Caged Bird #Poetry #WEPFF #WEP #IWSG

It happened again
I feel so bruised. Battered.
Each word cutting, slashing
How one’s tongue can hold such power
Damaging. Damning.
More so than a hand. Yes, even more so than a sword.
I lie here, on the bed, trying to catch a breath
In between gasping sobs
He’d promised
I should have known better
My eyes sweep across the four walls
Their lavender-blue hues once beautiful
Now they’re nothing but bars
And I’m their prisoner
His
Oh how I long for freedom
To sing and to fly
However or wherever I wish
I should have known better
No sooner had I accepted the yellow ring
He clipped my radiant wings
And now I sit here like
A caged bird
With dying dreams of lofty peaks and open skies

 

 

*Author’s Note: This poem was written for the following writing challenge:

Click on image

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Life’s Just A Dream #Poetry

Life
Its dark path’s a mystery
Full of hidden dangers & wonders

Eyes
Concealed within the shadowy woods
They know I’ve gone astray

Lost
In my mind home’s just beyond that bend
Alas, it’s only a mirage

Heavy
The mist encases each bared limb
Drowning me in despair

 

*Author’s Note: this poem was written for a prompt given by #BardBits on Twitter —

Marvelous Monday!

prompt 294: Midnight/Moon/Sea/Dock/Stroll/Reflect/Light/Clarity
Our Guest Hosts:
&

Write a short story or poem inspired by or using the word(s) and/or image.

#IWSG The Horror and Suspense of Life

This post is for IWSG (Insecure Writer’s Support Group), and this month’s question: Of all the genres you read and write, which is your favorite to write in and why?

 

Right from the get-go, I’ve always been drawn to the darker sides of things. My first story I ever wrote (around eleven years old) was about a creepy house where a girl entered on a dare and discovered a decapitated head in a fridge.

Pretty morbid, eh?

So, I started with horror, then it became horror-paranormal to horror-apocalyptic, and now it’s mainly suspense.  Through these genres, the common theme always centered around death.

When my cousin (and best friend at the time) Darren passed away just before our fourteenth birthdays, I was hit with the stark reality that we were not invincible or immortal.  That even kids die.

Since then, I have experienced several other deaths of family members and friends.  Many of them died well before they were at the peak of their lives, or even able to realized their dreams.

This have always weighed heavily on me.

And showed up in pretty much whatever I wrote be it a short story or a poem.

A loss of some form. The darkness that’s constantly there.   .

I enjoy writing both horror and suspense mainly because it’s cathartic for my broken heart, and it’s my way of dealing with the pain.

What about you? What’s your favorite genre to write/read? Why? I love to know!

 

Stepping Out of the Comfort Zone #Poetry #SpokenWord

Now that I’ve declared I was a poet (much more so than just a fiction writer), I decided to really put myself out there.

By recording poetry as “spoken word.”

This was a huge thing for me as I absolutely HATE the sound of my own voice. This mainly stem from a history of speech problems due to my hearing impairment.  So, after listening to other poets’ recording their poems, not to mention some hard-core loving encouragement from Susan Richardson, I took that leap.

Quiet was my very first attempt.  This poem was actually inspired by having listened to so many of Avi Kaplan’s music:

 

Once was a poem I wrote years ago, but it’s a story I feel is still very relevant today:

 

I may do more in the near future.

At the Crossroads #IWSG #Writing

Have you ever gone through a period of time when no matter how hard you tried to do something, or in my case – complete a novel, you just can’t quite get there?

For years and years, I believed I was meant to be a fiction writer especially of suspenseful (and at times, horror) stories.  I still enjoy writing these stuff, but there’s a growing part of me that keeps telling me to shift my focus/attention to poetry and essays. I’ve resisted, well I tried to anyway, against this quiet tugging until recently.

In February and April of this year, I’ve participated in various month-long blogging/writing challenges where my original intentions were to focus on flash/micro fiction (suspense/horror kinds) and maybe sprinkle a few poems in there.

Well, I ended up writing mainly poetry. It wasn’t planned. It just happened that way.

As I wrote these poems, it occurred to me how the muse had tricked me (by the way, I’m nicknaming her “Trickster” from now on). All through these two months, whenever I picked up a pen (hovered my fingers over the keyboard), my first instinct was to write poetry – not fiction.

Wow…it hit me then (specifically, during the last week of April). I might have already said this in a guest post I wrote for another blog, but never truly believed in my heart at the time — I’m a writer of many things, but the essence of me is a poet.

Okay, I will admit that the Trickster (formerly known at “muse”) had been right all along — but…

Now what?

You’re My Miracle #Poetry

*Author Note: If my husband could tell his story within the framework of a poem, this might be it. Everything you read is true.

Childhood, innocence
Taken by my father’s fists
Who snatched me away from Momma
Hopping state to state – slumming in trailer parks

No one wants you, they say
You’re nothing but a loser
Echoed the themes of my whole life

Daddy didn’t care,
Momma, nonexistent
Step mom, drug user
Not one who gave a damn

No one wants you, they say
You’re nothing but a loser

Then I met you on the college green,
You were that life-line I held on to
But those words refused to let me go–

No one wants you, they say
You’re nothing but a loser
Don’t even bother – you’re unworthy

I believed them, oh I believed
Never telling you how I truly felt
Letting you go – my greatest regret
As I watched you walk away

No one wants you, they say
You’re nothing but a loser

Continents and wars separated
Us until one day I learned
Someone’s stolen your heart

No one wants you, they say
You’re nothing but a loser

Without a care in the world High Risk became my game
No one would even know if
I’d died in some god-forsaken desert

No one wants you, they say
You’re nothing but a loser

Son of bitch, I survived
Like a cockroach I kept returning
Unwillingly, oh so what was the point?

They kept chanting–
No one wants you, they say
You’re nothing but a loser

Time blurred – broken dreams, heartaches
My constant reality as I wandered
The wasted land called Life

Perhaps there were some truth to the words–
No one wants you, they say
You’re nothing but a loser

One day, out of the blue
An email by you asking–
“Do you still remember me?”

Battles I’ve fought but never one as great
as on that day when in my heart
I truly wanted to hope —

No one wants you, they say
You’re nothing but a loser

Life was just as cruel to you
With your own battles
Losing your love, your sight

Do I remember you?

Oh, yes…

No one wants you, they say
You’re nothing but a loser
Slowly fading, fading till only a whisper

Twenty years have since passed
I still hold you in my arms and
You hold my heart

You accepted me as I am
You loved me inspite of my
Brokenness

You saved a boy no one wanted
And instead of a loser
You made me the man I am today

You are my miracle

Wonder #Poetry

These feet
Stumble up the white
Mountain

My eyes
Teardrops like icepicks
Stabbing

This heart
No heat will ever
Unfreeze

Until
A song I hear in
The wind

Blue bird
So vocal and strong
Nestled

In the
Majestic black spruce
Teeming

Winter
Cannot stop a life
This small

Its eyes
Sparkle like a soul
On fire

Nature
In its truest form
Can heal

Broken
Hearts and shattered lives
–like mine