Thursday, September 29, 2011

Red - Thursday Think Tank

Cheating for the second time this week! The prompt for Poets United: The Thursday Think Tank is red. I wrote this poem on May 29 of this year to describe how I felt when anger crept into my life. It belongs to a series of poems I wrote while experimenting with formless poetry inspired by an Anthropologie catalog.

               a blinding color
     a shawl enveloping,          choking
my every sense.
               poisoning my ears.
I walk and fall
                 over their clammy hands.

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Songbird - Write on Wednesday

I'm not gonna lie. I cheated this week -_-. This was actually written for a school assignment in May (tenth to be exact). Time doesn't seem to be hanging around much this week so this will have to do. The song is Starry Night by Don McLean (I like it better when Josh Groban sings it).

    A gust of wind carrying the heady perfume of honeysuckle rustled the pages of his book. Don was momentarily disrupted from his careful observation of Starry Night. He blinked a few times to bring himself back to reality. Inside, he was filled with inexplicable sadness at the life of the genius ignored. As Don thought about the people he loved, he marveled at the fortitude of the artist. He was sure he would have caved in earlier had he been in van Gogh's place.
    Examining the painting once more, Don realized the swirling hues common in Vincent's work had a story to tell. With a surge of inspiration and the urge to return something to the painter, Don reached for the notebook and guitar that were always within reach. He let the colors wash over his soul before beginning his task.
    The words began to flow from his pen to the paper, each one coming alive to express the beauty of the paintings and painter alike. Don reached into his innermost being as he tried to recreate van Gogh's masterpieces in human language, ever careful to let each piece speak for itself. The flowers, the seasons, and the people no one ever bothered to look at twice must have been precious to the artist or he would never have taken the time to paint them. If they were important enough to catch Vincent's eye, then they must be important to the song as well.
    The final words were written and Don began to coax a tune from his guitar, letting the music come to him as he had done with the story. The melody came out as sweet and passionate as the lyrics and paintings. The sound of the final composition drifted from the balcony down to the people passing by. Vincent's message was not lost.

To read Vincent van Gogh's (or what I imagine it to be) point of view go here.

Monday, September 19, 2011


This week I'm combining the prompt from OSI (betrayal) with Carry on Tuesday (He should have seen it coming).

He should have seen it coming
When he looked into her eyes
But life then had been easy
And thoughts of death were far

He should have seen the clues
Instead he chose to love
Ignoring the fact that
He wasn't her only one

Thursday, September 15, 2011


This week at Theme Thursday the prompt is Memory.

The air is filled with honeysuckle
That brings pictures to my mind
Of summers past
When people laughed
And now there's nothing left
But memories that hang
Just beyond my reach

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

When I look into your eyes - Carry on Tuesday

This week's prompt for Carry on Tuesday is When I look into your eyes. Join in here or read the other contributions.

On days when I
Feel all alone
I look into your eyes
And hope to catch a glimpse
Of life and love
And painted dreams
From yesterday

Monday, September 12, 2011

The Mighty Rewrite - Write on Wednesday

This one was tough because I think extremely highly of Khaled Hosseini's The Kite Runner. Hopefully I didn't disgrace it too much. To join in or read the other contributions go here.

Original paragraph:
    I became what I am today at the age of twelve, on a frigid overcast day in the winter of 1975. I remember the exact moment, crouching behind a crumbling wall, peeking into the alley near the frozen creek. That was a long time ago, but it's wrong what they say about the past, I've learned, about how you can bury it. Because the past has a way of clawing its way out. Looking back now, I realize I have been peeking into that deserted alley for the last twenty-six years.

My rewrite:
    I didn't plan for any of it to happen. If I had known he would turn out this way I never would have wasted a second thought on him. It was what I saw that day on a frigid overcast day in the winter of 1975 that changed my life forever. I remember the precise moment, hiding behind an old dumpster with the wind from the frozen lake chilling me. It was a long time ago, but I've learned that what they say about being able to bury the past is wrong. The past has a way of forcing its way back into our lives. Looking back, I realize I've been stuck in that moment in time for the last twenty-six years.

Comments and constructive criticism always welcome!


This week's prompt from OSI is Notebook. Join in or read the other contributions here

When I look at you
I feel the same way
As when I look at
A notebook's empty pages

Unbridled inspiration takes over
And dreams begin to form
I get the feeling that nothing is impossible
As I hold in my hand the course of words

For when I look at you
There is nothing in the world I need
Except you
To fill these empty pages

Friday, September 9, 2011

Versatile Blogger Award :)

Thoughtful Lene at Musings of Another Mother nominated me for the Versatile Blogger Award. Thanks so much Lene!

To accept this award there are a few rules:
1) thank the blogger who awarded you and link back to them (done =D)

2) share 7 interesting facts about yourself

3) pass the award on to 15 newly discovered blogs

So for my 7 (possibly un)interesting facts:

1- My life chapter is Isaiah 58. I had it engraved into my class ring :)

2- My Hero of the Faith/favorite Bible character is King David.

3- I am proud to say I was born in the largest city (at the time) in the world *drum roll* Mexico City!

4- I am a terrible cook :(

5- My sister is the one who put me on the writing path when I was 13 (I had attempted poetry at 8 but dropped it after a few failures).

6- My favorite fiction book in the ENTIRE world is The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini.

7- I have 5 older brothers and they break the mold of annoying/bossy/and whatever other word describes the pesky brothers you see in movies. They are my heroes!

And now for my 15 newly discovered blogs...
Jenn Wright @ A Loud Soul Silenced by Solitude
Sif @ At the Bottom of the Garden
Jaimee Hunter @ Jaimee Hunter Online
Katharina @ Kathas-trophal
Stella @ Scribblings
Melinda Chapman @ Around the Deep End
Lolamouse @ Mouse Droppings
Cheryl @ Deckside Thoughts
Grace @ Everyday Amazing
Niebla @ Niebla | Fog
Mikha @ Pensamientos para no pensar
Ginny Brannan @ Inside Out Poetry
Piece of Pie ala Mode
Kremo @ The Obtuse Angle
Write Girl @ Write in Motion

Thursday, September 8, 2011

Tread softly because you tread on my dreams

Creative Writing Prompt 5 (I tweaked it a little). I chose "Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven" by William Butler Yeats.

When you come
Riding the waves of emotion
Remember that I am only one
One soul with nothing to offer
but my dreams
And those are just beginning

*I do not own the image above. I found it on Google :)

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Great one liners - Write on Wednesday

I couldn't decide which I liked better so I'm posting two :)

1) It's been years - long, devouring years- since my soul felt the cold, yet here it is in the form of your face.
2) You are the feeling of a roller coaster, excitement laced with anxiety, as we ascend and quickly fall.

Sunday, September 4, 2011


This week's poetry prompt from One Single Impression is weed. Here is what I came up with.

I found a flower
More beautiful than gems
And thought it was the world

They said
"Don't plant it here
It's just a piece of trash."

In rebellion I let it grow
Its roots ran deep into my heart
I nurtured it and cared for it

But pretty soon it drained my life
Only then did I realize
My flower was a weed