Write My Wrongs

teacher | writer | poet

[mcsmsrj]

Paradise Loss - an original poem

Footprints in the sand

A woman and a man

Holding hands –

Waves crashing in

Their toes at war with the shore

Icy water

Palm trees swaying

Woman and man

Kissing –

Breeze suddenly blowing

Their lips departing

Salty air

Clouds blocking the sun

Woman

Contemplating –

Tide beginning to rise

Her breath subsiding

Dead pool

Sunset in the sky

Man

Weeping –

Sea finally calming

His heart breaking

Cold wind

-rjbm

[mcsmsrj]

Leon Bridges never fails to calm the soul <3

[mcsmsrj]

[mcsmsrj]

"Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn." - Thomas Gray

[mcsmsrj]

A word from this week's guest: Kalea Borja

Poetry is an art that allows its poet to release unspeakable emotions in forms that touch human passion and soul. For myself, it is a platform that I used to help me through times that I could have not faced alone; times spent with people who I thought the word “forever” was made for and moments that could not be expressed deep enough with a simple explanation. It was the heart-felt relating poems that got me thinking: others feel it too. The more I engrossed myself with these marvelous poems by truly inspiring authors, I figured that the way we interpret poems depict the way we live our lives. A poem that I would like everyone to read is called: “The Red Wheelbarrow.” This poem encapsulates our human identity and priorities. While some interpret it as slavery or stereotyping social classes, some think its the assistance of leaders that are necessary to help society, and some think it means using tools to our advantage to grow. Although there are various other interpretations, this poem actually means NOTHING. The way we saw and analyzed this piece was intended by the author to show us how describing something that is usually present in our eyes can provide a world of imaginative wisdom that defines what we truly value most. In this case, those who saw it as slavery feel that equality is needed and that they feel mistreated, those who saw it as leaders overworking for its people feel that the themselves are overworked, and those who thought of using tools to their advantage may feel independent and puts themselves first. There are many ways to look at it, but the point is, in any poem, the way we look at it will be different from how others perceive it and that is how we are able to connect to poetry in our own unique way.

[emmafoxtail]

my favourite poetry book that I found recently, had to take it to one of my favourite café

[kaprees-blog]

‘confidently lost’ available worldwide ⋒ on amazon

[kaprees-blog]

— Confidently Lost: a collection of poetry —

[mcsmsrj]

Recollection - an original poem

I remember the rooster cuckoo every morning.

I remember that time I crashed into the plant while learning how to ride a bike.

I remember staying at grandma’s mansion over the summer.

I remember the smell of mom’s freshly baked yellow cake that I barely got to try because it was always a potluck for a party we were invited to.

I remember the red hibiscus flowers.

I remember the Drum and Bugle Corps. Each of us in formal uniform. The itchy bloomers beneath my handmade costume. The tight shako of red white and gold colors. Batons, drums, lyres making a melodic anthem. Front of the line, always in formation. The applause of the audience as we marched down the road. Sister was at the very back with uncle and auntie.

I remember the loud roar of the helicopter ride of the emergency medical evacuation.

I remember being excited to finally go from jumpers to skirts at the Catholic school where we had to pay a dollar to use casual clothes only on Fridays.

I remember Mr. Alex.

I remember “retreats” and “spring concerts” and “family night” and “cultural day” and “haunted houses” and the “P.E. Room” and “choir practice” and “flag assemblies” and “the rosary.”

I remember roll-on lip glosses.

I remember fire burning on the dance floor.

-rjbm

[mcsmsrj]

Professor: How would you describe your relationship with writing?

Me: First of all, do I even have a relationship with writing? If so, we probably went out on a few dates, stopped talking, passed each other on the way to the coffee shop, exchanged new cell phone numbers, moved in together, got married, divorced, and secretly saw each other behind our kids’ backs. Basically, it’s a very complicated relationship.

[natureandbeauty]

[healerorkiller]

[healerorkiller]

[mcsmsrj]

poetry in the midst of a Vegas casino

[mcsmsrj]

Poetry, Ezra Fitz, and College Life

It was a 10:00 am class. I was a Sophomore in college when I decided to enroll in my first Intro to Poetry class. To make things worse, I was the only brown skin girl in the class. I felt like Moana in a Snow White movie. My professor was white. My classmates were white. Of course, my assumption was that we were going to read and write “white-people” poetry. I was wrong. We read and embraced poetry of many colors and backgrounds and that was when I realized, I was right where I needed to be. I composed original pieces of my own and confidently shared them with the whole class. (You’ll get to read some of them soon!) Many of my classmates praised these poems, but also questioned them at the same time. No complaints there. I wanted to be challenged and pushed beyond limits. I passed the class with an A, but the biggest gain was my deeper appreciation for poetry. This passion led to my Senior-year decision to enroll in an advanced poetry course. What was I thinking? Going straight from an Intro to Poetry class to an Advanced Poetry class? Skipping the Intermediate classes? I was definitely out of my mind because Professor Bettridge gave me a run for my money. I felt like a lost girl in this hot professor’s class (he seriously was an Ezra Fitz from Pretty Little Liars #iykyk). I could not compete with the nerdy girl across me who probably read poetry books all her life. Even the jock douchebag sitting at the front knew more things to say than I did. How I passed that class will never be discussed, but what matters is that my love for poetry still exists – until this day – even after the hell that class put me through. Thank God for hot professors who make even the worst college courses worth the tuition money and worth the “C’s get degrees” grade.

[mcsmsrj]

Only the very weak-minded refuse to be influenced by literature and poetry.

Cassandra Clare

[mcsmsrj]