Work In Progress: Death’s Hand

So I have published some poetry on here, but poetry was not my first choice of writing genres. Prior to taking courses at the college level, I have always focused on novel length stories. While I am glad that I have learned to branch out and try new things, the novel is my love (especially in the sci-fi/fantasy genre). Here is an opening excerpt for a novel I am currently working on. And when I say opening excerpt I mean the only section I have even begun writing on.

On that thought, I always say I am working on something and will work on it more when I am done with school. Yet, school never seems to end. Procrastination might be my middle name!

Here is Death’s Hand (Or the tiny bit I have so far):

Continue reading Work In Progress: Death’s Hand

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Color’s of Life

So Creative Nonfiction is one of the courses I have taken. In this course, we were asked to write a lyrical essay in this form based off a prompt. I chose to pick three colors and answer some questions about them.
What scent is this color?
What taste is this color?
What texture is this color?
What place is this color?
What mood is this color?
What memory is this color?

And then get these to form into a story. Here is the first draft of my essay:

Wild Pink
Love Spell perfume from Victoria Secret permeating my body as Mai Tai lingers on my tongue. Two hands wrapped around me like soft silk sheets but with a slight gravelly texture. Lights streaming through the dance club. Freedom. Windows down as the car speeds down the freeway. Blaring music and singing at top of our lungs.

Soft Jazz
The scent of fresh cut grass and the taste of apple pie. The feeling of skin on skin. Two seats in the sand as the waves glide gently over the feet of it’s occupants. Calm. Laying with my head in my husband’s lap as he strokes my hair watching a movie together.

Dragon’s Breath
Another woman’s perfume with a slimy scent. Salty taste on my lips. Small hard gravel in my shoes. An empty home with bags by the door. Anger/Betrayal. Finding the love letters from my husband’s mistress.

TWO STEPS FORWARD, ONE BACK

TWO STEPS FORWARD, ONE BACK

Pass the kitchen. Don’t stop.
No surfing the fridge contents.
Chocolate lingers in the air.
Sharp inhale, shiver, but move on.
Continue down the hall to the bedroom.
“Would you like some cake?”
“No thanks mom. You know I can’t!”
Safe in room. Close the door.
Sneak into kitchen that night.
Grab a plate and slice of cake.
Quick, no one to see.
Mmm, chocolate.

Craft Talk: From My Hospital Bed, I Remember…

Craft is important when it comes to writing in any form. How do you learn your own craft? You learn from practice, editing, peer reviews, and reading other poetry. Honing your craft is a lifetime experience. Below is a poem I have written. Following it are the original poem and edits of the poem. Each has a craft talk section to tell you changes that were made, but more importantly, why the changes were made. I hope this helps!

Continue reading Craft Talk: From My Hospital Bed, I Remember…

Opposite Day

It is a bright dreary morning here in Puyallup and it made me think about a poem I started but have not worked on in a while. One thing that can bring a deeper thought into a poem is using the opposite of what you normally would say.

Normally you hear: It is a bright beautiful morning. Now with the bright dreary morning I used, as a reader, did it make you stop and go “hmmm?” If you are from this area of Washington, you might have laughed because you know what I am talking about!

Take the few lines in the poem I have so far. There is no title other than Crickets Caw but that may change:

Your arms cloak my heart

as the cricket caws under moonlit sun.

 

My heart cannonballs along.

 

Prepare, compare, beware

cat plays in water that turns to sand.

 

Arms can’t cloak a heart! Crickets don’t caw. Cats playing in water? What world is this? How does water turn into sand? Obviously, you may need more of a poem to go on to decipher why I am using such opposites. For now, you will just have to trust I have a point–even if I am still  unsure of that point!

Part of poetry writing is just free writing. Have fun. See where it takes you. Try new things! Try opposites!

Sparrow

No wings, unable to fly

sparrow runs through country side

winding roads going no where

full of pungent rose filled air

 

memories escape rapid out through

a mind gone dormant with no clue

sparrow’s wings once soared

past mountains of vast galore

 

words clipped colorful feathers

allowing them to grow again never

grimy strong sticky tar

those hateful words are never far

 

sparrow tries to flap wingless arms

the wings, her feathers kept her from harm

instead she curls next to the road

and waits for her little heart to explode.