread.

I don't see what has blinded me so

that my creativity isn't falling like snow.

The windows are blocked off by blinds

boredom and apathy is eating at my mind.

I read a poem by a celebrity

I face much of this world in emnity.

No one has such morals like mine

Oh why, oh why, am I terrible at rhyme?

Fingers typing, tap tap tap,

sound like rain on the windows pitter pitter pat

Sleep pulls down my eyelids, working with gravity

This world is ending in blatant depravity.

From my eyes I can plainly see

that this poem, once read, will be out to get me

for writing something so terribly

while Christmas approaches quite merrily.

Dear friends, arrest me for my rhyme

I have done the deed so wrong, it is a crime.

But this one's a bad one. I don't like it. It's a very formed rhyme poem. Written on December 24 of last year.

"2009", Written on December 31, 2009

flipping through pages in a calendar...

I cry, I laugh, I sob, I cheer

for all the memories were good this year

my heart renewed, my soul watered

some dreams i've failed, not slaughtered

but it bothers me not

i'm thankful for what i've got

i went on to high school, and we friends did part

much more to learn, life is art

there are more years to overcome, much more to live

have more to live

years go by

and this year i shall go flying high

with new people and with new friends

this year I swear I shall ascend

in goals as I get better and better

so '09 i write this letter

to you i say that i will miss

the things of fun that feel like bliss

all this from a new-turned teenaged girl

let's see 2010 come and unfurl

next year there will be challenges to face

we're running against time in a crazy race

as time withers constantly

we wisen and age abundantly

from our challenges we shall not run

so come on twenty-ten lets have some fun

o'nine, o'nine, it's been a ball

pictures of you framed on the wall

because you leave us so very quickly

these blessings have piled on quickly

this poem has been badly phrased

but this year has left me standing so amazed

I'll miss you dear 2009

this year was fun, and oh so devine.

goodbye my friend

thanks for staying 'til the end.

to you, the year, I must confess

for me, you've been the very best.

This is my look back on last year.


This next one is one I'm kind of proud of. I don't know. It's got an erratic rhythm, and not a rhyme scheme, but stuff in there does rhyme. I like it. It's one of the best ones I've done in the past few months that doesn't sound like crap.

"Umbrella", Written on January 12 (technically, January 11, but I slept late.)

I look down at my feet

and at branches in the air

and leaves on the ground

and dewdrops hanging there.

Awake is the sun

painting the sky

hues of blues and pinks

and oranges and greys

and chasing those clouds

out of the way.

Tucked into its blanket,

hushing the night

and the moon is illuminated

with a crisp glowing white.

Now this umbrella tipped over

in my topsy-turvy world

pointing down at the ground

open to me

and I lean on the umbrella to support my weight

use it like a cane.

Now we drift down a river silently

and water is around me endlessly

but I still see the trees turning orange with fall

and I look at the leaves floating by my side

and teardrops down my cheek, slowly slide.

My open umbrella, my boat in which I sit

catches my tears like some kind of pit

And it seems funny to me how this umbrella stands

open, upside down, with water on both ends.

Rain falls down on me disturbing the sea

and my umbrella under me supporting me

like a cane, like a pit, like a gauge that collects rain

as the skies and heavens seem to weep at my pain

my umbrella collects tears

it's sad to say that instead of being a shield for the rain

it only collects my sadness as it sits upside down

in the form of my tears, down at the ground

and the sun comes up again

and paints the skies again

and shoos the clouds away

and laughter springs out of me

all bubbly and gurgling,

as if darkness never came

my umbrella collects tears of joy now.

http://allpoetry.com/poem/6057167

Note, this doesn't have anything to do with the song. Okay? Oh, and it's pic inspired.

I lost.

I lost NaNoWriMo. But I'm continuing to write.
I realized, why do I need some race thing to help me write a novel?
Maybe I won't be able to write a novel in a month, but I still do kind of wish to finish it and send it in for publishing.

NaNoWriMo

There are a few days 'til NaNo WriMo. I'm not done with planning. So...wish me luck and pray for me my nonexistant viewers?

Post #7

PoemSong
It's a really heartfelt poem,
it's beautiful, but it's cold.
It's ruthless.

It's the kind of poem
that jumps out at you when you're guilty.

It ensnares,
it traps,
it reaches,
it feels.

We, the readers...
we feel.

It's the poem that is a light,
you know the kind of light that illuminates,
that forces you out of the darkness,
that shines upon your evil deeds.

It's that kind of light
they use
to interrogate.

It's the
kind of light
that sets you
free.


A rant I wrote when I commented on someone at AP. I'm procrastinating on HW, like usual.

NaNoWriMo!!!

This is not really related to a writing practice, but there's this website: http://ywp.nanowrimo.org/ Called National Novel Writing Month. Their goal is to get young writers to write a novel in one month, that is, the month of November. Now, I'm participating in this, so I probably would be posting to a minimum...I know I've posted like twice per month, but I might post less...soo yeah...
Just to let you know.
And like, you guys can join too, I highly encourage it!!!

Who knows, I may be feeling more inspired during this month, so maybe I'll write more.

Post #6

Poem:
So Long

We stand in a small ring atop a small hill of dirt
And other rings stand with us too
Of many things we talk about,
And we don't know what the heck everyone else is saying
but we are one.
We are one on "The Mound"
We are one group
But in my ring
I tune out the conversation
and you move in front of me
you shadow me
you eclipse me
you alienate me.

And I try to find yet another cavity
another gap in our small little ring
but like a drawstring bag, the cords tighten and pull
I am shut out

The door slams in front of my face
Yet all I can do is hover,
circle and scavenge for openings
a little cranny is all I need
but I am sealed off.
And I go to join a different circle.
Once you realize I am gone...
It's strange - a wide open gap
an open window
an open door
an open gate. Unfortunately for you, I walk past all the openings.
Because I'm done with it.
You've rejected me
And now I'm rejecting you.


So Long

Post #5

I'm beginning to title these as posts, seeing as I don't update daily.

This is a Word War on YWP's NanoWrimo.
A Word War is basically a user challenging you to write about something.

Prompt: A Different Kind of Word War

Sam gulped. This wasn't the talk he'd been expecting. He wished to get busted, and then shut himself in his room. But an inkling of pride suddenly welled up in him. "What kind of gifted?" he asked.His mother answered strangely. "Do you ever feel like there's some kind of spark in you? A surge of power, or maybe even an immense amount of strength?"Sam shook his head, anxious. What was she playing at?"Well, this school...they have a sort of tracker that detects any strange powers.""Such as...?" Sam didn't know where this was going. A confused look consumed his face."Well, this special school selected those who have special talents...Their tracker detected some in you, but the thing is...you don't know what it is...They think you can see things. Magical things and traces of them. They want you to be a spy for them, and they'll train you."This was an agonizing joke. "Mom, I'm not a kid anymore. I don't play around like that. Stop messing with me and just lemme go."In a split second, a booming crack was heard, and the living room ceiling thudded on the floor beside the table. An odd man dressed in a shimmering spangled suit with a makeshift tie which pinned to him a cape. He had a thin monacle which lay on his reddening face, surrounded by a tangle of neon-blue dyed hair which smelled faintly of old cheese. For such a frail-looking man, his voice echoed and shook the walls. "Sam, so you don't believe your mother? We want you to join us. Come, come, come, I'll show you your new school."Sam protested. "This is impossible, it's an outrage, it's--""Inconcievable?" The strange man answered."I don't want to --" Sam was cut off by a small popping sound and immediately after he heard this noise, his breath knocked out of his lungs."
Back at home, in the dining room, his mother heard his words, "...go to this 'special' school. Especially not with some weirdo like you." Her son would learn sometime soon. And in a swift moment after the two left, her ceiling stuck itself back in place, and the room looked perfect - not a crack or misplaced rubble was in sight. As if nothing had happened. But something big was about to begin. Her son's life would be changed forever.
Sam and the 'weirdo' ended up in a dark, empty place. No color, no sound, no smell. He could not even hear himself panting for breath. He realized he was sitting down in what felt like an audiotorium seat. His seat popped up when he stood, and his leg bumped another row of seats in front of him. Beside him, the frail oddball lifted a finger to Sam's mouth, in a way to calm him. Out of nowhere, black curtains were drawn, and color, light, the sound of revelry, and the smells of pine wood and fresh wine flooded Sam's senses.


To check out all the other entries and maybe even the full prompt, look here: http://ywp.nanowrimo.org/node/621232#comment-276733

Please note that this link might disappear.