Story Saturday: Dreams (Poetry)

Photo by Konrad Odhiambo

 

*Written for #StorySaturday (Twitter)

 

 

Dreams

As sure as the sun rises in the morn

and the moon greets the stars at night

as I am with dreams meant to be alive and true

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#WEPFF December Challenge: With Every End There Is A New Beginning

 

Below is my poem for #WEPFF December Challenge- The End is the Beginning

Enjoy!

 

 

 

The End…

for all things, there is a season

this we’ve been taught

though we rarely dwell on

until it’s standing

dauntingly, devastatingly

before us

 

 

To let go…

the hardest of all to do

of those we love, cherish

for the heart, the flesh,

pain is undeniably real

as the knife

 

 

Look…

to the horizon,

the sky ablaze with vibrant morn colors

and remember, that for every night

there is a dawn,

and a time for new beginning

 

 

All that’s required of us

is not giving up

for the night will end

as any season

and with a new day,

healing and hope

Story Saturday: Santa-Zombie Story

Nearly a year passed since the start of the undead plague

she’s been on her own since

in an empty house, in a not-so-empty neighborhood.

 

 

Christmas Eve

she decorated the dead tree with handmade ornaments

made from cereal boxes;

took the last can of Spam as her treat for the white bearded man

and placed the plate on a table beside the sofa.

 

 

With a bat in hand, and the sounds of death rattling at the front door,

she fell asleep on the dusty furniture

in front of the cold, stoned hearth.

 

 

Rustling sounds awoke her

with a great start,

as she swung the bat through air,

a voice sounded,

a voice so beautiful and warm

it caused her eyes to sprang open;

bewildered, stunned

she stared at the not-so-frightful sight.

 

 

A chubby man dressed in a red suit

stood before her;

she blinked and swinted

thinking she’d died already or just dreaming

but saw that this was no dream

Santa,

he was really real!

 

 

He held out his hand,

“Come, let me take you to a wonderful place.”

 

 

In a blink of an eye, she found herself

on the roof-top

where a sleigh and eight reindeer stood waiting.

 

 

Santa, beside her now, smiled;

a smile she’d thought never would form on her lips again,

she returned with glee.

 


 

Note: This story has been renamed to “The Last Child” and a video portion of this story can be found here.

 

 

 

 

 

Story Saturday: The Old Tumbleweed Ferris Wheel

 

The Old Tumbleweed Ferris Wheel

 

Ferris wheels I used to enjoy

until I met Tumbleweed

strapped in cages

spinning in all directions

while the wheel turned

clockwise

Then sudden it stopped

leaving my brother and I

hung upside down

at twelve o’ clock

The strap across my laps

had come undone

now literally dangling

 untethered

To ease our nerves

we sung

You lost that loving feeling

till the cage reached

six o’ clock

Needless to say

I never rode another

Ferris wheel

since that day

Thursday Thoughts: On Writing Life

 

Back when I worked full-time in the Banking industry, I used to complain how I never had enough time to write.  I’d get up each weekday morning by 4am to get myself ready first, and then get hubby and son up before hitting the road by 5:45am for over an hour’s drive (in 35 miles) into downtown Raleigh.  I’d work 7am till 6pm (most days).  By the time dinner and homework are done, it’s easily 9pm and by that point, I’m ready to crawl in bed.   Weekends were usually reserved for catch-ups, house chores, and errands.  I’d managed maybe an hour of writing time each week.

Now?

With being “retired’ from the work force (am only 46) due to disabilities, I have loads of free time on my hands.   I’ve discovered, though, I waste a lot of time doing pretty much “nothing.”

Nothing being spending way too much time on social media, and watching internet-stream tv shows and movies.  Well, these were what I was doing for the past year and a half before depression hit me hard.

Or, perhaps mid-life crisis?

I found myself looking back, and wondering what did I have to show for being here on this world?  I really didn’t find a career I enjoyed (long story) so ended up in the Banking industry for the last 15 years of my working life basically as a glorified paper-shuffler.

Family put aside, I had nothing tangible.

I wanted more.  I desired to leave a legacy.

At this point, I’ve published several short stories, essays, and poems; but 99.9% are online magazines.

I now want more.

Something solid, concrete.  Something I can hold in my hands.  And smell.

This means I need to get serious, and smart with my time management.  I figure a way to start doing that is by tracking every word I write.

Daily.

This means less time with social media and other forms of entertainment.

I value my writing gift, and feel I have at least one book within me, enough so that I need to start valuing my time more than I’ve done in the past.

So, this is where I’m at in my writing life.  At a cross-road, and I’ve decided on the path to take.  Now, let’s see where it takes me.

Got to love adventures, eh?  🙂

What about you?  Where are you at in your writing life?  Are you happy with it?  If not, what changes could you make?

 

You Tube Tuesday: Black Heart

 

For many years, I had this guilty pleasure of seeing my written words come alive with images and music.  Instead of waiting to have someone else produce it in to a short film, I created my own videos using Kizoa 🙂

This particular poem I wrote for a contest (October).  It’s meant to be a horror poem, but it is especially horrifying for me as it is taken from my distant past of a person I once was.  Long story.  Perhaps one day I will be brave enough to write about it in more detail.

If you’d like to participate in YouTube Tuesday, post something from YouTube that you enjoyed and tell us a bit about it.  Don’t forget to include the link to this post in yours so I can check it out.  Also, if you’re on Twitter, tweet about it using the hashtag #YouTubeTuesday.

The Tree

 

She'd been locked in the house for months 

as the undead raged outside

 

Famished and dehydrated 

she stared out the bedroom window 

and spied the pair again

 

For days, these cats roamed out 

on the limbs of the enormous hardwood tree 

as she wondered how they're surviving the apocalypse

 

Today, she decided to find out and proceeded

to climb out the second floor slim windowpane 

 

As she dangled on the limb, she glanced below

 

There her momma stood, gaping up to her daughter 

mouth opened and gnawing as if ravenous with 

flesh-thirsting hunger

 

She scrambled up on the branch 

and glanced towards the tree's core

 

A small hollowed hole revealed the bloody mass of flesh and bone 

and it was then she realized what a grave mistake she'd made

 

Dark Places #WEPFF: Black Heart

 

Today, I’m participating in the above contest/bloghop for WEP (aka Write…Edit…Publish).

 

Black Heart

 

Real love I’m undeserving of 

as torment and abuse 

are all I’m able to offer 

 

 

Such a sweet angelic soul 

he was 

I allowed fear and envy 

to rule 

 

 

Now standing at his final  

resting place 

pain, regret, tears fill my core  

 

 

Darkness now my only 

companion 

life ever fleeting 

death 

can’t come soon enough 

for this black-hearted bitch

You Tube Tuesday: Dead Poets Society

 

Over at my other site, Only the Lonely Press, I started a new video series called, Dead Poets Society, where I will take a poem of a given poet (long since passed on) and create a video for it.  This one above is one of my favorite Robert Frost’s poems.

Below is a bit of a morbid poem written by Emily Dickinson which I absolutely love.

 

I plan to create more videos for this particular series in the near future.

Do you have any (short) poems by your favorite poets to suggest?  If I like it (a lot), I may just create a video for it!

 

Story Sunday: The Protectors (Poem)

 

Bunnies of assorted colors

scampered around the child

in attempt to lead her

to safety

from the horde of flesh eaters

 

*Another poem I wrote for #StorySaturday.  This week’s prompt was bunnies.  And of course, I couldn’t write anything cozy or cuddly 😉

Story Saturday: Teddy Bear (Horror Poem)

 

I wrote this short poem for #StorySaturday (Twitter).  Today’s Teddy Bear Day and being me, I couldn’t write a nice and sweet poem-it had to be twisted and scary.

 

The girl hides under

the folds of the quilted cover

with her teddy bear

waiting

Murky shadows move

with an un-natural purpose

to claim and possess

wholly

When she opens her

eyes only to see the rising

sun, her bear on the

floor, frayed

She reaches for it and

embraces the toy to her wet face

and receives the scent

of death

Writing: Ever Surprised Yourself?

Click on the image to access this group’s official page

 

This month’s question is: Have you ever surprised yourself with your writing?

 

I think every writer has a moment when he or she goes back to read something one written eons ago and wonder who on earth wrote this magical piece?  I’ve had a few of these; but, I think I’ve surprised myself the most when I attempted to write poetry years ago.

I read poetry when I was in high school because it was required reading; but the ones written by Robert Frost and Walt Whitman stuck to me the most especially Road Not Taken and O Captain! My Captain!  I never really attempted to write one though feeling a bit intimidated by the poetic forms these poets used.  I thought I never could write anything wonderful like that.

Fast forward twenty plus years.  At this time I’d been working in the banking industry, and I’d recently learned of a coworker who was a poet.   From her, I heard about NaPoWriMo (National Poetry Writing Month) and decided to give it a whirl.  I searched online for a simple poetic form to try and discovered haiku.

Here’s one of my earlier haiku:

Longing to connect

-to fill the hole of one’s soul

butterflies entwined

I became hooked on writing haiku and micropoetry in general.  Eventually I began creating my own forms using various number of syllables.  Here’s one of my favorites I wrote a few years ago:

Seekers

Ocean waves pound on

the sandy shores, carrying

away the deep scars;

sandpipers scuttle with the

milky foams, seeking

nourishment for the lonely

I don’t consider myself a poet, but I love writing poetry (namely micropoetry).

What about you?  Have you ever surprised yourself as a writer?

 

 

What’s this group about:

The Insecure Writer’s Support Group is a home for writers in all stages; from unpublished to bestsellers. Our goal is to offer assistance and guidance. We want to help writers overcome their insecurities, and by offering encouragement we are creating a community of support.
(Taken from their website: Insecure Writer’s Support Group)

 

 

 

 

 

 

You Tube Tuesday: From 35,000 Feet/Praise Aviophobia

 

(*YouTube Tuesday idea originally came from the Martians Attack blog)

 

Earlier this year, I had an opportunity to interview both poet, Geffrey Davis, and film-maker, Chad Howitt in regards to the above film (originally presented by Motionpoems).    For the first time ever, I had a credit in a film for assisting with the film-maker on the poem.  A pretty cool experience 🙂

 

I love the whole premise behind  Motionpoems in their goal to take poetry and bring them to life through film.

 

Incredible.

 

To see the original film and interviews, the links are below:

Film

Interviews

 

Motionpoems now in the midst of its seventh season, and I hope they have many, many more.

 

If you’d like to participate in YouTube Tuesday, post something from YouTube that you enjoyed and tell us a bit about it.  Don’t forget to include the link to this post in yours so I can check it out.  Also, if you’re on Twitter, tweet about it using the hashtag #YouTubeTuesday.

What If My Writing Isn’t Good Enough?

Click on the image to access this group’s official page

 

This month’s question:  What if my writing isn’t good enough?

 

This group (also endearingly known as IWSG) is all about insecurities; and gosh, I have a boat-load of them!

 

Where even to begin?

 

I’ve battled with insecurities all my life, and they’ve filtered over in to my writing life.

 

You’ll never be good enough. 

You’re worthless.

Don’t bother even trying.

 

There are so many ideas running through my head.  And I have written many of them…but, they usually die (or get placed in the trash).

I have published several items (all short ones) so that is something, I suppose.

 

But…

 

I keep feeling like I’m missing something.

Or, there is a story somewhere within that needs to be written and then released to the world.

 

But…

 

In the past, in my previous work life, I had this nasty habit of self-sabotaging myself.

Not allowing myself to experience success of any kind.

And this is quite prevalent in my life as it is in my writing life.

It’s like I feel like I don’t deserve it.

 

You’ll never be good enough.

You’re worthless.

Don’t bother even trying.

 

 

A lot of this stem from childhood abuse.  Others from a progressive disability.

Excuses, I suppose.

But they’re the Goliath in my life, and I’m the puny boy with no sling-shot or weapon of any kind.

Just a pen.

 

 

I’ve heard that a pen holds power.  I just don’t have any faith in the holder of this particular pen.

 

Am I good enough?

Will I ever be?

Do I even bother trying?