Floating Gracefully Like a Butterfly's Wing

Original creative writing

[creatingthecreative]

Got 'Moll Flanders' yesterday (along with two other books...3 for £5) and I can only hope it's as good as I remember it was, because I've lost faith in Daniel Defoe a bit after having to read and study the atrocity that is 'Robinson Crusoe'.

[creatingthecreative]

I hate the new Tumblr layout. Why do they insist on changing it all the time? 

[creatingthecreative]

The Old Oak Tree

The old oak tree was her favourite spot

To learn, laugh and play,

She was content with her lot

All she needed was her tree, her wordless best friend

Secrets and worries, she confided and told

Because it listened and soothed, and would never scold

                                   The old oak tree was her favourite spot.

 One blue, sunshine day, while the birds soared high

She decided to climb, she wanted to reach the sky

So with grandmother's scarf, she put one foot on the bark

Until a snap of the branch, foot fell through and scarf strangled

Choking, clawing, tears streaming, breath dying,

Grandmother's perfume trailing her last memory

                                   One blue, sunshine day, while the birds soared high.

 Pearls in her ears, draped in a silk scarf, with the scent of Chanel,

She watched grandma adorn herself, like a gorgeous movie star

"You always look so pretty" - Grandma smiled but with sorrow

The blue ocean of her eyes, carrying secrets deep, her eyes narrowed

Remembering lost love, her youth, death and passion.

Her eyes watered; the blue waves inside came crashing

                    Pearls in her ears, draped in a silk scarf, with the scent of Chanel.

 Mother dearest comes out calling, calling her loved one inside

"It's time for tea, darling" - until she saw the body, and from within, died

Swinging pale corpse, lifeless angel, cold and dressed in white

Left this earth too early; God, why? The noose tied too tight

Mother too shocked to speak, mouth is open but no sounds made

Instead she faints, while her little baby's body sways

                        Mother dearest comes out calling, calling her loved one inside.

 Saccharine sympathies with a sorry web of lies,

She looks down at her dear darling for the last time

Lay down naked on a cold slab of metal,

She kisses goodbye, tears stinging her face like nettles

She leaves the morgue alone, wind howling with her cries

While the ghosts of her deceased look on with sorrow in their eyes

                                               Saccharine sympathies with a sorry web of lies.

 The spirits of the dead gather 'round the old oak tree

The three women reunited once again as a family

After mother escaped through the throes of death

Swallowing vodka and pills 'til her dying breath

The tree is their purgatory, as they haunt and fore-warn,

Rosy-cheeked children who dare to climb, lest their mothers mourn

                                     The spirits of the dead gather 'round the old oak tree.

[creatingthecreative]

Nature Poem #1

Inspired by a class field trip to All Saints Park in Manchester, I composed this poem for class. Enjoy!

On a cold, crisp February morning, watching my breath touch the air I brush my fingers against the tree bark And feel its slits and ridges, its curves and edges Branches bare and exposed, no leaves to wear as cover She reveals herself to me in all her naked splendour The earthly goddess; her arms outstretched ready to embrace me While the immaculate scent of frankincense from churches yonder fill me with purity The frost is flourishing on my fingers, and my bare hands grow coarse But that divine deity is luring me in, seducing me with her gnarled and twisted body And like Odysseus I'm transfixed, I can't help but go to her, The frigid breeze blowing me closer Face to face, I absorb her curvaceous refinement into my mind Winter stole not her summer elegance and grace, But made her more beautiful in her stark and simple array instead.

[tu-fui-ego-eris-x]

2015 Goals (Currently)

Brush up on my French and learn Japanese. I want to be able to speak a language conversationally, if not fluently.

Lose weight before my 25th birthday.

Learn to crochet

Do more knitting projects beyond scarves and bookmarks

Go to Download Festival and see Kiss

Try and find a way of seeing Nicki Minaj live too

Pass my first year of uni.

Get my first tattoo

Be fabulous and fierce as fuck.

[creatingthecreative]

Me with my 'Poetry Jar'. :)

[creatingthecreative]

Hellfire For 1,000

My 'Poetry Jar' poem, in which I had to put an object in a jar related to the poem in question. Mine was a dedication to the thousands of bats that died in the Queensland heatwave over a month ago and the babies that were left orphaned. I read this poem out in class (drunkenly, might I add) and now it's on display in our university building. :)

Scorching was the day on that summery November,

From the hot fires of hell they tried to escape from,

Carrying their young to the safety of the tree shade

But to no avail, leaves were few and daylight flared aplenty

to those Creatures of the Night, the vampire's aide, the master's servants.

But he was sleeping now and couldn't unearth his ghastly presence to help

those sun-baked flutterers dying of thirst in the dry deserts

of Queensland fair and mighty, even the Devil himself couldn't stand the sweltering sunlight

that burned hotter than his own home.

Blinded and burning, they shielded their eyes with their night cloaks

But that cruel mistress, Mother Nature, cursed them and left them to die,

Mothers shrivelled to a crisp on the ground like a dying autumn leaf.

Their children, orphaned, weeping and fearing their end too.

  But look! A mottled hand appears and carries the tiny child to sanctuary

An angel? The smiling face above appears so, heavenly and serene.

"Let's get you out of here", she says as she glides towards her diesel fuelled chariot.

Gehenna tore its way through earth that day, but Hope and its guardians swept in to save Dracula's children before the hellfire charred their souls.

[creatingthecreative]

Love Affair in Black & White.

Here's the latest I wrote for 'Story & Structure', an attempt at writing a story in just seven lines. I'm still on the hunt for that person in my class who called it a 'Gorgeous Noir Story'. REVEAL YOURSELF, STRANGER!

He stepped off the steaming train, dressed sharply in a three-piece grey tweed suit and a grey fedora. 

She was standing at the corner of the station, with a paisley headscarf wrapped around her head, which also covered her chin, and large cat-eye sunglasses to conceal her eyes.

She smiled thinly as he walked towards her and began to embrace her.

"Did anybody see you?", he inquired.

She shook her head, and then said "Derek's away on a business meeting in Florence."

He smiled, breathed a sigh of relief and said: "We're playing a dangerous game here, Gloria."

She only replied solemnly with "Don't you wish you'd married me now?"

[creatingthecreative]

Come Bite the Apple.

He immerses himself in the canvas before him

She's sitting alone in bed with his book

Death-like brushstrokes in exhibition, cold, calculating and twisted

Words spiral onto the page in a blur, trying to catch a trace of his scent.

She said she would only think of him as a friend, heart locked away and buried at sea

But one more night, just one more night, I'll think of us.

I'll think of the way you caressed my skin

And the way your eyes fell into my soul.

I felt it then, and you felt it too

But you shrink away when I say I want to care for you.

  Thoughts fill her head of a hazy, booze filled night.

Gin fuelled and brave, her lips pressed against his in hope,

Would he push her away? Tell her no, this can't be?

But he responded in kind, his velvet tongue touching hers

With the passionate heat of a Spanish summer's day

"Take me, I'm yours. I want you inside me."

  Kiss my rosy lips, tender and burning

Entwine your slender frame with my full curves

Bite at my throat and drink all of my desire

Lay your hands on me and touch the textures of my skin.

I'll part my seas and watch you dive down

To find that precious pearl you'd long searched for

Come bite the apple, my love, drink from my chalice.

You're ravenous, I see it, so eat and have your fill.

Envelop me with your warmth.

I'm almost there, and I hug you close to me and oh!-oh!-oh! I scream "I love you"

But when the white light fades and the cold air hits,

I realise that you're not here and that I came, I came alone.

  And that was the night she realised that she loved him,

And that was the night that he felt that this was wrong.

Previous five years with another brought him guilt and shame.

His real 'true love', who buried their ardour in its grave.

Barbed bitterness grew around his heart and choked,

Now he wears a crown of thorns to mark the suffering that love brought,

A martyr dressed in black and bleeding from the eyes.

  Somewhere far away, that lost lover caresses another.

He might say "Love is dead to me."

And she, that girl who tried to prise open his heart, might answer "Don't denounce me, cruel master."

What she will never say is "I could love you if you only let me."

Years later he died, old, bitter, heartless and unloved. No flowers sprung from his grave, only grim weeds that tangled and twisted around the spiny grass.

She lived, but was dead inside, the same barbed bitterness choking her heart, cold and cut-off.

She sits beside is grave, but no tears flow.

Only the words, "I could have loved you if you let me" utter from her cracked lips.

[creatingthecreative]

Hello new followers! I've suffered from a personal setback in life which will result in a lack of work for a little while, but stick around because there will be something soon!

[creatingthecreative]

Hello new followers! Thank you for following my new writing page! Please would you do me the honour of sharing my new blog on your blogs so I can reach a wider audience! Thank you!

ALSO, sex blogs please stop following this blog. This is for creative writing only, NOT your dirty fantasies! Thank you.

[creatingthecreative]

After the War...

A poem composed for 'Language & Technique' consisting of half-rhymes based on the aftermath of something. I chose the after effects of nuclear war.

After the noise and the chaos passes,

We'll emerge from the debris, the rubble and the mess

We'll dust ourselves off and rise from the ashes

Like the flaming phoenix, we were lucky, we were blessed.

We caused this war and killed Mother Earth

Now the trees won't grow, branches black in funeral mourning

And the water is poisoned, laced with chemical after-birth

The sun stares back, its harsh beams giving us warning

The photographs were destroyed, the past is now a blur

We have to start again, survive, and build the world anew

Because we can't go back to the way we once were.

[creatingthecreative]

The Geisha

Another poem composed for my 'Language & Technique' class in which I had to try and compose an iambic pentameter poem on a subject of my choice. As such, I chose the sensuality and mystique of the geisha.

Waves of colour cover her frame,

Silk oceans gather around her waist

Her face is pure white like the light of the moon

While her lips are red like a rose in bloom

Her hair, raven black, is covered with jewels

She flirts with her eyes, teasing men, who are fools

For her and the way she dances and sings

Floating gracefully like a butterfly's wing

For she is a geisha, beautiful and sensual as the night.

[creatingthecreative]

The Empty House

This poem was composed for my 'Language & Technique' class, in which I was given an inanimate place to write an extended metaphor about. I was given an Empty House, a Graveyard and an Art Gallery to work on and I chose the first one, with a little help from my mum. Enjoy!

An empty house is not what it appears to be.

It is not lonely nor joyless.

Rather, it contains the memories of a thousand ghosts,

Living their lives like a play for the stage.

Laughing, talking, murmurs, whispers,

Lovers kissing, children playing.

When the house creaks, it is not crying in longing for company,

Rather, it is the stretch of a smile, remembering the better times and the people that have passed by.

The house waits patiently for its new arrivals.

The door clicks, muffled footsteps enter, sounds are breathed.

Welcome.

[creatingthecreative]

New Tumblr!

Welcome to my new Tumblr in which I will be posting original creative writing for all to see. I study English & Creative Writing at Manchester Metropolitan University and I've become so absorbed into my new degree that writing has now become my biggest hobby!

I will try and update this blog as regularly as possible. I hope you enjoy my writing!