Power

The heavy wooden door slams

Shaking the thin plaster walls

And the frail girl

Who sits curled in a ball

In the shadowed corner

To the myopic eye

The room looks well-kept and ordinary

A dim lamp illuminates a faded paisley couch

And casts a dim glow around the tattered walls

A grandfather clock ticks against the wall

As second by second goes by

But under closer inspection

You notice the broken picture frames

And the shaking form of a child

She keeps her head down

Under the protection of her thin, quacking arms

A looming shadow blocks the faint light

Casting her shadow into darkness

Burly hands grab her by her hair

And she muffles a scream

Knowing it will do her no good

She is slammed against the wall by her neck

With a force so strong

It sends the room spinning

Her heart beats loudly in her throat

As she clammers for air

Gasping, waiting, knowing

That he always lets go

"He loves me, he really does,"

She thinks, trying to hold on

She slides down until her feet

Have reached the floor

Feeling the grip lessen

But the color doesnt rush back into her eyes

Nor does the rush disappear from her ears

All thats left is the sight of a shadow

Stalking through the door

And the faint ticking of a grandfather clock

Our Souls are Roses.

A dead, broken, abused weed, suddenly turns into a blossoming rose,

Fights underneath the pressure of the cruel white snow

Crushing it with its power, but not so much anymore.

For the beautiful flower will have its spotlight!

Its funny how when this precious thing was a weakling no one cared for it at all,

but when it becomes beautiful, the world seems to love it even more.

Our own actions change us too.

We can be this powerless weed, struggling to survive the cruel winter,

or people.

We can be the snow, putting people down, crushing them with everything we want to be.

Or we can be this rose, gentle, and wanted by so many.

Trapped

A girl sits still
atop a chair
bolted to the ground,
in a lrage white room.

Thoughts
buzz across the room,
colliding,
blurry.

The girl
faces straight ahead
toward the oak door-
her eyes unmoving.

Shadows
of feet pass
through the crack under the door-
unfaltering.

A Thought
dances
in front of her eyes.

The girl stands,
walks across the room,
eyes still set.

She gives the door a gentle nudge.
It swings open
as she grins
and steps through the doorway.

Time passes,
and the girl reaches
for the handle on the outside,
covered in gleaming
barbs and needles.

Warm blood
and salty tears
splatter the floor,
beneath a monster,
heaving between sobs.

Falling through the Past.

Masks of shame

Eyes of lies

Words of poison

Breaths of toxins.

I am too far gone to be brought back

You brought me here, now take me

I trusted you and you helped me up on this ledge

The only thing you have ever said that i believed was

Jump.

And so i do, the feeling of anything but pain and fear is better

I have been falling endlessly into something that is not the future

but is the past.

Time cannot stop me know, it has been a burden on my neck.

For now i am falling, longer than all the rest

I am calm, sane, and glorious.

Disillusioned

I am disillusioned.

the walls which once

supported

me,

contained

my world,

i see now,

are not there,

but instead

replaced by nothing

the most fearful thing of all

The floor

in which my feet

were once rooted

has shattered beneath me

& i fall

into the deep

the ugly abyss

never ending

nothingness

falling,

hopelessly,

an event

beyond my control

and all this

simply because

i couldnt hold on

to the illusion

i called life

the illusion

we all call

living.

i am disillusioned.

My Title is Untitled.

These words are my sins
my heart is where they belong
when i speak them i studder
when i hear them i cringe
i wish they did not know
how to own me
how to control
i have lost all sense i used to know
when they fail
i am to blame

Risk

There is something about living on edge that puts a hop in my feet, a spark in my soul. To escape barely avoiding the bullet every moment is the best feeling in the world. The whiz  of trouble as it streaks by your head sends adrenaline pumping through your veins, fear racing to your heart. But you pull your hand out just before the piranha  can chew it off. Just before you can experience pain. The rush of life-No, the rush of living never disappoints. It leaves you every time with your hair blowing and hands shaking. But within that panic is excitement. Each risk you take is a jump into danger, like a dropping roller coaster, that makes you feel as if you are actually taking a chance. No one wants to live life watching the waves, they want to be out there riding them. So, take my advice now and seize every opportunity for adventure. Live on a tightrope, and balance in the wind.

Deaths Doorstep

Patient: Knock Knock
Death: Who is it?
Patient: It is I sir.
Death: What is it that you want again?
Patient: Well I've been here for a while now, may I come in?
Death: A few minutes more please.
Patient: You said that last time.
Death: When exactly was that?
Patient: A week ago.
Death: Well then, just a few minuets more.

{Enter: Blue eyed boy}

Blue eyed boy: Knock Knock
Death: Who is it?
Blue eyed boy: Just me sir.
Death: Yes...come in.

{Boy goes in}

Patient: What?!
Death: Is something wrong?
Patient: Yes actually.
Death: What would that be?
Patient: I've been sitting here waiting and you let a boy who's just arrived in before me!
Death: Is that a problem?
Patient: Yes it's a problem! It's unfair.
Death: Well when you put it that way, I guess it is rather unfair. I'll give you a little longer though, perhaps you'll come around.

{Patient walks off muttering curses}

The Flowers In a Vase

if a conciousness were to bloom within the flower resting in a vase would it tire of it kind suffering to please us? rebel? whither and die? or will it see us living with our dear ones and grow jelous wanting, needing to feel this thing called love? If a consiousness were to bloom in a flower what would it do? This poem isn't very good. I know. But I was told to post something.... This was inspired by M.C.Escher...my favourite (not Japanese) artist.

Untitled

When you smile at me, hold my hand
Smiling back is ingrained and automatic
When you kiss me, I respond
While trying hard not to cry
When you bruise me, blame me
I am silent
But it's okay. You can have me, all of me.
At this point, I am merely mechanical.

So Softly

So Softly
the sounds rush through the night.
So gently
the wind comes from the right.
So softly
the footsteps follow you.
So gently
a hand grabs onto you.
So sudden
a knife comes to your neck.
So quiet
the sound pierces the rest.
So quickly
the person runs along.
So softly
your life is now long gone.

A Beautiful Fear

Why are lilies the flower of death if they are so beautiful?

Does this symbolize that there is something after death,

Something that is just as beautiful as lilies?

Why are ravens the bird of death if they are despised?

Does this symbolize how some people fear death,

So much that they fear the raven?

The Box

***

They say, "think outside of the box". Which essentially means be original; go to a place where no one has gone before. Think of something that has never been thought of. Think outside of the box.

So how does one go about thinking outside of the box when all they know is considered inside the box? When every thing, every idea, and every one is unoriginal and old news because it's been seen, it's been done and already in existence. How does one truly step outside of the box and fathom an idea so unique and yet still relatable? It's an impossibility if you ask me, because creation comes from inspiration and all that inspires is still inside the box. Everything is a copy of a copy of a copy that progressively becomes a misrepresentation of the original. As human beings we are an eclectic mix of the people we aspire to be. No idea is unique, it is simply just a thought heard and twisted to be called our own. So how does one truly think outside the box? They don't.

And say if one does manage to think outside of the box and then steps back into the box to share with others, doesn't it then just become unoriginal? It enters the world or awareness. People familiarize themselves with this unique idea to the point of where it doesn't move them anymore. When an original thought enters the minds of everyday people it becomes trapped in the world of mundaneness. What was once outside of the box is now inside the box and loses its credibility. It loses it's shine; it is consumed by the average and made to be forgotten. It is forever in side of the box scratching at the cardboard walls wishing to see the light of originality once more.

And what a shame it is to bring outside-of-the-box thoughts to the inside. Because you probably thought this was original the first time you read it. But by the second read through, it will just be old news to you. It will just be another inside-of-the-box thought.

***

Thanks for reading,

skylerb

i hate blogging

i hate blogging.

but i promise i will blog on here just for mr. horvath.

that being said... my first piece...

di-uh-re-uh [n.] excessive and frequent evacuations of watery feces.

the end.

...i think it says, "take me seriously as a writer."

thanks for reading,

skylerb

Sijo Poetry (kind of)

I was bored, and I was avoiding my math homework. So decided to try my hand at this Sijo poetry stuff. I don't really think I got the meter right at all, but I had so much fun writing these I decided to post them anyway.
_____________________________________________________________________________________

Syncopation
You hold me, smiling softly
I can always hear your heart race.
When you kiss me,my heart lies still.
I feel no drumbeat in my chest.
How will our love make music
with hearts that beat two rhythms?

Untitled 1
They say salvation is a gift.
Bought with Lamb's blood and pain and death.
Now I live with the consequence.
I will never pay off this debt.
Why did You think I wanted this?
I never asked to be saved.

Untitled 2
Do you hear the stars crying?
Forever burning alive
They are separate from us
Yet I wish I could help them
Or is it worth their suff'ring
to see eternal beauty?

Soul of Fire

The outside,
a veil-
calm,
serene.

The inside,
ever-changing-
boiling,
churning.

Liquid fire
cascades,
over a white
tissue paper wall.

It flows,
through well-carved valleys-
long ago created,
yet never forgotten.

Clenching fists,
gritting teeth,
bulging veins,
tightened muscles.

Only seen
by a few,
who will never
be seen again.

Replace the wall,
to its duty-
a barricade,
into an inextinguishable
soul of fire.

All Because of a Penny

A worn penny
falls,
thinking lowly
of itself.

It glimpses
its reflection
in the glittering
water below.

The penny looks at itself;
beneath
the grime and rust,
is a shining surface.

It enters
the welcoming water
with a soft
'plunk'.

It slowly drifts
toward the weathered bottom
of the broken fountain,
in the dappled sunlight.

A gentle, urgent current,
follows
in its wake.

Small ripples spread
throughout the still water,
reaching the edges,
of the forgotten fountain.

The warm sunlight
bounces off the waves,
sending fragmented images
onto the surrounding benches and trees.

A stunning scene-
as it should be,
all because of
a penny.

It's been a while...

Hey,

Come on.

Let's scream at the world.

Come on,

It'll be be fun!

You'll love it.

We don't need anyone else

But yourself.

It's them

It's their fault.

They've got the chloroform.

I've seen it.

They'll stifle us.

Hey,

Come on.

Let's scream at the world.

What do you guys think? Also, any title suggestions?

Mask & Shield

The world is silent.
Static.
My breath puncturing the
swelling perfusion of perfection.
Tranquility.
A few month's worth of triumph
for all fair.

The heavens opening up
and masking all impurities with a
veil of all white
blinding brilliance
Gleaming in the sun, a spotlight,
showing off its
sparkling innocence
Resting on three seasons of
submission to temptation
after a long journey from the top of the
sun burnt, lonely sky.

Warping time and space,
there are no laws for the
distances between the lovely
tufts of dancing snow.
There is no sound,
No sight,
Just touch.
The harsh cold overpowering,
taking over the warm greens underneath,
turning them to their true dull browns,
but leaving me, untouched,
unsure of where I fall
among this grand mass of
immaculate beauty and covered darkness.

Reducing me to my simplest form, able to
act upon nothing, for nothing but
curiosity. Curiosity pulling me closer to
this mask.
Enveloping me from the knees down
until I am laying,
laying within in it.

All is white within the
small hollow I have made for
myself and no others.
My breathe is still now,
swallowed by
the layered walls of snow
and ice around me

The air swarming my face
looking for comfort,
looking to forget the
absence of the sun's heat.

But it is too late,
I am one with the mask,
the shield.
I am lost to all,
and I have been found.
I hear,
I see,
I feel,
like never before.
I live.

The Old and the Worn

The Old and the Worn

Stricken with age she stands;

Her scarred and callused roots

Sunk deep in rich black soil,

Her twisted branches reach

Towards the heavens above,

Each spider veined green leaf

Contains a simple tale.

That warped flesh upon her back

A strike from a lightning bolt,

That bulge in her ancient hide

A scar from a woodman’s axe,

The gouge in her rough tan flesh

A caress from a deer’s ivory rack,

But erect and strong she stands.

Her roots tell stories of their own;

Some swollen with wholesome life

Others festering with disease,

Slowly she breaks them away

To free up the good beneath,

Her toes wedge into splitting rock

And anchor her in a novel place.

She stands strong and valiant

For her brethren about her,

Not letting them see her wounds

Or the stubborn golden tears,

But she lets them see her smile

The one stretched wide across her face,

And assures them all is well.

She didn’t stay strong alone

With her kind and loving friend,

He’d reach down and hug her tight

With his great big arms glowing bright,

His entire body set aflame

With his love burning in rapturous rays,

And soothing her tender soul.

©2011 Rachel Clay

Monroe Writes: Sijo Poem: Moon Above

Monroe Writes: Sijo Poem: Moon Above

Sijo Poem: Moon Above

Moon Above

Moon above in the black sky, how lonely be;

Were there none to comfort thee, I beg on high;

Bless him kind for he loveth me, he treats me like I’m the stars.

© 2011 Rachel Clay

For Current Students Only

To all current students that are using this blog...this blog will take the place of the JustWrite blog for you as far as submitting work at the end of MP3 so keep up the great work!!!

It's All Over

A rusty nail
in a forhead,
between scarred eyes.

A hammer
glints in the moonlight
as it slowly
strikes the nail.

Thoughts and Memories,
some long-forgotten,
surge forward
toward the nail,
waiting
to be let out,
before
it's all over.


If you have any suggestions or anything, please tell me! I'm not sure about a few words...mostly all of it.

Too old, too old

I'm broken
Somewhere, deep inside
Something needs to be tuned
To the right station

My mind is all out of wack
It's not wired right
Or it's just another hand-me-down
Too old and worn
Ready to give way

~

I thought this was a bit too sad to put on the other blog. any suggestions or corrections would be welcomed!

untitled

Who is it

that has us dancing

at their fingertips

under their control

who is it

that decides

who must stay

and who must go

And what is it,

that can

throw our lives about

mercilessly

much like being trapped in an undertow

who has the right to

take our dear ones

but leave us behind

what is this thing

called fate

destiny, & God

who is it

that can be so cold?

it sickens us

to think

theres someone out there like that

and what must we do

to be free

of this sickening puppet dance?

If we cut our own strings

can we,

finally

stretch out our wings

and fly away

or will we become lifeless

cold

our punishment

for questioning fate.

The Bridge of Broken Glass

Fragile feet,
walk
toward the inevitable
Bridge of Broken Glass.

Shards
of clear,
glittering glass-
deceiving.

The feet tentatively
take the first step,
wincing.

The feet
try not to stumble,
try not to hesitate,
try not to go back.

The glass makes a soft,
tinkling sound-
turns sunlight
into rainbows.

Pain
stabs,
from every angle,
not convincing enough.

The feet
do not falter-
their heart is set
on the wondrous place,
beyond.

The Current

The Current

The current,
forceful,
rips everything
in its path,
off its foundation.

The current continues,
quick,
adding more debris,
to swiftly carry,
in its twisting route.

Turn aginst the current,
the harsh, merciless current.
Take sure, strong
steps, strides,
Against the Current.




Please tell me what you think!

A Pro Discusses Figurative Language

After reading Mariah's poem and thinking about the place of figurative language in modern poetry, I went in search of an article that has some sound advice and discussion of the use of FL.  What I found was this great article by D.A. Powell.  Since so many of the posts have been poetry-related I think it wise that we do some critical reading of poetic form and device.  I would love to see some feedback after reading the article...is this something that is too advanced for us at this point or too simple or just right...pardon the Goldilocks....and for you fiction writers (I know you are out there)  don't despair, we will have some good discussions and articles soon for you too.

Contests Etc

Don't forget to check the page with writing contests...it will be updated periodically.  Also, keep me informed of anyone that wants to be a member on this blog...don't need to be former students or Monroe residents or anything...keep writing!

Eternity

Can you promise me that

You’ll never let go?

That our fingers will stay interlocked forever?

Promise me your grip will never loosen

That your heart will be mine everlastingly

Promise me you’ll never let your arms slip from my waist

That we’ll stay embraced until the sun burns out

That our hearts will beat as one endlessly

That your eyes will never stop penetrating mine

Can you promise to be with me for all eternity?

Can you promise?

Can you promise?

I guess not, unless forever ended yesterday

Driving Through the Night

Have you had love
So vast
It stretched the world
Three times over
Without a tear

Have you seen love
Translate eyes
Into the night sky
During a asteroid storm

Have you heard love
Crawl ibto your ears
And lull
You to oblivion
Away from the harsh day

Have you tasted love
That set your teeth
On edge
Tingling through your jaw
Like chewing on tin

Have you felt love
Slip inside
Past your ribcage
And reside next to your heart

Have you loved
So much
You didnt need words?

Just some words I thought to put together driving home from the artstore/bookstore