ah, words not coming out right
just another dreary night
full of regret
things left to happenstance
on YouTube
watching some young people dance
Carrie Fisher on Ellen
Natalie Portman pregnant
this isn’t writing you fool
everything stagnant
Oh, a video of Hamilton
look, now, its James Corden
Can’t say I’m not bored then –
but ah, not writing
still not writing
wait, what is this?
…rubbish.
….a YouTube cover, Game of Thrones theme…
Agh.
I had a thought while I was at work today: a Halloween poem challenge!
Well, basically this is just a writing prompt.
What if we all decided to write a Halloween-themed poem to be posted on Halloween? And I would love it if we could tag each other and share them!
They can be as spooky as you want them or not spooky at all, any style, rhyming or not…as long as they are Halloween-themed in some way.
I came up with a list of words at work today to get us started. These are some of the things I think about when I think of Halloween:
Maybe this list will get us started! And if you decide that you want to do this on your blog, let me know I’d love to read them!
What do you guys think?
You’ve given them human words
and human faces
You’ve painted them up
with souls and races
You’ve donned your hats
and laced your boots
You’ve built a world
with thrills and roots
If you can kill a face
That can cry or bleed
Have we fulfilled
your every need?
Wrote this one late last night in my phone. Been watching Westworld on Sundays, because of course we need something to fill that Game of Thrones fix until it comes back on!
But it is definitely worth a checking out and it asks some interesting questions. I, of course, feel sympathy for the robots…it feels wrong for something so human to be treated in such a way.
Anyway, it is a good show so far! Hope everyone had a great weekend!
Happy Writing!
Home alone
and sick in bed
fan is blowing
on my pounding head
Michael out with
friends downtown
too wiped out to go
but feeling down
Eh…that’s all I got. 😛 Had a good Saturday overall, despite feeling like I got hit by a train. I don’t know…caught some kind of virus. Was out and about this afternoon at the Apple Festival around here, but then had to come home and take like a three-hour nap.
Last Saturday, I actually wanted to party. This one…I’m wiped out but trying to keep myself entertained. Not working so well. Hope you guys are having a better night!
Happy Writing!
I bought peaches the other day. And every time I think of eating one, lately, I can’t help but think of that poem by T.S. Eliot, “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.”
If you don’t know the poem I am referring to, I found it here on this website. Most of my English teachers throughout the school years had us read the poem.
Mostly because of its evocative language. You can tell the way the narrator feels by the certain words he uses. The poor guy really does paint a sad picture. Anyway, the peach eating.
In the poem, the narrator questions:
“Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.” (T.S. Eliot)
What is up with this peach eating business?
Well…peaches are messy. If you are going to eat one and have the juice drip down your chin and elbow, you better do it with confidence. Especially if you are wearing white trousers.
But all I can think about is how sad the speaker sounds. He describes himself as something scuttling across the floor in some dark, deep, sea. A bottom feeder?
Poor J. Alfred Prufrock. He doesn’t think very well of himself…
And neither have I lately. That’s probably why I keep thinking of this poem.
But enough of that.
I ate a peach tonight for dessert actually, and it was fabulous.
I sometimes think I am the only one who actually liked reading this poem when they made us dissect it in school.
What do you guys think?
Looking for a little inspiration tonight. Liking the new location, but still struggling to become comfortable with new surroundings and this is very important for us writer-types. We need to be able to find our writing voice anywhere, and I want to make sure mine is still there alive and kicking.
Got this prompt off creativewritingprompts.com because the book I usually use is packed away somewhere and I haven’t opened all of my office boxes yet…whoops. Not sure if its supposed to be a short story? A poem? Where it goes, nobody knows…
(Oh, and it totally isn’t # 147 on the website, I lost the number when I clicked away from the page. Oh well, it’s somewhere!)
Sorrow croons for love lost
tomorrow is another day
today is an opportunity
The young woman closed the book in her lap with a snap. “What a bunch of hooey,” she muttered.
Love wasn’t an opportunity for her…far from it. She grabbed her black shoulder bag where it was squashed against her legs on the concrete. She stood up and brushed the dirt off her clothes. Like it would matter. Her skin crawled and her head ached. Her dirty-colored blond hair fell in tangled waves around her pale face.
She walked on. The streetlights cast the street in a strange green type of glow. The road looked like it was full of molten lava, all cracked and glowing as cars rumbled over the potholes.
The librarian she’d met while she was rummaging through the library’s trash bins didn’t know what she was talking about.
“Here, honey,” she’d said. “I was going to take this home and shelve it…but you have it. You look like you could use a little love in this life.”
She’d taken it with numb fingers. She’d never been one of those people to remember gloves. And the old woman had looked so clean and smelled of lotion. The kind that her mother used to wear before she’d had thrown herself out of the window after Daddy shot himself.
She wasn’t sure if she had even said, ‘thank you.’
The woman had given her a weak smile and then had shuffled off. Like she knew already that Sarah didn’t have the words to say what she should have.
Sarah found a more comfortable place amongst the moss and the concrete, and the trickles of water underneath the red bridge which cut across the only dirty water-way in her not-so-small town.
She opened the crinkly pages, ran her fingers over words that were clean and very old but brand new to her. She pondered that for a brief moment, how words were never the proper age to anyone. They were always becoming something new, meaning something different to anyone. Somewhat…timeless.
A frog jumped and she with it, and the croak he left with a splash gurgled across the empty spaces, the cool night, the sound of concrete rumbling, cars and artificial light.
“Words are timeless,” she read.
age is but a number
crawls across space
and time, and I with it
“Don’t be just another number,” she continued, eyes glued to the page.
be the delicate words
you are reading so much about.
10pm on a Friday
And already in bed
Mike shooting in Halo
Book waiting to be read
I might as well be dead
But that’s not nice to say
Snuggled in the covers
Saying goodbye to Friday
Goodnight and good evening
Happy weekend and farewell
Another day is gone
Another tale to tell
Eyes droop with sleep
Face relaxed and still
Time to say goodnight
Time to change the will
Hmm, that took a strange turn lol Soo tired! Good night all!
Want to write a poem
And not sure what to say
Feeling uninspired
Exhausted from the day
Should I tell a story?
Should I make it sad?
Lies and disappointments
That’s all I ever had
At least for today with
Work and fewer smiles
Don’t do this you slaves!
Yeah, I’ll think on that awhile
Good to know I matter
I love to see the praise
Yeah and guess what?
Where’s my f**king raise?
Ah, but I digress
Not the point of this poem
Writing relieves the stress
With the comforts of home
So go forth and write!
Be lovely, fun and crazy!
(But don’t be like me,
I’m so f**king lazy!)
Bahaha…I miss rhyming, it’s so silly and fun! Hope everyone has a great night!
Happy writing!
I’ve been sitting here for the last half an hour on Wikipedia reading about Reba McEntire, about her recent divorce, her relationship with Kelly Clarkson, and the plot to Reba’s show, Malibu Country, which got cancelled about three years ago.
I haven’t suddenly become obsessed with Reba McEntire, (although I’ve always liked country music,) I’m stalling.
A year ago today, May 8th, we lost someone special to us in our family. My grandmother, Dorothy, passed away from cancer. Today is Mother’s Day, but I’ll never get to say hello to her again.
Which is why…the stalling. I know I want to write something to honor her, but I don’t know where to begin. With all the poems I wrote about her in the past year? With our last conversation? The words of Reba McEntire’s song, “What Do You Say” keeps repeating itself in my head.
“What do you say in a moment like this? When you can’t find the words to tell it like it is?”
My heart breaks a little. What do you say?
Dear Grandma,
I miss you.
Love, Amanda
There really isn’t much more to say. I said it all before in the poems I wrote for her: For Grandma, Not Goodbye, Baseball Memories, Up and Up, and Big Picture.
My sister, Anna, me and Grandma in the back seat of the car on some road trip, over ten years ago; laughing and being goofy.
P.S. I remember the last time we spoke, Grandma, I made you laugh. I told you something that Lilly had said, and I made you laugh. You were in pain, but my last moment with you…I made you laugh. One day, I’ll type out that conversation. I’ll put it in a memoir and tell everyone how much your house smelled like you, how it felt so quiet, and cold with you down for the count, and everyone wondering, “Is it time?”
But no, one spring afternoon at the end of April, while you were lying on the couch, too weak to get up, I made you laugh. And it warms my heart like nothing else.
I love you, Grandma. Happy Mother’s Day.
Pirated Deadpool
Ate pasta
Bread and sauce
And goodness
Broke the fourth wall
And eachother’s
Energy
Dead like Deadpool
But still got limbs
And hearts
And loneliness
Crawl into bed
With a good book
A book friend
Waiting to be held
:p This one is silliness! In case you didn’t catch it, we watched some Deadpool tonight. I love Ryan Reynolds, so great. The movie was awesome… Totally inappropriate for young ones, but still great.
Hope you guys are having a great night!
A. J. Morse 