World on Fire

In a world on fire, she brings the rain

Extinguishes realms of roaring flames

Some people burn, but she glows bright

To a world in darkness, she brings the light

The Earth only turns with her permission

She loves all its people without condition

Inside her embrace, no evil may enter

In an unbalanced world, she is the centre

She’s the only one alive who could set me at ease

When I’m with my mother, I can feel at peace

The Bogeyman’s Daughter

She sits by the window, stares into the night

Hugged by the darkness, unburdened by fright

The thrill of death enraptures, envelops, excites

But she stands by her post and stays out of sight

A highway, you know, is a dangerous thing

You can’t count the horrors that travel may bring

But she sits and she waits, contains her delight,

Until an unsuspecting traveller enters her sight

And that’s when she pounces! And that’s when she scores!

The Bogeyman’s daughter, heard of only in lore

She’s the devilish damsel who grips her prey tight

And whisks them away beneath the cover of night

So be wary, dear traveller, lest you enter her realm,

She’ll personally escort you to the Gates of your Hell

Living on Borrowed Time

I check my watch. It’s just about time

The clouds are clearing, and the stars align

In perfect patterns, like they did before

This is our D-Day, the end of a war

And I know, I know, that I’ve done a lot wrong

No one will miss me when I am gone

But the heat of battle still rages fresh

And I celebrate tonight without regrets

I would let it go, but it doesn’t feel right

To live in the day while forgetting the night

I wouldn’t dwell on the past, but the scars from the fight

Are wrapped around my heart, and squeeze it tight

And the pain stuck there forces me to remember

Even the smallest wars change people forever

So I take a step forward, toe-to-toe on the line,

But steady as ever, living on borrowed time

Mission to Love

A.N. This is a bit different; changed the rhyme scheme and the metre is more free verse than usual.

I see him there, poised to kill,

Perched on the rooftop high above.

But his rifles don’t scare me,

I don’t take orders, save from my heart.

I’m on a mission to love.

And the world turns faster up here, somehow,

All drenched in sleet and rain.

The thunder mimics my heart’s own beat

In a vicious symphony, almost a battle

Can I love through this pain?

He takes his shot, and doesn’t miss,

But I’m down here, walking still.

He shot my brains out, and I’m lost

But my heart still beats. I love him,

And I think I always will.

 

Dreams for the Plucking

Ripe on the tree and plump on the vine

They’re ready to pick, it’s just about time

The colours are bright — can you imagine the taste?!

But don’t wait too long, or they’ll go to waste

A dream’s only good for a limited time

They take so long to ripen, yet but a moment to die

You can pick any one, but beware which you do

You’ll be stuck, forever, with the dream you choose

And if it tastes foul, or it slips from your hands,

There’ll be no one to blame, but you will be damned

You will walk your whole life beneath the weight of lost dreams

So go ahead, pick a fruit! I can’t wait to see where it leads

Superstitions

An apple a day keeps the doctor away

While a fresh clove of garlic keeps spirits at bay

And luck can be had through a number of routes

With rabbits’ feet, crickets, clovers, and horseshoes

But beware the black cats, and the sidewalk cracks,

And be prepared for loss if you itch your own back

And remember warm hearts come from hands too cold

And if you follow a rainbow, you’ll always find gold

To Write Like a Writer

 

Thought it might be a good idea to restart with some of these articles. Hopefully they might be useful. :.)

The first idea I had was “how to write like a writer”. At first glance, this phrase might seem a bit of a redundancy. Isn’t the definition of a writer ‘one who writes’? Well, perhaps. But we’re not referring to term papers and grocery lists. We’re speaking about career writers. Story-tellers. The ones whose novels and shorts keep you pinned to the edge of your seat. You know the ones. Their words fly off the page, enveloping you in a world you’ve never even dreamt of.

Such writers are gifted, certainly. But there are some tricks you can use to get one step closer to that magical flying-off-the-page stage. Here are the first few thoughts which come to mind. Some are commonly known. Others, not so much. Feel free to add your own.

  1. Be excited. If you are not excited, enthralled, and entranced by your own work, it’s unlikely anyone else will be.
  2. That said, if you are not excited, enthralled, and entranced by your work, scrap it (or shelve it) and move on. There are always a million ideas. Pick a different one, and run with it.
  3. In the words of a more recent One Direction music video, “First, you have to destroy your inhibitions. You first destroy, then, you create.” Don’t waste valuable writing time worrying about what the critics will think, what your friends will think, your parents will think, your neighbour, for sister’s cat. Write for yourself. Write the most marvelous, brilliant thing you can. Throw everything you have into it: your heart, your soul, your body, your mind, and some of the sugar from that treacle tart you had for dinner. The results will follow. But, first, you must destroy all inhibitions. Write freely.
  4. Make it flow. Don’t jump from thought to thought without proper transitions. Write the boring bits. You can cut them out/down later. Like punctuation, every good story needs a few pauses in the action. Otherwise, you might fatigue your reader
  5. That said, play with your reader. Tease them, taunt them, love them, cherish them. I love good plot twists, ones which build up one way only to twist at the climax (think: Dan Brown’s THE LOST SYMBOL). You have the power to do this, to build up your story and then twist in 180 degrees. Take advantage of this power.
  6. Don’t write to get published. Your writing is more likely to be awkward and forced if you do. This will sacrifice both flow and storyline. Write for yourself, because you want to, you need to, and you love it. It will show.
  7. On the same line, write what you know. Doesn’t have to be literal; feelings are just as good. If you’ve had the misfortune to feel intense jealousy, betrayal, rage, or grief, you’ve encountered versatile feelings easily transferrable to a myriad of situations. Tap into that emotion and write. Everything will come to life.
  8. Don’t ‘play it safe’. Take risks! Try different strategies. The beauty with writing is it’s very easy to change, and you can have as many drafts as you like.

 

There are a few pointers to get you started. More to come.

Happy writing! :.)

Surrender

no flight, don’t fight. just relax, and it’s over

don’t feel it, don’t hear it. he’s not even sober

go limp, go loose, let your mind disappear

and it’s over, all over. wipe off your tears

open your eyes, eyes that you don’t recall closing

what’s done is done, there’s no sense in opposing

the memory, the taste, the stench in your throat

you’re sinking, you’re drowning, but still somehow afloat

you’re gasping, you’re rasping. all the air’s gone

it’s his fault, it’s your fault. where did it go wrong?

reliving, replaying, you spiral to shame

you hate him, you fear him, you can’t remember his name

all alone, every day, you can try to move on

but you feel him beside you, long after he’s gone

while it might be better sometimes to let them have their way

no one ever warns you how the memories stay

and it’s not easy to forget, when you can’t help but remember

that night when you died, laid your arms down, and surrendered

Gas-Lighting

In the dusk of a street lamp, another words bites

And she retreats to the safety of a mind locked tight

Where his words can’t reach her, and his slaps don’t sting

The only pain she feels is the burning of her ring

And when they return home, she peaks her head out

Surveys her surroundings to see if he still shouts

But he has gone to bed, and now lies fast asleep

And so she bows her head, and alone she starts to weep

But he wakes up too soon, before the dawn arrives

And he calls her a coward, full of traps and lies

Well, she herself’s no fool, but it’s hard to make amends

With a man who only breaks, no room to squeeze or bend

And he twists all her words, and makes it seem her fault

When all she really wants is to find some way out

But she can’t ever find it, not while he still wants to play

He knows that while he’s got her, she’ll never get away

Played Like a Pack of Cards

I have no feelings; my heart’s too scarred

So I play the world like we play packs of cards

I pick out the aces and leave all the spades

You’re useless to me if you can’t be played

Let me shuffle the deck, and you’ll never know

Which cards I might hide, and which I ones I’ll throw

Before you look down, I know all your cards

And I’ve won even before the game itself starts

So don’t fight the tide. There’s no point in accusing

Me of bending rules when that you find you’re losing

I’ve laid out the game before you’ve even sat down

So, all of that said…who’s game for another round?