To my creative writing followers, the above link is where I am posting my poetry and fiction. I wanted to keep it separate from other things on this blog. Please click to head on over to what my mind has thought up … through words.
March 19th, 2012 0 notes #poetry #poem #fiction #prose #writing #creative writingI sent this poem to a friend of mine who is going through a rough spot in his life right now. This poem was written by a poet named Javan. He isn’t well known but writes inspiring and helpful words through a poem.
This piece is Untitled:
From time to time
Two paths will cross
Then merge together
To appear to be one
And as such will Travel
Many miles
But so often
The fortunes of the world
Make it necessary
For them to separate
In order to reach
Their own destinations
© 1984 By Javan
Reblogged from miss-poet April 23rd, 2012 2 notes #poetry #prompt #fiction #creative writing #writing #spilled inkI will start a sentence below and begin a poem or a fiction piece. I and hopefully many others can contribute to this and together we can make a complete piece.
As I roam through the …
Send your creations here: http://miss-poet.tumblr.com/submit
I will post the completed piece (poem or fiction) to my blog. So get writing and fill up my inbox!
When you write a new piece of fiction or poem or some other type of rambling, do you type directly into Tumblr or do you write on paper, in word, or some other type of online source?
April 29th, 2012 5 notes #question #writing #creative writing #comments #poetry #prose #spilled inkLike Kerosene
By Olena Kalytiak Davis
Yes, it’s daily
that we move into each other—but this morning
I was separate even from myself—
my hands were shovels, I had mosquito netting for hair,
and the insect beating against the night
was my heart. My name was hallow
and the sky was made of shale when
I walked into a part of morning
I’ve never seen: the sky still heavy, still
smoldering with the nightmares of others,
the drunkenness and sorrow rising like dew, like fog,
like smoke back into the clouds. Suddenly,
my face was wet with it. I wanted to lie down
with it. To rest against the almost exhausted night.
Uncertain of what to do there
I started dividing the layers, the sediment,
thinking: Usually I sleep through his sadness.
And the morning asking: Why do you keep track
of the middle of the day when you should be
waxing the moon? How can these young fragile branches
be left out in the darkness, and who set that darkness
wandering inside your heart? Who can your love ignite,
like this, like kerosene?
And then the sky lit the morning.
And then I went in to set my own house on fire.
And then I lay down next to you:
a body filling with feathers or with snow
asking: and who are you that my love can light
like this, like kerosene.
University of Wisconsin Press (November 1997)
“The Scaffolding Inside You”
Your thoughts have hung themselves from nails
like workshirts.
The sky has stopped
offering you reasons to live and your heart is the rock
you threw through each window
of what’s deserted you, so you turn
to the burnt out building inside you: the scaffolding
overhead, the fallen beams,
the unsound framework;
according to the blue that’s printed on the inside of your arms
you have no plans, no plans
uncovered, or uncovering: the offing is emptying,
the horizon empty
now that your sanity is
a tarp or a bedsheet
in the rough hands of the wind,
now that everything is hooded
in drop cloth.
It didn’t happen
overnight. Or maybe it did:
your heart, the rock;
your soul, the Gothic barn.
You’ve even started envying the flowers their stems.
Will the Norther let up?
Will the moon ever again be so full of itself
that that ragged barn will fill with light, through its tin-covered roof?
You should bury more than the dead.
You should try harder.
You should give up.
Least Said
by Olena Kalytiak Davis
Maybe we you us But not everyone except Everyone else seemingly set One could romanticize the shipbells Out of somebody else's grocery, sex shopping, life cleaning, bills Of sail. When they had fresh grapefruit it was nothing like you not having Scurvy, with or without the vodka. Your friends Did they still say things (?) and the masses— No, one didn't want to picture that vast Writhing. Self-love is better left to this selective peculiar: One shelf over, top shelf. The yeats, the years, none of it More real than this. The judgment, the particular partings: Reading a new yorker article about you. Reading. An article. A small monster at my toe. There was once a long lusty list but The only thing s/he had on me was feet. I went to course, to game, to College. The epiphany was not worth dwelling (placement word of Your choice here). Not to speak of, or the her, him, him before him, your last Lover but, "seeing someone else right now"? Mostly, the possessive pronoun "Her" in the next clause. Whose unfairness? Be spoken and be longing. (An embarrassment of melons and heavily salted meats.) The thing you will miss was being sexy, you will forget that you went Forgetting all along; the whole ride. Going, going. Not coming. Reading, Too closely, will fail my the measure of some treasure You believe exists, but how? Morning was the only mooring: feeling, Thinking, seeing no one. Right Now. Or now. Barely tolerated, living.May 2nd, 2012 1 note #poetry #spilled ink #writing #creative writing
so for my literary editing and publishing class, every student is creating an online literary magazine of which they will be the editors. i’ve finally created the page, email address and concept of mine and it is ready for submissions!here’s the link: http://episodicmag.blogspot.com/
please pass this along, whether reblog or an original shout-out post to your followers with the link included.
episodic is accepting poems, non-fiction, short fiction, excerpts from longer works, drawings and photography.
(via twritersdirectory)
Reblogged from chaiivee September 13th, 2012 49 notes #prose #tumblr writers #writers #submit #poem #poetry #fiction #creative writingReblogged from milwaukeebusinessopportunities.com November 29th, 2012 1 note #poetry #lyrics #creative writing #writing #song #song lyrics
Mass Shooting Blues
“Mass Shooting Blues” (BMI)
Aaron S. Robertson
Copyright 2012, Aaron Scott Robertson.
“Our hearts go out to the families…” becomes an overused phrase,
It’s heard all the time now as more people go into a merciless craze,
The politicians propose after-the-fact preventative bills,
Tryin’ to save some face after someone just got away with multiple kills.
We flock to our churches and temples afterward to pray,
All these routine ceremonial things we feel obligated to say,
But let’s be honest here, it’s really not going to help our ailing hearts,
’Cause in the end, gone forever are our loved ones to these piercing hate-filled darts.
Actually, these days, it seems we can no longer walk into a sacred house,
Without taking the chance someone’s gonna be there with death and destruction to espouse,
I’ve witnessed or experienced so much blues that sometimes I wish I had never been born,
I look around this forsaken world, tired of constantly having to mourn.
Why do you have to shatter innocent lives with that fateful sound,
When soon enough without your help we’ll all be in the ground,
In due time we’ll all be in the tomb,
Each and ev’ry one of us shares this fateful doom.
Why can’t you allow us to enjoy this little time,
Let us be afforded the chance to live past our prime,
Instead of making us walk around in public while imagining our worst fears,
Making us wonder if today is our last or if we’ll be granted a few more years.
