Simply Everything

This is the second piece I did for what gives you the blues.
I couldn't decide on which piece (the one below this) would be most appropriate.
Here's the final piece.

The comfort of being held
Lying in the eternal rays of the sunshine on the grass together
Lying beside your cool bare skin, I embrace you as part of me.
Is it the shirt that I slept in that reminds me of you?
I breathe it in. I’m breathing you in.
Is it your ability to play a love song for me?
Fingertips delicately moving across the keys

Soft clatter of rain on the window pane.
The rush of a rainstorm reminds me
Of the adrenaline of love I hold for you.
As I listen to the thunder crashing down,
It's better when you’re here.
The sky is crying.

Is it the way you hold me?
Stroking my hair softly
And whispering the longing I love you.
Was it the final steps that you took as you left?
I counted them one by one.
Each step away from me was a dagger to my heart.
Your breathtaking presence has faded away.

Is it because you let go, and I still hold on?
What can I do? Everything simply reminds me of you.
I can hear the fragility in my voice.
I miss …you.

Blood stained letters

This assignment was about what gives you the blues.
I did two for this. the second one will be posted soon above.

Blood stained letters.
I’m writing to reach you. I pour out my heart for this.
Deep engraved marks of words of love, my love.
These words don’t come easy, yet I’ve been repeating them a thousand times over.
This time I feel as if I will be writing the last time, the last letter.
I’m empty and bruised. What is there left to say?
The pen has dropped; these empty pages are full of ink.

I justify myself in words.
Yet, they don’t prove worthy to you.
My vocal cords are weak from screaming.
My fingertips have become calloused.
Fast scrawls of words that count for everything.
Carving every sentence, everything represents you.
Blood stained letters, I’m pouring out my heart to you.
For what it’s worth I tried, a thousand times over.
Why don’t you hear me?
I feel as if I’m giving my last breath, my last chance to you.
These letters remain fresh. The pages aren’t creased and used
From being read.
I close my eyes and hope that this feeling will fade away.
I've grown restless with all the love i've lost.
This is the hardest part, writing to reach you.
I haven't reached you.
I don't register in the depth of your mind anymore.
I haven't reached you.

This assignment was the one where we had to incorporate metaphors, hands, and a certain place.

His soft and slender bony fingers grip the edge of the black pen. He rapidly scrawls words across the blank page that longs to be filled with words and shapes. A heavy weight is in eyes. In deep concentration, his words from the pen begin to transform and create wonderful ideas. His brows are pulled down into deep concentration. Biting the end of his pen, he glances out the window and begins to think once more. He sits at his desk with paper and pen in his house on the rolling hills of green emerald of Ireland. He is now temporarily stuck and blank in mind. His sister Carmen enters the room as he starts getting frustrated with his work. Matt throws up his papers into the air clearly frustrated. “Hey, why are you so upset? The writing will come to you soon. You can’t finish this piece in a day.” Matthew barely stifles a knowing glance at me. “Huh? This isn’t working I know. I need to finish this.” Carmen sighs as her brother rushes to collect up his wrinkled papers. Carmen glances around the messy room. She sees piles of crumpled paper and an empty glass teacup with coffee stains around the rim. She also notices a framed picture embroidered with silver leaves. In the photo is his beautiful girlfriend Tania. With her voluminous black hair, deep brown eyes rimmed with thick black lashes, apple coloured cheeks, and a contagious melody of laughter, and she was his adoration of his life. Unfortunately, he was at home frustrated with his writing, unable to focus and complete a piece. Instantly, an idea sparked like a light bulb into Carmen’s mind. She thought carefully as she put her index finger to her lip. “Matt, write a piece about the love of your life. I’m sure Tania would appreciate it.” Carmen noticed a grin that began to form on his face. “Thanks Carmen.” He immediately turned back to his work. Carmen shrugged and headed back to her room. Matthew rested his head unto the palm of his hand and began to think. Tania at this very moment was out vacationing in Greece for two weeks with her parents and older brother. Today, her plane would be arriving home in the late evening. Matthew sighed. He stared at the picture of the both of them with Tania’s head rested lightly on his shoulder. He began to write Tania’s name in slow and curvy motions. He thought about the sweet scent of her lips, her laughter that was like a beautiful melody, and her soft spoken voice. Matthew thought about the ways she would compose simply art pieces with poems written for him on it. He thought about the way she would immediately grab his hand and swing it and hold unto his for hours. Matthew pictured a moment where they were drenched from the rain at the park last month. He remembered pulling her close by the waist and whispering to her softly “I want to keep you.” After that, she smiled and leaned in to press her lips against his. Matthew felt a rush of adrenaline for the love he felt for her. His words began to flow out more freely as he held the pen with his slender ivory fingertips. “My angel, the sweet sunshine of my day, my everything…” He continued to write. This was it, Matthew thought. It was the inspiration of his day, his masterpiece. A feeling of happiness rushed within him. This was one of the finer things in life, composing a letter to his love. Matthew stood up and looked out the window. He glanced at the clock: 6:45pm the screen read in bold blue green letters. He squinted out the window amongst the rolling green hills of emerald. For what felt like ten minutes, Matt spotted a small and slender figure in the distance with long flowing black hair in the wind. His heart instantly was beating at a rapid pace. Closer the figure came. Matthew sucked in his breath. Closer…
His groaned as he realized it wasn’t Tania in the distance. It was a girl who had the same hair as her and tanned brown skin as her. Matthew slumped into the couch. Immediately after that, the bell rang. In the doorway, a girl with lightly tanned brown skin and a carved smile on her face stood. She held a huge umbrella. Her skin had light droplets of rain on it. Tania. Matthew swept her into his arms. “How was Greece?” Tania held his arm held tight. “Come on, let’s go for a walk. I’ll tell you all about it.” As they stepped outside unto the porch, they both could see misty coloured rain with the rolling green hills. Tania grinned a mischievous grin at Matthew. Matthew chuckled. “What are you up to now?” She held an old fashioned Polaroid camera. As they began to talk, Tania rummaged into her pocket and handed Matthew a soft and brown leather bracelet with “I’m keeping you forever.” The words were carved in gold letters. Matthew handed her his folded letter. He sighed peacefully. He couldn’t wait. Tania sat on the bench and read. She loved every part.

Here's to playing a tug of war with my
vocal cords...
-FFTL.

Never Think Forever

(anonymous assignment).


Searching for the truth, I’m in circles again.
I wanted something real, not fake.
The poison that befalls from your lips
Speak words that pierce my heart and leave scars.
Words that slip through your foul lips
That bleeds through me.
You’re lying to me again.
We are slowly slipping away, two worlds apart.
Our hearts do not beat at the same pace anymore
Hopelessly you say you are sorry.
I have never felt such unease, knowing that you don’t really want me.
Every moment and day was so precious, delicate to the bones. But then you destroyed everything we had. A residue of unbearable pain is left.
This has swerved out of control.
I need to breathe.
I can’t find you there, panic grabs my throat.
I choke. You were once a part of my life.
Etched unto my heart forever.
My fingers slowly slip away from yours.
We will be nothing forever more.

Collection

Our "Twist" assignment.

He presses his lips against the base of her ear and slowly hums a love song, a melody so sweet and meticulous to the ear. Caressing her smooth ivory cheek with his hand, he slowly brushes his lips against her slightly parted red ones. "Oh Serena dear, I'm sorry I did this to you," he says. He gently tucks a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. James hums again as he adores every aspect of her. Her radiant golden brown hair that curls at end, her indefinable scent which is mesmerizing, the deep rose colour that adorned her cheeks when she laughed, her teal green eyes, and the velvety softness of her skin. She was perfect. He smiled at Serena. She was his masterpiece. Sudden images flashed through his head of memories between him and her. They walked together for hours on the beach at night talking, painted together, and just simply holding her hand, or inhaling her natural perfume. He stares deeply and lovingly into her eyes. "You are just so beautiful." More wistful gazes.

It had suddenly occurred to James that Serena would no longer be perfect once she aged. Her perfection would slip away from his grasp, as wrinkles would form, and old age would replace her radiant beauty. James wanted to keep her in this state forever.

As a fine artist of his age, James had always longed for Serena. "I want to keep you forever," he tells her.

Carefully, James slowly finishes wrapping the remainder of the warm wax unto her skin. It slowly dissolves unto her skin, not damaging it. He cleans up the remainder of the piece of her skin that her had used to grind up in powder of her scent into a jar. He had her scent as well.

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He washed the bloody mess of his steel knife and the floor. It had taken him the course of three days to finish this. He could keep her youthful beauty and scent forever. She was immaculate. The perfect masterpiece of his collection. As an artist, his obsession to have her in his collection was finally complete.

What is the difference between good and bad art?

In order to answer this, we must think about what art is itself. Art is a form of self expression and communicating ideas, various concepts, and creativity through a wide range of topics: writing, art in general (drawings, sculptures, paintings, etc), fashion, theatre production, etc. This is the broadest range of art specifically. In order to fully analyze the difference between good art and bad art, I like to take it from this broad perspective due to the mere fact that art is in almost everything we experience, view, and see. Art is a worldwide phenomenon, an extremely vital component to almost everything we do. To elaborate on how art is a part of our lives, I will discuss how exactly. For example, music is like poetry and very lyrical. Why is this art? It’s a creative music piece done by someone originally. It inspires, it creates feeling and emotion. Writing songs is self expression and putting one’s perception of thing or feelings on paper, and then further produced for the world to become aware of. In terms of art itself (paintings, drawings, designs, etc), we can visualize an artist’s point of view or how they express themselves creatively. My point to this is that art completes almost everything we do in life. As humans, we need to portray our creative side to everything. Art can be in the simplest forms such as creating a design for something, a simple logo or name, or even a business idea. Now that I’ve established how art is relevant to our everyday lives, the difference between good art and bad art will be analyzed.

There is no particular difference between good and bad art. Everyone has different opinions and perceptions on everything. Of course, some of us may think similar responses or ideas, but everyone sees things in their own way. For example, let’s say four people are at the scene of the crime and they witness the exact same event. Yes, they would see the exact same things. Would their perception of it be the same? Not necessarily. They would each report it differently on the same situation. This occurs with art in the same manner. We each think differently. We consider what is good and bad differently. What may be an exciting piece of art may be dull and depressive to someone else. If an artist is trying to communicate with a person a certain idea, but we end up seeing different aspects of it. Both good and bad art are almost the same in terms of perception. Both good art and bad art invokes that emotional response, a comment, a feeling of anger or relating to it. This response shows that it has touched you in some way, whether good or bad. Even though somebody might dislike a piece, another person might enjoy it. We cannot eliminate what we think is bad art. One’s man’s art can be another’s man treasure. We can choose to look at the two sides of things and be satisfied with it. Overall, everyone’s ideas are different, as well as perceptions. We cannot clearly define the main difference between good art and bad art due to the mere fact that we all see things differently.

Untitled for now

I can feel the cuff links squeezing tighter on my wrists.
I slowly walk behind the men in uniform with my head hung low
Society has eyes that glare daggers and hatred at me
The family’s pain for their dead daughter will never be restored
A chorus of cheers erupts behind a cold steel fence
These are cheers of justice and burning anger inside.
As I walk, I feel the first glimpse of shame at myself
A cold blooded murderer
My body starts to itch with remorse
And the guilt washes over me

I am being shoved into a tiny and dark jail cell
Stumbling unto the ground
The darkness imprisons and engulfs me without a sound
I have nothing but the cold cracked walls to lean against
The officer tells me through the dark that I have three days
Until death. My Death.
My heart pounds rapidly, it might rip out of its chest.
My heart has turned against me, it hates me.
The growing fear is torture
The sin that I have committed will lead me to my eternal damnation
I am confined to solitude, struggling with deep thoughts
I am going to die in three days.
Ear piercing screams. Pleading and crying hard for mercy. She held up her hands to shield, and shut her eyes tight.

Blood dripped from the side of her face, racing down. Rivers of red poured down her body, scattering itself across the ground. He looks into the pale and unstill face of his lover. The colour has diminished. Her dark black hair remains tangled over her face.
Her blood cries out to him, for he has committed an act that will haunt him forever.
A sliver gleam of the knife lays into the grass.
He holds unto her as regret wraps around him.

I try to stop reminiscing about her death.
It’s impossible. I can still hear her screaming in my head.
The cold tears never stop flowing.
I just killed my soul mate, my life.
I am forever wanting to dig my own grave.
I’m going to die. My thoughts are strangling me,
I am slowly creating bruises of my sins.
I move my way around the cell. Pacing back and forth, feeling my way around six feet of space.
A cold shard of mirror I feel with my fingertips.
I slowly dig into my skin, dragging the sharpness of the mirror across.
It stings, but I deserve it.
The next day, it repeats.
My heart aches for freedom. I grab my head and shake back and forth.
I stretch out my arms and cry as loud as I can.
My head throbs, my mind is fucked up.
This isn’t happening now. I miss her.
Time is running out. I just want to be free.
My sin is piercing through my heart. My mind is etched with endless grief and thoughts that torture me.


A creak of light appears. I am being led up the narrow stairs.
The light of my day has vanished. This is it.
As I begin to fill into the room with my presence,
I can see the pained faces of the parents and brother of my wife.
I cannot even begin to describe the waver of pain that rushed over me.
“I’m sorry I caused you this pain. It’s my pain too. I deserve this,” I whisper.
Shaking as I stand on the stool, I panic and cry. I am now realizing that this is really it.
Through thick tears, I can see their faces.
After I die, there will be justice.
I’m insane with crying.
They are beginning to lower the rope; inches away from my throat
Choking with fear, I close my eyes.
I slowly raise my hand to my heart.
“Lord, forgive me.” My pale lips manage to utter.
I close my eyes. The rope reaches me, and then there is nothing more.

Untitled

This is my fourth piece written for this class. We had to focus on a object that would be essential to our story.


I glare at the television as flickers of colour flash across the screen.
The deep but cheery voice of the weatherman
Telling me that a full moon is expected tonight
I grab unto the armrest of the couch
Unable to contain my fear
My pulse races, my breath quickens
I sweat, for I am frightened.
When the pale blue moon arrives
I make the transformation into a were wolf.
What’s a boy supposed to do? Alone in my solitude,
My mind races as I contemplate turning into an animal for the third time this month.
This isn’t happening now.
I have heard of the legends from my ancestors many times before.
My life has changed for the worse. Do I want to become this creature? A werewolf hunts, they think by instinct. They kill people. I don’t want to be an animal, this murderer.
When I transform, my teeth shatter immensely. My body bursts like flames, as it takes on this new body.
Fur grows, my eyes roll to the back of my head as my icy blue eyes take on a new form.
The pain is too much to bear. My human mind slowly dissolves.
I wish this wasn’t happening now.
I stare at the green clock ahead, the gold outline of the time.
I now sit still and rigid as a statue.
Insanity and fear has washed over me.
I look out the window into the evening sky.
Once the darkness expands across the sky like a blanket
And the moon comes out at 12, my time will begin.
I sit down once more, the clock ticks ever so slowly.
I am about to face the inevitable of my life, I might as well wait
for it. The blood rushes from my face as the clock chimes at the final hour. My heart aches at the thought of becoming an animal once more and going through the painful process. I always feel my muscles growing and expanding ferociously. The pain is too much to bear.
I get up and run. I feel the blood and pulse rushing through me. My veins thicken and I am about to scream in pain. I open the door and run into the vast interior of the dark forest.
As I shake in uncontrollable pain, my body takes on a new life of its own.

A werewolf with sleek grey fur stands firmly on all fours. His deep blue eyes glow in the dark. He looks up into the lit sky provided by the moon. Against the backdrop of the blackened sky, the moon is welcomed into the sky. The surge of silver lightens up the sky at its height. The moon has fully awakened the werewolf. He intently stares up at the moon and he lets out a loud howl that echoes beyond the forests for miles. He is thirsty. The werewolf runs rapidly through the darkened forest. The moon has claimed him. Because of this moon, the night has finally begun.

Symbol of Poem/ Object: The moon. Since the moon is the focus of the boy’s transformation, it therefore makes it the object of this story. Basically, I wrote about a boy who fears turning into a werewolf once again. The moon controls his entire transformation.

A Soldier's Valentine

He sat in the steel colored dirt within the walls of the trenches. The sky opened and rain came rushing down without hesitation. A makeshift tent was keeping the soldier dry, but not warm. His purple knuckles and calloused hands firmly held a notebook. His eyebrows were pulled together in deep concentration. He was to compose a letter to his girlfriend Jane who lived back home in Nova Scotia. This young soldier had been away for months from Jane and this mentally exhausted him- being away from his love. Black pen in hand, his writing and thoughts of love transferred smoothly across the page. As he finished, he looked up and smiled.

Jane,
As I sit here, it pours day and night.
Through the crisis of war,
I think of you.
Without you, I would be devoid of any new hope.
As I sit here,
I’m telling you that it will be okay.
Just try to believe me.
As I sit here,
I fight for my country. I fight for you.
I’m sending all my love with this letter.
As I sit here today,
I can only dream of the lavender fields,
Your white sundress,
Those slightly parted red lips,
The sweet scent that lingers off your neck,
And your ivory white arms that embrace me tight.
Chestnut hair cascading down your shoulders
Glimmer in your teal green eyes.
When you lie beside me, I lie beside your cool bare skin.
We both forget about the world.
I whisper in your ear that I love you now and forever.
As I sit here, I hope that you realize that this is something I must do in life.
Fight for what I believe in.
As I sit here,
I don’t want to disappoint you
But I can’t go home now.
I promise you that I will be in your arms once more.
I love you Jane.

Jane looked up from the letter in her hands. She had torn open the letter from Peter in her mailbox. She tried not to cry, as she knew that he would not be home once more. Her bed would lie vacant, but Peter’s kiss would still linger on her breath. She could still feel his soft delicate fingers slipping away from hers as he left on a train with the rest of the soldiers. Jane’s heart began to crumble. Her head hung low. Tears crawled down her face to her chin, as she thought of Peter missing another special day. She was alone, drowning in her pain. When would he come home? Jane slowly retreated back into the small house that she and Peter owned. As she opened the glass door, a shadow lurked by. She spun around. Peter stood by the white picket fence. His soft lips curved into a smile. He held a rose and a lavender flower. "Peter!” Jane clutched her chest as she ran towards him. Peter extended his right arm to stroke her hair. “Every day I think about my love for you. I’m glad that I’m home now. Today will be just you and me.” Jane began to cry again. “Don’t leave me again please.” Peter pulled her close. He kissed her on her forehead. “I’m always here with you. You’ll always be in my heart. Don’t cry. I love you. I’m here now. I love you Jane Walters. “He slowly wiped her tears away with his hand. Hand in hand, they walked together to the lavender fields. This was the Valentine’s Day that Jane hadn’t expected. Her lover Peter was finally home.

and a little more.

a little bit of photographs

precious

tomorrow starts day, for the world never stops going
a rapid blur of colour
wishing i could pause a moment, for those times are infinite.
everything's captured in a polaroid picture
each of these precious moments tell a story.
I prefer walking into those moments again.
They say life is too short for traffic.
We keep going at a rapid pace.
Life never stops. Take time to value the delicacy of a day.
Everything passes by each quick second.
Experiences are not experiences, if you don't reflect upon them.

Untitled

Everything is wrong, it just feels out of place.
The broken ruins of my soul have come back to haunt me and cause great unease.
No Comfort, nowhere to be safe.
A battlefield in my mind foreshadows my demise.
I am helpless, the past inescapable.
I don't know where to go, where to turn.
My wants and needs are thrown aside.
I am trapped in a state of despair. Unable to let go of the past brings upon struggles and difficulties.
These thoughts strangle my good ones that beg to come through.
For I need a breakthrough to light, to happiness.