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!