Today I decided to live
Instead of gliding by
I went out and looked to the sky
Unlike I'd ever done before
And felt a little piece of me
Would never die again
The Ella's prompt is to be inspired by Sark. This is the first time I've ever heard of this author and it was like a breath of fresh air. A lot of the times we tend to just go through every day without really living, so that's where I went with the prompt since Sark seems so ALIVE. To read the other contributions or to simply get inspired go here.
Showing posts with label inspiration. Show all posts
Showing posts with label inspiration. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
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.
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 12, 2011
Notebook
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
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
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