The Final Post

I am sorry to say that I am officially shutting down this blog. I will still view other blogs, but I feel I am not meant to be a blogger myself. So this is it. The final post. Good bye, for this blog is out of service.

Writer's Block

A poem I wrote (a little formulaicly rythym-wise) when I had writer's block on an essay in Language Arts. Well, I just wrote it now. Maybe my writer's block will have gone away by the time the post hits cyberspace. I sure do hope so...
A peaceful day
A calming breeze
A winter's breath
Of flowing ease

Is ruined once
Is ruined again
Demolished, dsetroyed
By an unkind friend

Writer's block
Is here once more
To provide chaos and stress
And shake you to your core

Why does it come?
To bother me so?
Why do I care
And let it leave me low?

After it gets here
It settles in tight
And prevents the flow of thinking
And the tinkering idea light

It invades my brain
And diverts my thoughts
Yet I somehow let it...
But how do I not?

How does one get rid of such things?
How does one proceed to go on?
By accepting it as an equal and working it out?
By spazzing out and calling it a moron?

No. Take a calm approach.
Think of a pleasant experience
In which you have written
Then the block relents

It will melt to nothingness
Shrivel away
The only comfort in writer's block
Is that it's not here to stay.

Time

Slipping so fast

As I grasp on tightly,

It slithers away,

Stealthily innocent.

Moving, always moving;

Flowing, always flowing.

Amazing, appreciated slowly,

Unlike its rapid route,

Of going so fast,

When I want it to slow.

Or when it falls away,

Out of reach,

Uncomprehended, but accepted.

An unknown stranger.

Swoosh, and it is gone;

Forever.

Into my hands,

The Miracle of Time.

Whistle to the Wind

When I whistle

My secrets,

The song of my world,

A melody so fragile,

Comes bellowing,
Unfurled.

I tell nature,

Who's listening,

Everything I know,

Through the tool,

Of communicating,

My song as I go.

The wind sweeps,

Unto me,

And carries my words away,

And the tune ,

That I whistle,

Is lost in the day.

Journal

Journal

Binding my thoughts

Keeping my secrets

Holding my place in life

The Season of Poetry

The season of poetry

Has arrived

Bright is the sun

Shining in the clouds

Crisp is the air

Surrounding our souls

Colourful is the world

We are thrust into graciously

Pristine are the leaves

Falling to reality

Happy am I

That the season has begun

River

A river

Flowing

On and on

As the tears fall

Drop by drop

And I cry

Heart to heart

With myself and my emotions

As the river goes on

Continuous

Line by line

Made up of more

Than the eye can see

Meanings

One by one

Connecting

Piece to piece

Forming a story

Of my life

Blog Survey!

Dear Followers, Visitors, and Other Who View My Blog,

Here is the first blog survey that I have composed to get feedback from my followers, visitors, and anyone who sees my blog. I want to hear your feedback, good or bad, and I will try to listen and fix problems and/or keep the good stuff. Thanks!

Sincerely From,

Rose Cunningham

Link to Survey (1): https://spreadsheets.google.com/viewform?hl=en&pli=1&formkey=dDFKSlhwU255M1g0UFpyVGRaSVlTbEE6MQ#gid=0

Poem Experiments

As I was going through some old notebooks I found a few poems I would like to share and some that are inspired from previous occasions, so here goes:

1. Doodling: Turning Boredom to Wonder and Dreams

Why do I doodle?

Just like so?

Destroying this notebook

In the only way I know.

Writing meekly exists

While scribbles are alive;

It is for its wide-ruled lines

These Drawings will thrive.

I think this is just something fun and light. Entertainment, per say. And btw, I abhor wide-ruled paper with a fiery passion of dislike and negative emotions swirled up in a fizzy drink for 10 hours and let out all at once. Every second of my life. ~College Ruled Rules~

2. Of Love, Hatred, and Evil

Her eyes carried silent tears

Of diminshed hope

Of painful sorrow

Of angry love

Of broken tomorrow.

Her mouth spoke with no words at all

Of her journey

Of her life

Of her suffering

Of her knife.

Her hands shook with unknown fear

Of dreading consequences

Of hatred so pure

Of her beauty beyond
Of her condescending lure

Her brain whizzed into a flurry of panic

Of why she had done it

Of how he had betrayed her

Of how she couldn't go back

Of how she had to face it later.

Her heart shed shards of broken glass

Of misunderstanding

Of obstacles whose pain will burn

Of true love smashed

Of no return.

Her heart did not continue shedding hope

Because it stopped

Her heart gave out at last

She lay next to her lover

And forgot the past.

This one is a bit more intense and emotional. For some reason though, I cannot come to a conclusion of why I wrote this. I am often surprised that these things come out of my brain. How? Why? I concluded when I wrote this that I have an emptiness in regard to events like this, they do not pertain to me and I am not experienced anything of have something concrete to relate to, so I use references from the world around me to conjure a poem to fill the emptiness I have from lack of experience. Rather.

Moving along...

3. Setting Sun

Setting sun,

Crimson wings flail like birds in a cage;

Screaming surrender as the moon takes over.

A gleam of peace across a streaked sky,

An angel's kiss, light, airy, full of power and awe,

Stunning, painted with an artist's paw;

The beauty, a veil to the coming night.

A more natural tone and many techniques that I experimented with. If you notice, it the same pattern as "The Night," save the last line. I wrote it after I recalled that poem and, well, a setting sun.

4. Abused

She walked without a need,

Helplessly quiet.

No one glanced or payed aheed.

She walked without a need.

No one cares for her, indeed.

Her head low, an internal riot,

She walked without a need,

Helplessly quiet.

I found this interesting as I came back upon it. It is in the style of a triolet, where the structure is as follows:

Line 1: important, will be repeated

Line 2: important, will be repeated

Line 3: rhymes with Line 1

Line 4: Line 1, repeated

Line 5: rhymes with Line 1

Line 6: rhymes with Line 2

Line 7: Line 1, repeated

Line 8: Line 2, repeated

So that was my first triolet I ever wrote, and at the time I thought it was hideous and terrid. Yet now, as I look back, it shows some gleaming potential and gives room for the reader to think. All of these poems, I had abandoned or overlooked (or, in reference to #3 not finished but a few lines), and now I see that they are worth sharing and are great in their own way. So I hope you enjoy them, and feel more than free to comment! It's free! No price at all to share your thoughts. Not even a penny for your thoughts. Ok, pathetic,...But alas, thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed my poetic experiments!

The Tiny Man's Journey

Once upon a time,

A ways in the past,

A tiny man began his journey-

His first and his last.

Across a deep moat

Is where he began;

To overthrow the King

Was his passionate plan.

He stepped up to the gate,

Feeling powerful and brave.

The expression he wore

As he spoke was quite grave.

"Let me see the King,"

He demanded real loud.

He took a step forward

As he formally bowed.

"Of what do you want?"

An answer came booming.

The tiny man stood,

In the air, his reply looming.

"I have come for the King,

I, the small and the meek.

To confront his royal majesty

Is all I will speak."

"Why then," the voice started,

"Come forth, yes indeed.

Your request will be honoured,

You will get what you decreed."

"Why thank you, your highness.

Let me pay my respects.

All I ask in return,

Is a battle of intellects."

The tiny man went in the palace,

And as he did so,

The majesty himself

Decided to show.

"Intellects, huh?"

He sneered at the man,

"But first we fight!

Come at me, let's see if you can."

"Physically?" the man stammered,

Not ready to fight.

He couldn't muster another word,

Try as he might.

"Yes! exclaimed the King,

With an awfully cruel sneer.

"Begin!" he cried jovially,

Coming at the man with a spear.

Scared at the King's

Nasty reply,

The tiny man thought fast

And made a decision so sly.

He took off running,

Sprinting as fast as he could go,

While the King sent an army,

Yet the little man did not know.

Not intellects anymore,

It was a battle of speed.

The army tromped off

After the man who had fleed.

"I will get you tiny man!

You'll pay your sorry price!"

But the man, o so clever

Knew the army's only vice.

As he zoomed through a patch

Of overgrown grass,

He wrapped himself in a piece,

What an apt little lass!

The army was bewildered.

Where had the man crept?

He was hidden from sight,

So the army trudged back as they wept.

"We're sorry, dear King,"

They sobbed as one force,

"We couldn't find him,

By foot or by horse."

The King was quite maddened,

But he called off the search.

"If he ever comes back,

We'll be ready to lurch."

That was not the case,

The man was hopelessly lost.

But he figured for his plan,

This was the cost.

He was in a field of berries,

Lush grass, o so green,

Clear and beautiful skies,

And branches so lean.

After exploring the land,
The marshes, the cave,
The man decided it was wondrous,
And made a choice so very brave.

He decided to build himself

A cabin of log

Nearby some horses

And overlooking the bog.

From now on,

The tiny man resides by the pasture,

What a courageous little man,

Who's living happily ever after.

Quotes of Rose Cunningham 4

Finally! It has been 8 months since my last post on quotes. I'm am so deeply sorry I took a break from writing quotes, but I assure you, I have restarted. At least one almost every night! Hope you enjoy these:

"Inspiration doesn't come when you call it, or just act upon your every heart's desire. It is something that needs to be longed for from within, and found with a passion."

"As I write this, I think of all the people who could potentially read it, and I am in awe."

(extension: I feel so blessed to know I am noticed.")

"Awe is a state of such joy and meaning all welled into a big clump of 'whoa', that it is called an emotion purely because of the amazingly miraculous feeling your body is paralyzed by."

" 'We' want the satisfaction more than being right."

"We do not live to die, we die because we have lived."

"The secret to joy is that we celebrate in others' happiness and realize that everyone can be great."

"Imagination is essential."

"Boredom is a mere word for the freedom to let your mind wander endlessly about."

"One must balance respect for one's self as well as respect for those around you."

"Reach out a hand to the past; you and that of which you have reconnected with will be eternally grateful."

"When you are tired, sleep."

"I have found that when you respect authority, life runs very smoothly and in your favor."

"Passion is a quality of motivation."

"The best advice I can give is to not be afraid to define your own future."

"You are the author of your story: you decide all the fine details."

"O! The morn is gorgeous, a beauty in my eyes."

"But what for the coincidences in life? What purpose does the meeting of people and the daily comparisons hold? For they are an entertaining addition amidst the realm of life."

"The fresh crisp leaves, the scent of morning's air, the fresh look of awakened plants, the beauty of the morning earth; it all helps my day to become something so joyous I must give thanks."

"I am defining my future, and by doing that, I have high expectations for myself."

(extension: Thus, I will succeed by achieving my goals and grasping my dreams.")

"When I bath in the glorious life, I want to get down on my knees and thank God forever."

"Sometimes you have to forget yourself to take care of those you love."

Birthday Celebration Giveaways, from Kirthi

My best friend, Kirthi, has a birthday coming up! In honour of her 14th year, she is hosting a set of giveaways. Here is the link to enter. You must be a follower of her blog Pages to enter. And..happy birthday Kirthi!

Teaser Tuesday (2)

Thanks to MizB from Should be Reading for hosting this great meme. Right now I am reading the Complete Poems of Dorothy Parker. Here is an excerpt (or rather, a poem):

"Star that gives a gracious dole,

What am I to choose?

Oh, will it be a shriven soul,

Or little buckled shoes?

Shall I wish a wedding-ring,

Bright and thins and round,

Or plead you send me covering-

A newly spaded mound?

Gentle beam shall I implore

Gold, or sailing-ships,

Or beg I hate forevermre

A pair of lying lips?

Swing you low or high away

Burn you hot or dim;

My only wish I dare not say-

Lest you should grant me him."

It is entitled Star Light, Star Bright-.

Birthday Shout-Out! (from Captain Jack Sparrow...)

A very happy birthday to Kirthi Rao!!! (of Pages and Dreaming in the Rain, future author/environmentalist/viola player/future alumni of Hogwarts/blogger/book-reviewer and reader/Johnny Depp and Enya fan/magnificent friend extraordinare) =)

May all your wishes come true and hope you enjoy your special day and embark on your 14th year! Many stupendous surprises are in store...

Hebdomadal Anecdote (5)

Hello Blogosphere! Guess what? (what?) Today my iPod came! I have been saving up for a while now and I finally got it! It is a yellow nano 5th generation. I am so happy! I have downloaded loads of music, though not 16 gigabytes worth.....it holds so much! It's unbelievable to think of how people make things of that nature. In social studies, we are learning of native americans and the early inhabitants of GA. To think that we have come from that to now really is amazing! For example, I think it would be nice to live with nature and relying on resources to survive and be the first people to do anything (which now that I think about it, we are the first people to do whatever we are to do...), however, living now has many advantageous qualities. The quality of life is supposedly better and we have better healthcare and life expectancy. Technology has become extremely advanced, and communication superbly more comprehendable. I guess each time period has ups and downs. Yet an interesting point my teacher made was that we are slowly regressing. Take communication for example: the early inhabitants used symbols and pictures to communicate. We, via text message, also use symbols and abbreviations for communication. I don't exactly know what this means at the moment, but it does give you something to think about, that much I know. We are supposedly supposed to move forward.....ANYWAYS, that has nothing to do with writing, but this is a side, very random anecdote. And, yep. That is all. Have a wonderful day!

P.S. Btw, in case you were wondering, I took a momentary break from writing quotes and now I have continued. The estimated date of when I will post them is approximately.....the middle of September.

Erasure Limerick

Where do all the erasures go, that we sweep away?

Where do those hidden words go, to creep back out and play?

The things we write stay on the page,

Yet the erasures disassemble and disengage,

So where do all the useless words go, that we don't bother to say?

Escape

If I could
I'd pack a bag

With pens and pencils

paper and book

and all else I'd need to

survive

and I 'd go venturing

in comfy clothes

And stay for a while

I'd leave a note

to let behind

a clue of where I'm going

And then I'd be gone

Off to a place

Of serenity

and self-discovery

And peace

A quiet silence of the mind

Amidst the natural beauty of the world

A Natural Wish

I wish I could capture

The essence of

the crape myrtle

and

the berry bush

In the sun

To frame exactly

the picture I see now

and to

find a vase to

capture the sunlight

hitting the plants,

shining their beauty to

the world

and to seize

the sky in the background

forever embed it in

my mind

to find a way

to fill the vase

if the vase is my eyes

and I behold beauty

Anger

Sometimes I want
to scream so loud
to shatter the ground
to crumble the mountains to destroy the peace

to let loose all emotion

And full-out scream

I want to let the world know

the unknown anger

Burried inside my veins

To let it escape

And for one second be calm

Relaxed

Serene

To have a chance at being free of

Stress, preoblems, carelessness

To be insouciant inside

And live without something

to tie me down

Without the welded metal

Clinging to my insides

I want to volcanicly erupt

Out of the frozen shell anger

Molds me into

I want to feel all the heat rush out

Of me and

be replaced by the

sweet cold.

Yet I cannot be that selfish

I cannot do this for reasons

Of higher importance

Than me

But can you imagine

Holding all that

in?

Glittering, Glistening, Sparkling, Shine

A patch of light, cuaght up in the sun

Waiting, waiting, just for someone to spot it, to admire it, and to notice it
Basking in its brilliance the sparkle of light shines its radiance

Glittering, glistening, sparkling, shine.

A lone star, visible to us as one

Twinkling aloft many others

Guiding our drowsiness into soft songs of sleep

Sweet dreams in the magic night air
Glittering, glistening, sparkling, shine.

A man gazes into a girl's eyes

Love swirls around the jubilant couple

Entranced, enlocked in each others' hearts,

Emotions pour through the glimmer in her gorgeous eyes that are
Glittering, glistening, sparkling, shine.

A shaft of light, simmering in the comfortable atmosphere

Comes through the window

Beckoning a wandering eye, to catch up to it, poses a challenge to

Catch its radiance amidst the struggles of the day, and you see it

Glittering, glistening, sparkling, shine.

A new idea, rambling on and on

Genius, wandering, flows through specks of pure creativity

Mind tinkering, forming, and evolving

Wonders are introduced to the world

Glittering, glistening, sparkling, shine.

All these come and I appreciate

Bathing in the glory of the small miracles of life

I am created and defined by what and how I live and I choose

To merit the minute wonders of my world, therefore I am

Glittering, glistening, sparkling, shine.s

Teaser Tuesday (1)

Ok, so this is a writing blog, yet I get much of my insight from reading, so why not give credit to books?!? Thanks to MizB from Should Be Reading for hosting this wonderful meme.
So here goes. My first official meme that I did not create. I am a follower! =)

Now I am reading The Sky is Everywhere by Jandy Nelson. It is an amazing book! To find out more, and to see the convincing post by my best friend that led me to read it, click here.
And now, the teaser:

"I start to think about all the things I haven't said since Bailey died, all the words stowed deep in my heart, in our orange bedroom, all the words in the whole world that aren't said after someone dies because they are too sad, too enraged, too devastated, too guilty, to come out-all of them begin to course inside me like a lunatic river. "

That is one of the more saddened parts of the book. There are many happy parts and also very sad parts. All of it is deep and emotional and intense. Definitely on my top list of "to-read" books.

The Last Doll

Inspired by Frances Hodgson Burnett's novel, A Little Princess, in which at one point Sara Crewe receives "the last doll" and mentions writing a poem about it.

Childhood memories
Stored away,

In the toy box,

In the attic,

Covered in cobwebs;

Lost is the spirited imagination.

In the eve
A grown lady,

Lying in bed,

Thinks of the past,
Igniting the carefree soul

Of the child.

Tinkering up the stairs,

Into the chest,

The toys relive memories

And set out to play.

In the bottom,

Lies lonely,

A single toy

That once lived.

Yet her life was cut short,

For the child

Was snatched from her childhood;

Gone were the days of insouciant playfulness.

She had matured,

Aged in an instant.

But tonight is special,
She lives on in imagination.

The last doll.

Hidden, buried at the bottom,

Rises up and comes to play;

Today she is free.

Silk ribbons curl round her hair,

Lace borders her sleevse,

A golden locket circles her neck,

A mauve frock outlines her features.

Pale blue eyes woven with glass,

That once were sullen and empty,

Sparkle in the sunlight of the child tonight.

Rosy cheeks become jolly;

Her lips form a smile,
She dances and frolicks,
The last doll lives.

She marked a point

When the child grew.

No longer able to play,

The last doll's heart was at rest.

That twas the night she reigned on,

Regal and royal;

Grand things happened,

But once.

For the the child ceased,

And the doll slept once more.

Waiting to play,

Always waiting:

The last doll.

Pencil

Dancing on imagination,

Twirling, spinning,

Into beautiful formations,

Creating

People, places, stories,

New lifetimes;

Emotions,

Go wild,

In an amazing,

Breathingtaking way,

To produce a sensation

So magnificent,

You are,

Dancing on imagination.

Chatuga Where's I'd Rather Be

Sorry I have not posted in a while. I have been at summer camp: Camp Chatuga! So now that I am back, I will post some more.

P.S. This is a really short post. More posts to come.

Inspiration for Writing

When you decide to write, how does it come to you? What inspires you? What is the force that brings you and writing together as one? For me, it is atmosphere. Where I am, and who I am around. The setting, the beauty, the peacefulness. All is taken into account when I decide to write. Normally inspiration strikes, a power not to be reckoned with, only appreciated; yet I am most likely to be in an area that is gorgeous, or has hidden beauty. A story, a deeper meaning, a postcard, picturesque scene. For example, I wrote my poem, Rolling Hills, while on a scenic highway on a road trip, while looking at the window at the magnificent rolling hills of the country of Tennessee. All together, I am inspired by my surroundings, the people, places, landscape, and beauty that I see. What inspires you?

Hebdomadal Anecdote (4)

For this week's HA, I've decided to make a post about a wonderful spot: the staircase at the Margaret Mitchell House. Of course, many have no idea where this is (fyi, it is on the 2.5 floor of the MMH- on the corner of Peachtree and 10th- and is reachable by the 3rd floor; it is a square furnished with a window overlooking a sign, trees, buildings, the road, and its furnished as well with dark green carpet and perfection), or what it means, in fact, I am probably one of very few who know it even exists, but that makes it all the more special. I have taken many writing courses over the years (when I was 9 until presently- almost 14-) and each time when we are told a prompt or exercise, and then told to spread out, I immediately rush to my special sanctum sanctorum. Inspiration comes, the atmosphere is perfect for anything, and it is like an escape from reality, yet it is reality, for which I am eternally grateful. My special spot has been the place where many of my poems, stories, ideas, etc., have come to life. Unfortunately, I am too old to be attending many more camps and programs there., thus I had to say farewell to my comfort and home. Before we parted (only literally), I wrote this poem to express my love for this spot: (we were writing odes.....)

"Ode to the Staircase"

O my beloved,

There through thick and thin;

I shall never ever forget you,

You've earned a special place within.

The window always shining,

does brighten up my day;

The ivy-coloured carpet,

Supports me as I lay.

The antiquated style,

Does flatter you so well;

You hold my inspiration,

And the secrets that I tell.

Every moment I spend,

Writing as I do;

I smile as I think,

O staircase, I love you.

And of course, I wrote that as I basked in the splendor of my staircase. =)

The Night

The night, a silent swan,

Dark as liquid fear,

Calls, breathes, echoes:

A sea of quiet slumber,

Blackness swells the eyes;

Dreaming doth surmise;

Light cannot escape - it's a vacant maze;

Waiting until the morn, saunters time into sleep.

This was written at the camp, again. It had a format as follows:

Line 1: alliteration

Line 2: simile

Line 3: personification

Line 4: metaphor

Line 5: imagery

Line 6: rhymes with line 5

Line 7: assonance

Line 8: consonance

So, yes. It may not be my normal style, yet I decided to post it because I was curious of opinions. It is rather deep and hard to follow, but I had fun writing it, so that is great! =)

Hebdomadal Anecdote (3)

As I bask here in the air conditioning, I think of the boiling heat outside. If right now I should step outside, it might be 110 degrees. A shield of heat would block me from taking another step. A fiery air would engulf me and slowly bake my tanned skin into ashen smithereens. A slab of warm air would slap me across the face, questioning, "Why are you not inside on this hot summer's eve, the ac is calling....." Of course that would only be if I chose to dare to step outside.

ANYWAYS, that is not what this week's HA is about. That is merely a side ante-note. Moving along:

About blogging: Blogging is an escape. Blogging is the expression of one's self through typed words, and publicized for the world to see. Blogging is what I love doing and is an outlet for creativity. The words seem to flow more smoothly on a keyboard than they do on paper. Stories ooze out beneath the white lettering on the black squares that jumble together to form a rectangle of QWERTY goodness. I love to type up many a thing because documentation of my literature and the comments I hear from others is a pleasure I adore in life. Satisfaction comes to those who blog and I feel as though any day I can stop all and blog. Which is funny: if I have a pile of chores waiting to be done, a book to be read for class, and a suitcase to pack for a summer road trip, I calmly plop into the swivel chair and type. Free; liberated from the normal life outside the Blogosphere. I am collected and cool as I type away, not a care as to the hours of things I need to do. Blogging is relaxing. Blogging is a luxurious treat that I appreciate so much. Whoever created blogs is a genius and I need to find that out to write them a thank-you note. (Idea: What if everyone wrote a thank-you note to someone and then their mailbox was piled up with all these kind words; think how happy they'd feel! =) Anyways,) Blogging is me, and I am a blogger. It is what I do and what I enjoy, and I appreciate this great opportunity. Blogging is wonderful, magnificent, and great. Yet now, I fear I must go read my summer reading, empty the trash, clean my room, take out the dogs, and make a lunch for tomorrow. Farewell readers!

Side note: For some reason I am not writing in my normal style tonight, I think I've read a book and I am speaking like that character. Does that ever happen to you? I've read something so powerful with such dialouge and characterization that the character is implanted in my mind and I cannot stop thinking and acting like that very person. Funny how that is.....

The Proposal

A smile danced across her celestial face;

Success shimmered in her eyes;

A shadow lifted and emazement engulfed her being.

He did it.

He proposed.

Her reply was bubbly, excited,ecstatic.

Happiness descended upon her,

And safety fell, as did she

Into his arms and

Into his kiss.

MMH

Currently, I am enrolled in a camp at the Margaret Mitchell House called Rhythm and Rhyme: it is a poetry camp. I may post some of the many poems that I write there. We are experimenting with many different types of poetry and using certain prompts and exercises. Therefore, I will probably post the good ones...=) Still, hopefully you will check out the website and learn about Margaret Mitchell and the camps they offer about literature and all the legacy inside the beautiful building.

Hebdomadal Anecdote (2)

For summer reading, we are required to read one of 3 books, and do a small project on it. I am reading the book Rebecca, by Daphne du Maurier, and I'm really enjoying it and loving all the language and the genuine quality writing the Daphne du Maurier has written. It is amazingly vivid and has genius perspectives. Everything about it portrays her vast plethora of knowledge and here amazing ability to write. As I read it, however, I think of the obvious contrast between then and now. Rebecca was published in 1938, over 70 years ago. The outstanding differences between then and now have caused me to reflect on society today. In Rebecca, the characters are so real, and possess a truthfulness and obedient respect for one another (based on social status, yet nonetheless, they are created so fantastically, you can tell a huge difference between the communication of now, and that of yesteryear. Many things were focal in the antiquated years are now forgotten, or less important. This isn't necessarily bad, yet I think the world would do some good by looking back towards the past and grasping some, in my opinion, ideas that were present then, and applying them to our lives now. Most things have changed now. Technology has progress, for better or worse, and new discoveries astound us. Yet, the importance of language has decreased and conversations aren't as precise and, well, respectful, as they were. Reading Rebecca has formed the realization in my brain that time has passed, changes have come, and this is how life cycles. I appreciate and love the past, and hope that some things change, but seeing as change is ever present and time will be gracious, my hope remains eternal.

Note: The Hebdomadal Anecdotes are not meant to offend anyone. These are my personal opinions, and my intention is to share my views, not to diminish others'. Please feel free to comment, just keep it appropriate. My apologies for any hurt feelings over my writing.

A Single Leaf

A single leaf

Hanging bare

From a branch

In the air

A pair of eyes

Settles so

On the sight

Only they shall know

A moment of peace

A single thought

These eyes will see

In that one spot

Many come

To the exact place

Though they cannot see

Nature's same embrace

The single leaf

That time did allow

That one pair of eyes

To see somehow

Is appreciated

But not seen again

Because the one chance

Has reached its end

What do you think of this poem? Please comment on what you think the meaning is or how you reacted after reading it. I would really like to know how people percieve my personal poetry. Thanks!

(I think the meanigng is as follows: The time you have is only once, and you should appreciate the little things because you can only experience it once; and sometimes it is only you who can experience it.)

So, yes. Please leave your opinion in your comments! Thanks! =)

Hebdomadal Anecdote

I have decided to try to make a meme on this blog that I call "Hebdomadal Anecdote," in which I will randomly choose a topic and state anything I like on it. Normally, I feel it will be about a personal opinion or a certain aspect of life I find fascinating. For example:

Hebdomadal Anecdote #1:

As I began finding a title for my new, and first, meme, I went to reference.com to find another word to describe weekly. I searched and found hebdomadally, meaning, doing something every seven days. I found this word interesting a perfect for the new part of my blog. I realized, as I typed it out, how so many words are in the English language. There is such a plenitude of words that it is hard to fathom. I cannot even describe the feelings that wash over me as I pick up a dictionary and imagine all the emotions that these words carry. Or the different ways they can be sequenced to tell a story. Words are like messengers, transporting letters, words, and stories into your mind, and implanting themselves, alongside the emotions, in your being. Words are perfect and can describe everything. Even when you say that words cannot describe the way you feel, the messengers are relaying a tale for you to hear. Words are amazing and this little ode to words is to say how much I truly appreciate the diverse plethora of them that have been created.

P.S. A shout out to Anamika Veeramani! Congrats on winning the 83rd Scripps National Spelling Bee! I cannot even imagine the hard work and dedication that you, and all the spellers put in and how much knowledge of language you must have. I immensely congratulate you! =)

Hello...After a Long Spring Nap

Hello my wonderful followers of BlogWorld! I'm so deeply sorry I have not posted for a while. I haven't gotten around to it lately because of school ending, summer beginning, and the annual room cleaning I do every summer. Now that those things are over, I am dedicating my time to writing, reading, education enrichment (becuase the budget cuts in Georgia are drastic and every time the phone rings with an automated message from the school or county, my mom asks me if they were calling to say, "We've decided to cancel school and good luck educating your kids."), and relaxing. Hopefully I can update my blog more over the summer, and I look forward to many more posts. Note: I'm working on a story that is coming along nicely and hopefully I will soon be able to post a teaser on my blog. Also, I am writing more poetry, so keep checking up on this blog, commenting, and telling others. Thanks! =) And to Kirthi....2 more days! The excitement is overwhelming. Can't...sustain...any..longer......!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My Teen Ink Poems

I recently was published on the amazing site, Teen Ink, in the Free Verse Poetry section. Teen Ink is a magazine and website where basically, teens write for teens read. The entire publication is run by teens and the literature is chosen by a group of readers who read every piece very thoroughly. I am so glad that 4 of my poems were chosen to be published on the website. To be published in the magazine, however others have to vote on your piece by rating it on the five star system. I would be ever so grateful if you would please take 2 minutes to vote for my poetry on teenink.com. Here is a link to each of the poems, and then a page with all of my writing. Also, if you have time, take a look at the homepage, featuring many other great pieces to read. There is anything from interviews to ballads, and fictitious narratives to song lyrics. There are so many talented authors out there!

Links:

Rolling Hills

What is Writing?

Blank Page

The Silence is Heard

All of Rose Cunningham's Writing on Teen Ink

I will most likely submit more work to be published, eventually. It is a great organization and I look forward to receiving the magazine every month! =)

Also, please check out my best friend, Kirthi's work, HERE. She is a great author and has, of now, 5 pieces published.

Contest Alert!

Krthi, from Pages, is holding a contest for the new book, Prophecy of Days, by Christy Raedeke. To enter, click here. This is an awesome contest, that has an interview with the author attached!

Efforts to Make the World a Better Place

The world is a wonderful place, filled with many great opportunities and possibilities. There are many amazing sights to see, things to do, and so much for everyone to enjoy. All of this is slowly withering away. Global warming, pollution, littering, to list a few, are gradually hurting the world. These problems are rising, and as humans, it is our responsibility to make the world a better place for us and the generations to come. Many people are taking initiative for helping out in the "green" efforts. Educating others is the first part, but many environmentalists and people who care about the Earth are taking the extra step to do something about it. Change for the better is what the world needs now. The Earth had given us everything we need to survive, and now it is our turn to repay the favor. On my sidebar is a button that proudly declares: "My Blog is Carbon-Neutral." To get this button, go to the following site and follow the rules to get the button and have a tree planted. Then you can sit back in glory, and take pride in saying, "My Blog is Carbon-Neutral!"

Contest Winners!!!!!

Congratulations to the winners of my first contest! Thanks to all who participated.

• Kirthi Rao, from Pages
• Kelsey Oertwich, from The Door to Wonderland

Congrats!

Contest Reminder!

ALERT! ALERT! My Blog Creation Celebration: Contest 1 ends in a few days! Please let everyone you know be cautious of this amazing opportunity! Thanks, and don't forget to enter yourself. Scroll down for the post!

Poem Trilogy

A few months ago, my best friend and I were going through a rocky path in our friendship and I was hurt because of a misunderstanding. Of course, now we are the best of friends, but at the time, I needed some way to express my inner feelings. Whenever you are down, writing, and in my opinion, poetry, can always bring you back up. I decided to express myself by writing a trilogy of poems and show them to her, as I always do with a lot of my writings that I make while around her. I did this, and it let out the conflicts and cleared the cobwebs of the apart-ness I was feeling. Just a few days ago, I came across the small, sea-coloured notebook that I had written the poems in. The word inspire engraved on the front in my favourite font led me to open it. Seeing it now, I overlooked the conflicts of the past as I recalled the poems themselves. They actually are something that I wanted to share, and so I hope you enjoy the trilogy:

Used to Be

Where is the one that used to be?

The one who always enlightened me.

Who shared her smile when I was low,

Who went along where I would go.

The one who braved through thick and thin,

To let us remain as one within.

We shared one heart,

But are now apart.

You and me?

Where's the glee?

Where is us laughing happily?

Where is the one that used to be?

At this point, I had originally planned to not share the poem with her, but then decided on a whim that I should. Thinking that it wasn't obvious, I figured she wouldn't understand and began to write the next one. She, as all best friends would, knew immediately. I thought, "Of course she'd understand! She is a true friend, and knows everything about you." She went on to say that she knew all along that there was something wrong. Who would have thought communication is that useful?!? By that time, we knew everything was forgiven. But still... I had an urge to finish up the next poem....

If Only You Knew

If only you knew

What it's all about.

Then you would cry

Just to let it out

And pout and pout

And moan and groan

Thinking that you were alone.

But in reality

You would know there's always me.

Because what used to be,

But isn't now,

We can mend,

And be friends somehow.

That poem, once she read it, and I did as well, we realized it wasn't exactly us. First, she wouldn't be that dramatic; words can carry away emotions too drastically sometimes. Second, I had to turn the mood to happy because that was the new feeling of the situation. Of course, it didn't fit the down-right depressing mood, however once you cry, it always seems to make you feel happy (or maybe that is just me.....). Anyways, the second probably pertains to us the least, and the last one the most.

Friends of Hope

Hope our friendship is always true,

And I can always be there for you.

And that you can do the same for me,

And we can restore what used to be.

Hope our friendship will last for years,

And we can help each other through the tears.

And we can always talk and smile,

And add more memories to the pile.

Hope our friendship is always proud,

And we can dance together in the clouds.

Up in heaven, in the sky,

So we can be friends, by and by.

Hope our friendship survives it all,

And that we'll be there to catch each other when we fall.

And although sometimes I throw my anger in storm and rage,

It was always meant to be, Rose and Paige.

And the scene ends as they embrace each other in a loving hug and promise to always be true and stay friends. Credits roll. =)

Contest Alert!

Amelia, from Imagination in Focus (a spectacular blog name! =)) is hosting a contest/giveaway! Copy and paste the link below to find out more about this great opportunity!

http://leaveyoureyesbehind.blogspot.com/2010/04/my-almost-200-giveaway.html

Green Week Giveaway- Kirthi, from Pages

Kirthi, from Pages (http://the1bookblog.blogspot.com) is hosting an amazing giveaway in honour of Green Week. She is a big environmentalist and like many of us, wants to save the Earth! Please check out the awesome post of hers by going to her blog (URL above). Thanks! =)

Teen Ink!

Recently, I have discovered an amazing magazine that is written and produced by teens, so that readers and writers around the country can enjoy the literature that fellow teens create. It is amazing to read the articles your peers write as well as try to submit some of your own original work. To check it out (and hopefully subscribe to the great magazine) copy and paste the URL below:

http://teenink.com/

It's a great opportunity to consider and definitely worth your time to see some of the amazing accomplishments of the people around you. Teen Ink really allows you to express yourself through writing and you can relate to many of the topics teens write about. All in all, Teen Ink is wonderful and a great organization founded for a great cause.

Blog Creation Celebration: Contest 1: CLOSED

CLOSED

Welcome to my first ever contest! I'm so excited to be hosting this contest. I would be so grateful to anyone who would like to enter and get a chance at winning the wonderful prizes that are in store. The guidelines are this:

• you can only fill out one form



• all answers on the form must be true

• you can enter if you live in the US or Canada, OR if you live internationally and can have someone in the US ship it to you



• there will be 2 winners chosen:

the winners will be contacted via e-mail and expected to give a mailing address so that I can mail you the prizes

they will each win the same prizes, just different colours

the prizes are this:

• a beautiful composition notebook: for writing the most inspirational literature (poems, quotes, stories, songs, etc.) in


• 2 colourfully-designed ballpoint pens: How can you write without the most contemporary, yet realistic and nostalgic ballpoint pens?


• a "going green" themed memo pad: for spur-of-the-moment ideas and possibly a quote book


• and lastly, a Post-It note book: to remind yourself everything you need to know, and who doesn't love Post-It notes?

So, thanks to everyone who enters. I really appreciate that you are taking the time to fill out a 5 minute long form to get a chance at winning cool prizes. It's great to know that I have followers who are willing to support me and my writings. Thanks so much!!!

To enter Rose Cunningham's Blog Creation Celebration: Contest 1, please copy aand paste the URL below:

http://spreadsheets.google.com/viewform?formkey=dFNoMjVqMkVncEZyeGEyTzcwcmstYVE6MA


P.S. The deadline is May 10. Good luck!
=)

Rolling Hills

Hills rolling forever
Into the distance
Beyond the valley
And your old green house.

Where we laughed,
Made great memories,
Smiled, kissed, and shared
In each other's joy,
In our love,
In our lives;
In our beings,
That we thought
Would never separate-
But did.

The hills continue on
Green as the envy
Wedged inside the crevices
Of my broken heart.

Stored forever
Are the memories
Of seeing you with him
As I drive past the hills
To my new life
And a single tear down my face
Rolling, rolling.

I don't know what your perspective is on this, but my initial inspiration was that I am in Virginia over Spring Break and we were driving in Tennessee (my favourite state) and there are so many beautiful hills that I just had to write about them. The poem just came to me and the story it told (to me)was that it's from a heartbroken guy's perspective, and he was madly in love with this girl who seemed to be in love with him, but when he had to move and start "a new life," she moved on from him before he had even left. =(

Anyways, I was wondering if, included in your comments, if you could suggest any titles you think would be better than mine. I couldn't really come up with one...
Thanks!

Contest Alert!

Kirthi, from the magnificent blogs: Pages, Dreamer, and Tales From 2 Climatologists, is holding a contest. The contest is being held at Pages.
Hope you enter the contest to win the awesome books she has to offer. In the near future, I will be holding the other part of this joint contest. To gain more entries for mine, become a follower of Sincerely From Rose Cunningham, Pages, or Dreamer, because old followers are more privileged!

Message to New Followers

Hello new followers! Thanks so much for following my blog! I really appreciate that you would take the time to follow, read my posts, and hopefully comment. Also, a huge thanks to Kirthi for holding a contest that helps me gain followers! I will actually be hosting a giveaway/ contest in the near future to benefit our blogs! Again, thanks for following. If you would like me to join your blog, then you can post a link on this post and I will try to return the favor of following your blog.

This Battle

This is a sad, yet hopeful poem that I've decided to dedicate to anyone who is suffering and going through this battle or anyone who is suffering from someone they love who is suffering.

"This Battle"

I look into your eyes and I see sadness.
I see the smile vanish from your face.
Gloominess looms like a cloud over your body;
I can't stand to see you lose this race.

Where is that smile I used to laugh at?
Where is that happiness I used to see?
I know it is hard, but
Is this how it is supposed to be?

This battle is overtaking you.
The teardrops stain my shaking hand.
Is there a cure anywhere?
I hope it will soon come to this land.

I'll keep a prayer for you in my heart.
Slowly, but surely it will come true.
Keep determination and optimism,
And cancer will not defeat you.

O Happy Day!

The sun is shining as bright as your smile,
The sky is as blue as your eyes.
When the birds are all singing,
And the grass, oh so green,
Happiness is no surprise.

The flowers bloom as beautiful as your heart,
The clouds are as dreamy as you.
Though tragedy strikes in places around,
Now it's no where to be found,
You can rejoice in the celebration too!

The temperature is as perfect as your work,
The animals as mature as what you say,
As we look about,
There is one thing to shout:

O HAPPY DAY!

=)

Confucius Meets the 21st Century

In Social Studies, we are learning about Confucianism and how it relates to China and the culture and history of South Asia. One assignment we had was to write a story about Confucius and how he would react if he were to be faced with the challenge of time traveling to the 21st century. Here is the paper I wrote:

The Journey

A swirl of dust gathered around the young master and formed a smoggy cloud that began creeping and rising up his body. Engulfing him, the cloud twisted and turned, resulting in a dubious feeling snaking trough his mind. Suddenly a jolt struck the young Master and he was lifted from his world. Shaking, confused, and slightly scared, Confucius was spun fiercely until he halted abruptly at a mystical looking door. The door showed him previous scenes of his life such as his dismissal and rejection from many provinces, his school being created, his disciples soaking in all his teaching as if they were sponges, and finally the door produced a foggy picture that resembles blues and grays and teals and it was all spiralling: it was happening now. He recalled a quote of his, "A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step," as he stood there, shocked. And with that, Confucius opened the door and took a single step.




“Oh the horror!” exclaimed the appalled young Master. “What terrible things are happening! This mindset is excruciatingly painful to see. This must stop!” Standing in the middle of Perimeter Mall (in Georgia- the USA), mouth agape, eyes doubled in size, Confucius stood statue-still; disgusted and horrified beyond belief. Partly because of the environment and partly because of the people, Confucius became dizzy and sat down on a nearby bench. Perhaps it may have been aftermath from the tornado-like trip he had just experienced of being transported well over 1,500 years in the future. Anyhow, Confucius began observing his surroundings, and was shocked at what he saw and heard. First, the furnishings of the building were beautiful, expressing great wealth, and he liked it very much, however, the way people treated it was disheartening. He would have very much liked to get up from the plush couch and offer his wise opinion to the passersby, but for fear of collapsing, he stayed glued to the recliner this first incident, fists tightly clenched on the arms of the couch. It so happened that the first people he met in this new world was a group of adolescent guys. They sauntered towards the young Master, laughing and picking on each other’s flaws. Casually, they leaned into the floors, their baggy pants and tee’s only contributing to the conceitedness that was weighing them down, sending their posture sinking to the floor.
“What a bastard! He looks like a creep!” the leader said, pointing a finger of accusation towards Confucius, who was now staring at them with a look if disappointment in his eyes.
“He’s dressed like an ancient hobo! What’s with the ponytail? What a dweeb.” Another guy said, tag-teaming with the insults. The rest of the guys chuckled as one threw a half- eaten pretzel towards the trash, missed, laughed, and blindly kept walking. Confucius was furious, but his beliefs in peace and non-violence persuaded him to be calm.
“Everything has beauty, but not everyone sees it.” Confucius stated, rising from the couch, a wise, antiquated look about his serious face. The guys just stood there, passing interesting glances at each other. Finally one spoke, but the words weren’t possessing of any kindness. He mocked,
“Uh, the bird festival not for two weeks, uh, obviously you’re here to see the other cuckoos!” The rest of the posse went into hysterics as they slumped off. Confucius was bewildered and upset. He was confused at the actions of these boys and their lack of respect for each other, the environment, and their elders. As he thought about this dilemma, a perfect example of disrespect for elders walked right by, distressing him even more:
A lady in her thirties strutted walked past Confucius with two elementary aged children. She was dressed in such an unorthodox way that Confucius just stared. Her kids were yelling and screaming, pitching a tremendous tantrum in the middle of the corridor.
“Silence!” the young Master bellowed at the kids, now quite fed up with their frivolous and nonsensical behaviour.
“Don’t be like that you fool. My kids, my ways. Move.” She snappily replied, her children now pinching and slapping each other. The lady paused to take a good look at Confucius before uttering, “C’mon, let’s go buy mommy a new Coach purse. Or Gucci.” She rushed off in the direction of a purse store with her kids, who were now occasionally throwing punches at each other while sprinting circles around their mother.
“A disgrace.” Confucius muttered, shaking his bowed head. A fiery, burning abhorrence roared through him like a waking dragon. He had to help this world. What had it become? Why were people not respecting their elders? Why were people hurting each other- both physically and mentally? And where was he? A nightmare? What is this place where materialistic things rank over the feelings of others? Where money is exchanged for the loss of conversation and real living. The technology and purchases were nothing but useless junk that had no benefit to the daily lives of these people. He did not understand why people could run around buying things without even saying a kind word to each other, but instead shouting and pouting at others about things that they did themselves. Remembering a teaching of his, “Wherever you go, go with all your heart,” Confucius became frightened. If this was what people portrayed their lives and how they taught the generations after them to act, what would the future be like? How could he let this happen? All of a sudden, a glimmer of hope came from the jumble of people in the mall. A pleasant, sensitive guy came over and asked Confucius if he was lost. He replied, “I’ve been sure of where I am in the past, but I fear I am surely lost now. The emotions of this generation are truly confusing and I have lost of sense of what is right. I am lost, kind man. Please, I would like your help in bringing me back home.”
“Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, who are you? And why are you here? You don’t look as if this is were you intended to spend a Saturday evening.”
“I am Confucius, from across the world. I live in poor conditions and do not have the privilege of living in such a place as this. I am from the past, I believe, because places such as this are beyond chimerical. As much as I like this gorgeous landscape, I believe I wish to be home, teaching my disciples.”
“Confucius,” the gentleman began, “ I think you have time-traveled from the past. You are from what is now China. China is a country that was founded in the early 1900’s and that, I believe, is where you are from. You are a great man with great teachings, however, I cannot imagine why you are here. But seeing as you are, I’m sure you can make the best of it and feel as if you are at home.” The man, being a philosophy major, continued. “In all honesty, young Master, home is where the heart is. If you can feel the comfort in your surroundings you are home. Believe it or not, people hear still benefit from your teachings. If people knew who you are, then you would feel very loved because your teachings are a great lesson to all who learn from your philosophy. Peace, respect, and righteousness are wonderful concepts that you know of so well. I am grateful I’ve had the chance to meet you Confucius, and I must be going now. I’m sure you will get along very well here. Good day.”
Confucius thanked the man and they began to walk in separate directions. The young Master looked around and took in this spectacular world, for which he was so appreciative. Before he could walk any further, an odd sensation filled his body once more. The floor swept into the ceiling and Confucius was caught in another time crunch. Whirling around, he could barely kept his balance and crashed into the hard earth beneath him. But this time, instead of carpeted hallways, it was an old pathway in a dim-lighted building. Desks contained various information and great teachings of the young Master himself. Disciples studied and carried on as if nothing had happened. Confucius looked about, grateful to be home again. A young man walked through the door.
“Good afternoon young Master.” He spoke, gracefully walking towards a table full of books and writings.
“Good afternoon, welcome to my home.” Confucius said, and he sat down and smiled.