Writers

i dont really know what to do in this group. Do i like write stuff iv wrote ?
Like poetry and storys and stuff ?
Im new to this whole "blog" thing. im more of a facebook person tbh.
So anyone care to explain for me ?
xxx

The Beholder's One Good Eye

It is said that it is impossible to see two worlds.
Now I'm supposed to choose.

One eye is open on the world of Maya,
What I see makes me crazy, makes me weary.
Incarcerated by imagery, artifice and false hope...
I serve a prison sentence for dealing in lies,
hard time.

The other seems crusted shut, so long disused,
The promised land just behind it's atrophied lid.
But I remember the view and cannot forget
what I saw and loved so well it can't be spoken.
eternity shone there.

Freedom keeps a constant vigil while I while away
My chains familiar now,
their heaviness accepted as inevitable.
Yet...a small bird chirps a reminder,
a blown flower-petal wafts a beckoning,
a faint melody just barely heard sounds the calling:
"Come home...come home".

My world-eye is afflicted.
It needs permanent bed-rest.
I have one good eye left -
It's sight still unimpaired.
If I close the one, the other might just open.

It is said that it is impossible to see two worlds.
Now I'm supposed to choose.

Liberation!
Oraea

Let me first explain...

My daughter was six and was to be a Robin in the Xmas play. I had toiled over making her custume. I can't remember why it happened but her teacher changed her mind and decided she would be a sunbeam....no problem...fairly easy costume to make and the robin one would be used.

Well Becci threw a tantrum, stamping her feet..."I don't want to be a sunbeam, I want to be a Robin"

I told her she would be a beautiful sunbeam with a costume of flowing colours. But there was no way she would have it.

She told me she HATED ME...that I was A NO GOOD MUM.....I NEVER STOOD UP FOR HER...

The tears welled in my eyes.

After dinner that evening I got this little missive....
I have written as she did..

i am sory i made you cry
i saw yur wet face
and i want to cry
i love you mummy

Wrapped up in this was a cut out heart with loads of kisses.

The point I am trying to make is that kids can write from the heart.

BTW she was the Robin after all that.

I sit here listening to the beats of my heart -
How it carries on, I do not know,
For everyday, you're slowly tearing me apart
But I just don't have the strength to go!

You call me fat, lazy and useless too -
You're not the man I thought I knew.
You used to be so kind, so loving and true,
Where did it go wrong? What did I do?

We used to laugh and joke together
And planned to be together - forever!
What happened to the fun we shared?
Why do you no longer seem to care?

You tell me what to eat
You tell me what to wear
You even try to tell me what colour to dye my hair!

'What about me?' I want to scream.
What about me and my dreams?
I dream of a life full of laughter and glee,
Away from this cycle of misery.

But how can I leave when I have nowhere to go?
And this is something I know you know!
I'm dependant on you, it is true,
And now I'm stuck, forever with you.

You are my husband, I am your wife,
When I married you, I married you for life.
'For better, for worse' was one of our vows,
And I guess I'm being put to the test now.

I shouted and yelled and was terrible.
Moments later, I apologised and hugged the sobbing boy.
His tears stained my suit.

The girl sobbed and turned away.

Later, she sat with her mother in the shade.
She listened and talked about growing up.
She knew she was an 'old' nine year old...

Smiling and hugging,
she listened to her mother saying sorry,
she felt the fragility

of her.

'Uterus'
'Eggs'
'Vagina'

all words from the nine year old girl...

Quiet wonder from the 40 Year old woman who listened
at last.

'I don't want to become grown up mummy'

She smiled and with silent tears, the mother replied,
'I don't want you to grow up at all...'

The first born still stretches your flesh and feeling
Still consumes
Still attached

to the invisible cord

of love.

Altough im sure nobody reading this will actually be judging my writing by my age, I would really just like to say that with writing Age really shouldnt matter. If the piece is fresh, emotive and a genuinely good read it should still get the same response if the author was 15 or 25 or 90 years old. I get alot of insults from other people who read my posts on various blogsites becuase of my age saying that i should leave it to the older authors but I dont think i should give up on something that is so important to me. Its hard to have an idea in my head and not write it down. Anybody can have an imagination.

Thankyou for reading and please give me feedback on Thorpe and Wise.
Other posts on my personal blog
City of Crossed Paths-Introduction
Thorpe And Wise
Sweet Sweet Sally
A Family consumed by The Lust

I will post more soon. Thankyou again.

She stumbled over her own bare feet, holding her broken heels in her left hand and a limp handkercheif in he right. Reeking of Whisky any passerby would assume that she was nothing more than an alcoholic, not that she had been involved in a brawl earlier that evening in which a glass had been thrown over her crinkled blouse.
The wind cuaght her firey locks and swept them back from her wide eyes, showing an obvious attempt to wipe away the never ending tears. So gentle; had she truly deserved such an abrupt closing curtain? Why was fate so cruel; so cruel as to lead her into the sights of two brilliant young minds such as Thorpe and Wise? These two men were lounging casually upon a bench across the street from this poor maiden and had been watching her for a few minutes now.
The younger of the two, Arnold Wise, a shy young fellow who was barely out of his teenage years was the first to comment on her dishevelled performance.
'So beautiful. So desperate for love,' he had gestured secretely towards her in a code that only his companion would understand.
'How do you mean?' asked Thorpe after a long hard think about her, 'She's a nervous wreck.'
'Exactly, my friend. She displays a kind of raw emotion that you are incapable of. She explodes with passion, wearing her joy, her regrets, her sadness like a coat. Can you say you agree?' Wise breathed with an excited genius.
Gregory Thorpe shook his head slowly, keeping his dark eyes fixed on their subject, 'You are right. But I wouldn't have described it as a coat.'
Wise sighed with irritance, 'Neither would I, you fool. You know that with a canvas I could create an image of her that would destroy you and your critisisms. That it why I do not make up stories for a living.'
Thorpe ignored this insult and continued to watch the girl. She was so elegant but so oversome with sadness, like a bird trapped in a cage. You see, Mr. Thorpe and Mr. Wise werent just brilliant for their ability to observe peoples actions; they were Artists.
Gregory Thorpe was a writer of sorts. He could write long and complex essays that explained Quantum Physics, or he could create poetry and stories that brought tears to otherwise dry eyes.
Arnold Wise however, was not a writer. Arnold Wise was a painter, sculpture and hopeless romantic. He understood perspective, tone, cubism, fauvism, print-making and set-design, but more importantly he understood emotion.
'Alright,' Thorpe declared, 'Let's make a bet. We will both create a piece which shows the true image of that girl, and whomever creates something better will be the better of us. Agreed?'
Wise nodded, continueing to watch as this auburn haired beauty stumbled on. Suddenly he rose from his seat and darted between traffic and various other obstacles until he stood before her, glaring directly into her amber eyes. He saw a quiet flame behind her tears that sent a chill through him. In that moment, as their eyes met, everything fell into place and somewhere in Paris an old clown's heart stopped beating.

They were there tonight
white lines over the moon..

Soft cloudy streaks and glistening planes..
Glinting moments in the sky..

A second of someone's time..
A life time within the second.

I love to watch the gliding reflective birds...
I settle in the silence of distant journeys.

I stand still.
For now.
My moment.
As I watch the journeys across gentle skies.

©Prettyintelligentprincess

Hi all...

No not getting despondant...tired today....but was just one of my friends posted something I thought a reply was neccessary.

We are all getting older (and wiser) but sometimes that 'mirror' catches us all out.

Here is what I posted as a reply...

There is a mirror by the front door that passes images akin to many...Another in the bathroom showing a 'nymph' with long flowing hair so white that when the sun catches it the strands of silver gleam to give an aura, a halo of mystery. But there is not a trace of silver when she looks....just pure white hair, so white it could be snow, pure untrodden virgin snow on the ground.

The eyes....they look sad...lonely even. They mirror the thoughts of days gone by. The good times of youth, the times of children, family. Did this women ever know happiness?

She looks to the mirrow and adjusts the few strands that have strayed from a 'band' in her hair...her phone rings...her daughter...she smiles. he has been remembered for today..But what for tomorrow?

As a disabled person this is something that I have to face on a day to day basis, but by now you may be thinking that this person writing this is a wheelchair user and you would be correct in your thinking.

What you may be thinking is why do I am putting up with this and not doing something about it or why don’t I just shut and stop moaning. The fact is that I don’t because if more people like me didn’t make an effort to bring change then there would be no point in laying the pressure on and bringing change. This is something that does not happen overnight, but it is not an excuse for not doing anything about it.

Yes you’re going to say and I can here you say, but isn’t there the legislation out there to protect disabled people, yes but this is not effective, because the current administration (government) did not bring this in as one complete act, even the current 2006 addition is useless, because I have quoted this at the rail companies and get short shrift and a standard fobbing off, which will not do.

In any case we now have the Disability Equality Duty, which I have been told the government would like to ditch, because there have been too many cases, which possibly cause them great embarrassment.

Disabled access is not just about providing ramps, lifts, but it is about making places accessible, this means the design of your buildings, the design of your railway carriages, the design of railway stations even buildings. This shouldn’t just be about physical disability it should include all types of disability, even the hidden ones.

As a Managing Director and Diversity Consultant of Lifestages UK I am appalled at the way in which we are treated by the rail companies and treated as if something the cat brought in. This is constantly happening to me at Stratford (London) especially when I have been trying to get home from meetings I have had to attend in London.

The problem is that as a disabled rail passenger you have to book your assistance within 24 hours, not a problem as I do this at least 36 or more hours in advance so that if there is a problem they can telephone me to find sort out any queries, but often they don’t and this is where the problems start and this can be extremely irritating if there is no ramp for you at your destination, such as Liverpool Street.

The excuse is that they were coming to get you off 10 minutes after the train has arrived; this is not good enough and shows disrespect for the disabled traveller. This then gets you very angry and you show your anger by telling the person to his face, sorry I can’t wait as I have a meeting to get to and tell them to their face – “not good enough”!

By this time you wonder why you bother, yes people are very helpful when it comes to getting you off the train, but this shouldn’t be happening in this day and age should it!

When it happens like this you wonder what else you’re going to be let in for.

This last week I just happened to go to London twice this week, however on the second day I was in effect told off, because my train that I was on came in on the wrong platform and this annoyed the platform staff at Stratford, because they were messing me around, I told them to get a move on as I had a meeting to get to in Southwark and it is funny how quickly a ramp turns up.

I just wonder if anyone else has suffered the indignity of abuse. My company’s website is www.lifestagesuk.co.uk

There is a long mirror in the hall way. I pass it on my way to the front door. Every time I do a strange woman looks out at me. An old woman, lines on her face, overweight, tired looking. Cann't understand it. The mirror came from my mother's house. Not her but there are some simularities. The small figure the curves, something about the eyes.I don't believe in ghosts. Mother died 6 years ago.
Perhaps its a parallel universe someone who looks the way I would look if I were old. A scary thought. Trinny and Susannah were horrified when they imagined themselves as old women. Me ! I'm in my prime, I know what day it is, Sunday. who the Prime Minister is Gordon Brown. [Ah the Credit Crunch ] I'm on line with the message. I read my e-mails, mostly from Amazon and Tom, Dick and Harry wanting to sell me cheap prescription drugs. What do they know ? I get my prescriptions free. I can talk the talk, walk the walk, as long as its not uphill.
So much to do. 2 Grown up sons neither fully independent. The empty nest, chance would be a fine thing. I'm still waiting for my work to be broadcast on radio 4. Its all been such a rush, what was I doing as the years sped by. But best get on must catch the bus into town, multi-tasking don't ya know.

I was reading a post from another here about a day out and it set me thinking....

Will there ever be again such a 'thing' as a COUNTRY? in the future.....even Continents will fade from memory the WORLD will be a 'Melting Pot' as in the song from the 1980 (Culture Club) ...I am sure there was a version before their's????

I have no discrimination on integration but....I do think we are all losing our identity as people, as Countries, as Nations...will it at sometime be that even the EARTH will have a long forgotton heritage?

How long did it take for the Native American culture to die?

On Wednesday I went to town with Significant Other, alright husband. We have lived in the same house for so long we're included as historic ruins. Caught the bus as usual, packed as usual. Called in at the bank, sent some flowers to sister for a recent kindness. Walking through the shopping centre a group of teenagers caught my eye. Five lively girls enjoying ridiculously expensive coffee chatting animatedly. There was only one thing which struck me they were all wearing headscarves. In cities like London, Birmingham, Bradford and Manchester these little scene would be so commonplace as to be quite unremarkable. In the small county town where I live it is a much more recent development. Lots of changes have taken place in the last 25years. More people , more houses, schools and cars. the roads are always busy. It used to be on Wednesday afternoon the town was closed. All the shops were closed for half a day. In todays 24/7 society it seems the shops are never closed. There is much more going on,theatre, music, restaurants, cafes, hotels, I like this, lets face it before the place could be well dull. some of the people have come from other countries Africa, China,India, Pakistan, Poland,Romania and many others. In a primary school in a nearby port the children speak 35 different languages. How exciting and difficult is that? Life will be more exciting and varied and hopefully peaceful. The Global Village is here now. Peace and love.

Just hoping I don't get chucked off again for posting this....

Have you all tried Helium is a great site for many topics. I have not posted for about a year..when I did was mainly under food and drink. But they hold competitions for publications. It is worth taking a look...

Oh yes and you get paid..(pennies) for articles

HELIUM

Pressing the pen on my paper, hard, I pour my heart out.
I tell a story about love, hate, pancakes and war.
Each paragraph has its song song to sing, each line is a sonata in the celebration of the sun and the moon.
Each word is a silent trill in the blackness of the night.
Each full stop is the end of a life and when I start writing a new line, the world is born again.
When I write my world goes wild, my imagination runs away.
In front of me I see everything I want to see and everything I don't want to see.
I'd see people falling in love.
I'd see a soldier die for his country.
I'd see flowers blossom and birds sing when the sun was shining and the sweet dew drops from the night were still resting silently against the leaves of the powerful oak tree.
Pressing the pen on my paper, softly now, I pour my heart out.
I tell a story about friendship, hard times, the future and the past.
Each paragraph is a soft brush against the skin, each line a warm feeling of love.
Each word is a quite adornment of the most important person in your life.
Each full stop is a plague that destroys everything in its path and when I start writing again, everything slowly comes back to life.
When I write my world slows down and my imagination sleeps on clouds.
In front of me I see rainbows and the rain goddess crying.
But today when pressing the pen on my paper, only just to lift it off again, I don't pour my heart out.
I don't tell a story about love, friendship, hate and war.
Each paragraph doesn't have a song to sing, each line isn't a warm feeling of love.
Each word isn't a silent trill in the blackness of the night.
Each full stop isn't a plague that destroys everything in its path and when I start writing a new line, the world isn't born again.
Today my world stays still and my imagination sits in one place.
I see nothing in front of me. I don't see unicorns or people falling in love or birds singing.
My page is a sea of bitterness where a boat floats in the vast emptiness of the ocean.
The ink has ran about the page like a group of sharks, waiting to eat the little boat, and finally they bite into it, leaving nothing but the hard outer shell of a feeling.

Hatrid in a Haven
By: Me

Chapter 1:
The Underground Background

Many, Many years ago, nekos were everywhere. People with cat ears and tails were the norm. In the year 1977, one by one, people called Tsumis apeared. They hated nekos. They eventually formed groups. Then they told every one that they were hybrid freaks, and were bent on taking over the world. The Tsumis became teachers of their own nekohating religion. They taught in schools and had rallys, people were turned even against their own family and friends. It got so bad even people were against anyone who were for nekos'. Eventually a war broke out. The people that were normal had a choise hate the nekos', get brain washed if caught, or die trying to help. The Nekos' that were love and adored once were now hated and hunted. The Neko Population plumeted. A few Nekos and people who supported them excaped they hid in a place caled the tokyo underground.
Twelve years later people and nekos alike tryed to sneak out a few were caught. A Neko, Kikari Sumi,and her boyfriend Edgar(a normal person) snuckout. One year later they broke up and went seperate ways. In 1992 shefound love with a man, Pete. Two years later her husband, Said he had big plan to become president of the USA. He ran with the best political slogan and honesty he could. He won by a land slide. The Same year they had two beautiful girls. Twins born 2 minutes apart. Their names were Ichigo and Sakura.
They were normal... they thought...

NOTES:
1- the first ladie is disguised
2- does this move to fast
3- this is just the in tro, the main story is about the girls
4- I have cosidered all ur coments and thankx
5-whadda think now?

I've cracked e-zines, in fact I've had a fair bit of success there. Print magazines are a different matter, though.
I started by sending short stories I'd written to what I thought were suitable magazines.
Rejection, rejection, rejection.
So I've started writing specifically for a particular magazine whenever I sit down to create something.
'We like what you've written', 'this is really good', 'you clearly have talent'...'but it's not for us I'm afraid. Thank you and please try us again.'
Talk about frustration.
Bang head here > 0

(written during an exceedingly hot and dry day)

Rain...
Please come again
Please pour down upon the earth
Please pour down upon me
Wash away the dust and dirt on the overheated roads
Wash away the dust and the pains lingering on me
Bring life back to the dry deserted fields
Bring life back to the dying heart of me

Rain...
Please stop by again
Ask the big gray clouds to stay
Don't let them just pass and swirl away
For the sun is burning too cruelly here
Melting down ice poles, boiling away waters
Evaporating tired and exhausted souls
The thick clouds bringing you with could be a fine momentary shelter
And the drops of you would quench the thirst of those dry yellow leaves
that are dying to regain their greens

Rain...
Don't leave now, please stay longer
Remain light for the earth
Remain light for me
Don't turn harsh, don't turn into storms
And never allow the floods to come along
For if you do so I'll be surely hating you
And very soon I'll be missing the blazing sun again

Hatrid in a Haven
By: Me

Chapter 1:
The Underground Background

Many, Many years ago, nekos were everywhere. People with cat ears and tails were the norm. In the year 1977, people called Tsumis apeared. They hated nekos. Then they told every one that they were hybrid freaks bent on taking over the world. Eventually a war broke out. The Neko Population plumeted. A few Nekos excaped they hid in a place caled the tokyo underground.
Twelve years later, a Neko, Kikari Sumi, snuckout. In 1992 she found love and married, two years later her husband, Pete, became president of the USA. The Same year they had two beautiful girls. Their names were Ichigo and Sakura.
They were normal... they thought...

“You think too much”
No shit.
I fight against reading
Between the lines,
Seeing meanings that
Just aren’t there.
Trying to convince myself
That you mean what you say
And that you haven’t found
Someone prettier, slimmer, smarter;
That when you say it’s fine
That’s what you mean
And not “You’re boring, fat, ugly,
And I don’t want to see you again.”
Telling myself not to text
Or call or pester or ask
“Do you like me?”
Even though eventually I will.
The saboteur in me always wins.