This has been sitting unfinished in a memo on my phone and I finally figured out the last line. I don't have a title yet but will update once I think of a good one.
Snow fell with the ashes,
and it looked like peace;
the white of surrender,
the grey of defeat.
The screams of the dying
still hung in the air
And soft on the breeze
faint sound of a prayer.
Friday, 14 March 2014
Tuesday, 19 November 2013
20 Day Challenge #15
This is prompt #17: Describe a first.
It was the first time I went to see her. She looked different, deflated, like someone had punctured a hole in her skin and drained out the energy I was so used to seeing. Her skin sagged over the hollows left behind. Everything I remembered came back to me then: the first trip we took to Florida, the way her eyes sparkled in the sunlight and her laughter flowed as easily as the wine. We were so young then, a tangle of long, tanned limbs and loudly stated ideals.We'd thought we would conquer the world together, but the world conquered us; the distance our travels drove between us was stronger than the vows we'd made to each other. Now, this brought us back together. The diagnosis, the surgery, the treatment. I don't know how long it took her to build up the courage to call me, but when she called I came. I owed her that much. But seeing here there, seeing the toll that time and illness had taken on her, I knew this trip would be my last.
It was the first time I went to see her. She looked different, deflated, like someone had punctured a hole in her skin and drained out the energy I was so used to seeing. Her skin sagged over the hollows left behind. Everything I remembered came back to me then: the first trip we took to Florida, the way her eyes sparkled in the sunlight and her laughter flowed as easily as the wine. We were so young then, a tangle of long, tanned limbs and loudly stated ideals.We'd thought we would conquer the world together, but the world conquered us; the distance our travels drove between us was stronger than the vows we'd made to each other. Now, this brought us back together. The diagnosis, the surgery, the treatment. I don't know how long it took her to build up the courage to call me, but when she called I came. I owed her that much. But seeing here there, seeing the toll that time and illness had taken on her, I knew this trip would be my last.
Monday, 18 November 2013
20 Day Challenge #14
This is prompt #2: this I believe. I think this was originally intended to be sort of like a short essay, but this is what it turned into instead. I don't really like this one, but it's what I wrote for the prompt so it's going up. I started this with a particular intent but it just rambled a bit and didn't quite make the point I thought I was going to make in the first place.
This I believe.
This is all we have,
every second, every minute, every hour,
ticking down to the end.
No more.
The things we fill our lives with don't matter then.
It's easy to put aside the hard things,
every long shot, every practice, every pipe dream,
easy to fill our lives with wasted time.
Every second, every minute, every hour,
ticking away with the click of the keyboard,
with the office jobs we hate,
with the tasks we never really wanted to do.
Time means nothing until it's running out.
We waste our youths on what our parents want for us
(or running away from what they want for us)
and by the time we figure out what we really want
the best parts have passed us by.
Things always get put off for the future,
but the future starts now,
and the longer we wait the harder it gets,
and the future never comes;
we just find ourselves in the present again.
There's nothing that will make us happier
by putting it off.
But we're too scared to take the chance.
Every second, every minute, every hour,
slipping into days.
Into years.
And our heads are still buried in the sand,
so we can't see it slide down the hourglass,
can't see the things we missed
while we whittled away the minutes,
shaped our lives into something different than what we imagined.
In the end, we're all we have to show for ourselves,
and we don't always like what we see.
Maybe, if we had just done things differently -
but we didn't.
And if we had another chance,
we'd do it just the same.
This I believe.
This I believe.
This is all we have,
every second, every minute, every hour,
ticking down to the end.
No more.
The things we fill our lives with don't matter then.
It's easy to put aside the hard things,
every long shot, every practice, every pipe dream,
easy to fill our lives with wasted time.
Every second, every minute, every hour,
ticking away with the click of the keyboard,
with the office jobs we hate,
with the tasks we never really wanted to do.
Time means nothing until it's running out.
We waste our youths on what our parents want for us
(or running away from what they want for us)
and by the time we figure out what we really want
the best parts have passed us by.
Things always get put off for the future,
but the future starts now,
and the longer we wait the harder it gets,
and the future never comes;
we just find ourselves in the present again.
There's nothing that will make us happier
by putting it off.
But we're too scared to take the chance.
Every second, every minute, every hour,
slipping into days.
Into years.
And our heads are still buried in the sand,
so we can't see it slide down the hourglass,
can't see the things we missed
while we whittled away the minutes,
shaped our lives into something different than what we imagined.
In the end, we're all we have to show for ourselves,
and we don't always like what we see.
Maybe, if we had just done things differently -
but we didn't.
And if we had another chance,
we'd do it just the same.
This I believe.
Sunday, 17 November 2013
20 Day Challenge #13
Due to some family drama and a dance show yesterday, I wasn't able to get a piece done, but the challenge continues today. This is prompt #20 Create a still-life
in a room that implies a dramatic moment (ie. furniture overturned).
It was a still day. The small brick bungalo at the end of the lane was as tidy as ever, the front lawn filled with neatly cut grass and trees trimmed to perfection. The windows had been recently cleaned and the house numbers shone in the light of the setting sun. A step inside the front door revealed a small foyer decorated tastefully. The small oak side table held organizers for keys and mail, and a neat line of boots rested next to the hall closet. Reflected in the mirror above the side table was a family portrait, slightly skewed, with a crack running down its length. Around the corner, the living room was in a state of quiet chaos: the living room table, laid bare, with a smear of blood on the corner; the shatters of china next to it on the floor, a small handle visible among the pile of shards; the damp stain of tea on the white carpet below. The ornate mirror on the mantlepiece was also cracked, cutting the reflection of the sofa in two. One side was the same as always: white and pristine, with a pile of decorative pillows and a brown throw draped over one arm. The other was covered in small droplets of tea and the pillows were strewn next to it on the floor. The favoured heirloom, a brown leather wingback chair, lay on its side in the corner of the room. A small face peered over the back, testing the stillness for permanence.
It was a still day. The small brick bungalo at the end of the lane was as tidy as ever, the front lawn filled with neatly cut grass and trees trimmed to perfection. The windows had been recently cleaned and the house numbers shone in the light of the setting sun. A step inside the front door revealed a small foyer decorated tastefully. The small oak side table held organizers for keys and mail, and a neat line of boots rested next to the hall closet. Reflected in the mirror above the side table was a family portrait, slightly skewed, with a crack running down its length. Around the corner, the living room was in a state of quiet chaos: the living room table, laid bare, with a smear of blood on the corner; the shatters of china next to it on the floor, a small handle visible among the pile of shards; the damp stain of tea on the white carpet below. The ornate mirror on the mantlepiece was also cracked, cutting the reflection of the sofa in two. One side was the same as always: white and pristine, with a pile of decorative pillows and a brown throw draped over one arm. The other was covered in small droplets of tea and the pillows were strewn next to it on the floor. The favoured heirloom, a brown leather wingback chair, lay on its side in the corner of the room. A small face peered over the back, testing the stillness for permanence.
Friday, 15 November 2013
The Colour Yellow
Another poem not based on personal experience, just a feeling I had that started turning into ideas. Interestingly, I knew basically how I wanted this to go, but had difficulty writing it on the computer. Once I switched to pen and paper the words flowed much more easily.
I used to love the colour yellow.
You remembered that,
and you always brought me daffodils instead of roses.
Your praise fell on my ears like the soft summer rains that were falling when we first kissed,
and with your love
the flowers won't the only thing that bloomed.
It had been so long since I felt wanted.
I climbed so willingly onto the pedestal you built for me,
and I came to love the colour white
because it featured in all of my fantasies.
I could see myself walking down the aisle with you,
dreamed of white chiffon cakes and thick vanilla frosting
and the moment I said I do.
When that moment finally came
it felt unreal, as though I was only borrowing this happiness.
And when that veil finally lifted,
I saw what you never showed before,
and that's when I stopped loving the colour blue
because the first thing you destroyed was my favourite blue dress,
the one that showed off my figure.
You didn't want anyone else to look at me;
you wanted me covered up.
And you did some of that yourself
by covering me in bruises.
I didn't need that dress anymore to see blue against my skin.
In the end, I came to love red,
the colour of the heart that let you down
and left you gasping for breath.
The colour that finally drained from your face as I made the call,
knowing it was already to late.
And now I love the colour black,
the bag that zipped over your face
and set me free.
The black I wore to your funeral,
that kept everyone from seeing
I finally had colour in my life again.
I used to love the colour yellow.
You remembered that,
and you always brought me daffodils instead of roses.
Your praise fell on my ears like the soft summer rains that were falling when we first kissed,
and with your love
the flowers won't the only thing that bloomed.
It had been so long since I felt wanted.
I climbed so willingly onto the pedestal you built for me,
and I came to love the colour white
because it featured in all of my fantasies.
I could see myself walking down the aisle with you,
dreamed of white chiffon cakes and thick vanilla frosting
and the moment I said I do.
When that moment finally came
it felt unreal, as though I was only borrowing this happiness.
And when that veil finally lifted,
I saw what you never showed before,
and that's when I stopped loving the colour blue
because the first thing you destroyed was my favourite blue dress,
the one that showed off my figure.
You didn't want anyone else to look at me;
you wanted me covered up.
And you did some of that yourself
by covering me in bruises.
I didn't need that dress anymore to see blue against my skin.
In the end, I came to love red,
the colour of the heart that let you down
and left you gasping for breath.
The colour that finally drained from your face as I made the call,
knowing it was already to late.
And now I love the colour black,
the bag that zipped over your face
and set me free.
The black I wore to your funeral,
that kept everyone from seeing
I finally had colour in my life again.
20 Day Challenge #12
This is prompt #8: write about love. This isn't based on personal experience, but rather the feeling I got after reading a poem written by an old friend (I took a very different approach than he did, but just ran with the emotion I felt after reading). I was worried that this prompt would turn out cheesy or sappy, so I'm glad I managed to come up with something a little more sorrowful.
You took me with you when you
left.
You took me with you and you
never looked back,
thought you left me where my body
is,
too scared to move, too timid to
follow.
I am frozen, rooted to the spot,
but my mind and soul are free to
soar,
to go with you,
see the life we could have had.
You took the best parts of me,
the ones that laugh easily,
that forgive quickly,
that make a house a home.
You stayed here just long enough
to let me know what that feels like,
but you grew restless,
felt the longing for someplace
new,
and you knew I would not follow
you,
so you left before you felt
trapped.
You wanted to take only the good
with you,
thought it was better to leave
before love turned to hate.
But you left a hollow in my
heart,
filled it with a longing I have
never known
and now my home is a cage.
The door is unlocked, but I've
shut myself in.
I can picture the life we would
have together,
I dream of the places I've never
been,
the places I could find with you.
Maybe if I hadn't been so scared,
I could be finding them right
now,
but when I realized I had to
choose between your love and this life,
I couldn't bear to give up what I
had.
And time has created more
distance between us than the miles ever could.
While it lasted, we lived in
harmony,
but now I'm singing out unmatched
melodies,
hoping that somewhere deep inside
you can feel them.
And I dream about the things that
could have been,
and the life I could have had
with you,
while I live mine out alone.
Thursday, 14 November 2013
20 Day Challenge #11
This is prompt#16: Write a story with only dialogue. If there's one thing I've learned today, it's that dialogue is a terrible way to tell an entire story.
"Did you see that?"
"See what? It's pitch black in here."
"I definitely saw something move. Tell me you didn't see something move."
"Sarah, I didn't see anything move. I can barely see my hand in front of my face."
"There's definitely something in here."
"Will you calm down? We were alone when we came in. I don't think the battery dying suddenly conjured up a bunch of monsters in the dark."
"Shh!"
"What now?"
"Did you hear that?"
"Sarah, there is nothing here. Jesus Christ, I shouldn't have brought you here."
"You're the one who invited me. You said it would be fun."
"I only invited you because you insisted. If you weren't so needy we could have just seen a movie next weekend."
"Are you kidding me? You - ok, Matt, I really think I heard something this time."
"You are such a wuss. Look, follow me, we can still use the wall as a guide. I think the exit is this way."
"I'm not moving. It was your stupid idea to go caving, you find the way out."
"Fine, whatever. Just quit whining, ok?"
"I am not whining. I'd say if there was ever a time to get upset, it would be now. You know when I proposed a couple's weekend, I thought you might change your plans. I didn't think you'd actually drag me out here."
"You knew I was planning this for weeks. Sometimes, it's not all about you, Sarah."
"See? This is exactly what I've been trying to tell you. You never make time for me, but you spent weeks planning this little solo camping trip. I'm just asking for you to put a bit more effort into this relationship."
"Fuck, Sarah, not this again."
"Yes, this again. We're talking about this. You can't just brush me off every time I bring this up."
"Actually, I can. You're so full of shit. Remember your birthday? Our anniversary?"
"Yeah, ok, that was nice and all, but I told you I wanted a surprise party. And that was not the necklace I showed you."
"Well I'm sorry I can't afford a thousand dollars worth of jewellery. You're just proving my point. I do a lot for you, you just can't see it."
"That is such a lie. You've been spending less and less time with me. It's almost like you aren't invested in this relationship anymore!"
"Maybe I'm not!"
"What?"
"Look, I'm going to find the way out of here, then we're done. This is more than I signed up for."
"You can't break up with me! This is your fault!"
"How is this my fault?"
"If you'd just done what I wanted, I'd be happy right now. You're the one who doesn't care enough to get things right. That has nothing to do with me."
"Huh."
"Matt, don't do this, ok? Please talk to me... Matt? Where are you? Did you find the way out? Come on, Matt, this isn't funny... Matt?"
"Did you see that?"
"See what? It's pitch black in here."
"I definitely saw something move. Tell me you didn't see something move."
"Sarah, I didn't see anything move. I can barely see my hand in front of my face."
"There's definitely something in here."
"Will you calm down? We were alone when we came in. I don't think the battery dying suddenly conjured up a bunch of monsters in the dark."
"Shh!"
"What now?"
"Did you hear that?"
"Sarah, there is nothing here. Jesus Christ, I shouldn't have brought you here."
"You're the one who invited me. You said it would be fun."
"I only invited you because you insisted. If you weren't so needy we could have just seen a movie next weekend."
"Are you kidding me? You - ok, Matt, I really think I heard something this time."
"You are such a wuss. Look, follow me, we can still use the wall as a guide. I think the exit is this way."
"I'm not moving. It was your stupid idea to go caving, you find the way out."
"Fine, whatever. Just quit whining, ok?"
"I am not whining. I'd say if there was ever a time to get upset, it would be now. You know when I proposed a couple's weekend, I thought you might change your plans. I didn't think you'd actually drag me out here."
"You knew I was planning this for weeks. Sometimes, it's not all about you, Sarah."
"See? This is exactly what I've been trying to tell you. You never make time for me, but you spent weeks planning this little solo camping trip. I'm just asking for you to put a bit more effort into this relationship."
"Fuck, Sarah, not this again."
"Yes, this again. We're talking about this. You can't just brush me off every time I bring this up."
"Actually, I can. You're so full of shit. Remember your birthday? Our anniversary?"
"Yeah, ok, that was nice and all, but I told you I wanted a surprise party. And that was not the necklace I showed you."
"Well I'm sorry I can't afford a thousand dollars worth of jewellery. You're just proving my point. I do a lot for you, you just can't see it."
"That is such a lie. You've been spending less and less time with me. It's almost like you aren't invested in this relationship anymore!"
"Maybe I'm not!"
"What?"
"Look, I'm going to find the way out of here, then we're done. This is more than I signed up for."
"You can't break up with me! This is your fault!"
"How is this my fault?"
"If you'd just done what I wanted, I'd be happy right now. You're the one who doesn't care enough to get things right. That has nothing to do with me."
"Huh."
"Matt, don't do this, ok? Please talk to me... Matt? Where are you? Did you find the way out? Come on, Matt, this isn't funny... Matt?"
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