(A poem about life – Blog writing challenge)
We hold time in our hands,
The soft ticking continues as the day unfolds.
The memories manifest, creating a kaleidoscope of good and bad.
Colours blend as day ends and night begins.
Twenty-four hours, many spent sleeping, rushing, worrying,
not enough wondering, creating, expressing or loving.
Slowly spinning as the past meets the present and the present meets the future.
I need to start writing again, so I am hoping that a writing challenge will get the juices flowing again. Writing is a big part of who I am but sometimes the need to write gets overshadowed by my busy work schedule. I have decided to start a blog writing challenge, I am not restricting myself to writing something on this blog every day (like a 30 day writing challenge), I have ten ideas here to inspire me to write something, whether it be a poem, a short story or another type of writing.
For a while now I have been leaving my novel alone, not intentionally of course. I’ve been avoiding writing all together. I don’t know why I do it. I love to write. I feel better when I write. I ignore my compulsion to write. Why do I depriving myself of it? I’ve figured something out about my writing process though in the last few days. I can’t focus on just the one writing project. I blame university for that. I got so used to juggling several projects at once, short stories, poems, scripts and novels that I can’t help but do the same thing now I have finished my degree (I got a 2.1 by the way, go me!!). So now I’ve started a new poetry collection from scratch, a new short story collection and I’m carrying on with my novel. I don’t understand the impulse I have to do this but it’s worked, my muse has returned.
Today I have written two poems, I have three new story ideas for my short story collection and I have started writing chapter nine of my novel I Choose Life and it’s only 1pm! Hopefully this will be the end of my writers dry spell and I can finally get something done. I love the feeling of finishing a piece of writing but I have yet to complete an entire first draft of a novel. That will change by the end of the year. If I work hard, I can get my first draft done by the end of December. Most writers claim that the editing stage is the hardest but I think I might find that easier than getting the story written. The problem is, I question myself. I think about all of the things that I am going to change once I get to the second draft stage and I really need to focus on just writing the story from beginning to end.
I need to believe in myself like I do when I write short stories or poetry. Anyone who claims that writing a book is easy, obviously isn’t putting their heart and soul into it. Anyone can write words but it takes a truly disciplined person to be a writer. Although I sometimes lack motivation and give in to the negativity that tells me that my writing isn’t good enough I know that I have the strength to eventually start writing again. There is no way that I am giving up. I will finish the first draft of my novel. I might decide in the second stage of editing that I hate my story and I no longer want to pursue it, if that happens then I will still be pleased that I reached the milestone of writing a 50,000 word draft of a novel.
I’m going to leave it there because I have to get back to my novel. Then I have to write another article for Women Make Waves. Then I might start another short story this afternoon. My mind never stops. I might need another two coffees to help me but today is definitely going to be a great writing day!
Feet curl over the edge of the cliff,
close to flying
ready to soar,
heart of a drum.
Anticipation brews in my sinking stomach.
Time is a flutter:
the future is impending.
Success is sickly sweet
but love is my greatest accomplishment
The rest will come.
The fog will clear and I will soon see
the bottom, ready.
Fingers and toes tingle with adrenaline
Stomach flipping, fear released.
Eyes sewn shut by apprehension – open.
Alive with freedom and choices.
I fly into the sun,
free to venture wherever
the wind may take me.
My eyes are derelict.
Infant and fresh.
Absorbing foreign words, foreign faces.
My mother tongue,
Their faces shine with
A barrier present,
cold and strange.
kisses – swapped and selected.
Twist of culture, language and value.
60 minutes by plane.
60 differences from home.
Of familiarity, warmth and English idioms.
My mind is washed
with the dizziness
Landing home, a relief.
(First Draft Of Foreign Words For My Poetry Portfolio)
behind every street corner.
In the early morn.
Dusty blue and sapphire ignite,
in the sky.
Panting heart quickens.
Racing even, mimicking dangers that
– Do. Not. Exist.
Heightened fear in the darkness.
Over the bridge,
water resembles – thick, black liquid.
Reflecting the light of the moon
Delicate, white flower.
Untouched by fear.
Lost in paradise.
The sky is clear.
Floating on the
surface of blue.
absorbs the view.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Rain is declining
from misty grey.
the light of day.
trapped in storm.
The tide is turning
no longer pure.
has to endure.
tears and pain.
soaked by rain.
lifts its head.
the clouded grey.
Is a small beam
of light to guide the way.
Turning the corner alone, you left behind.
A daughter whose words were wise and kind.
Ripping apart all that is known.
Now all that is left is skin and bone.
The heart will heal, but respect is lost.
Change can have an unforgivable cost.
Desires of the future will never be the same.
The flickering light dims on the family flame.
The tie was love, but now just blood.
I would turn back the clock if I could.
On these separate islands that we now live.
We learn to accept and learn to forgive.
No amount of glue will fix the damage done.
One decision made. No one has won.
Living with guilt – worry – fear.
One day this earth won’t have you here.
Imperfect in your selfish way.
I choose in my life for you to stay.
Ending all this pain and strife.
For you were the one to give me life.
Heavy words lift off my chest.
I still have my mother and for that I am blessed.
catches the light.
Ready to soar.
Flooded with freedom.
Any place is home.
Partners with blue
Friends with green.
One second to
admire her beauty.
One minute later
you remember her.
The white queen
that blossomed one day.
The white queen
of the sky.
Playful, she seeks
Leaving a lasting
trail of beauty.
Waiting for the
train to arrive.
to be turned.
Waiting to be
A canvas of white,
longing for colour.
Patches of fresh
Waiting for the
rain to fall.
A gathering of
on the last
patch of blue.
Waiting for the
lost to get found.
A flower in
to look at
Waiting for the
future to arrive.