Blaine
Mon chere...
- 828
- Posts
- 21
- Years
- Age 33
- Tennesse -_-
- Seen Sep 28, 2013
Well, as long-awaited as it is, here is a group of my pieces. This was a suggestion Kairi had made to me a while back that I showcase my work. So here goes. Maybe I'll gain some votes in Member of the Month. Heheh.
This first piece is a poem I wrote last year while in seventh grade. It is by far the best poem I've ever written and many of the PC-goers have already read it, but might as well let a few new members have a look-see.
2/11/04
I have walked a mile
Once in a dream I spoke with the stars,
that told me the tales
I have longed to hear.
I took steps through a dusty desert lit with purple skies,
and conversed with the light-hearted and learned jackrabbits
that taught me how to run in the race of life.
I was guided toward a crowded evergreen woodland,
where the elder trees babied me
with songs of old and lessons of new
They pushed me forth out of their timberland,
and onto sandy beaches
speckled with seashells and creatures
that watched as I crawled to the sea.
I swam into the vast expanse of ocean,
on my own,
recalling all that my mentors taught.
Paddling ever closer to the shores,
my body was worn
age apparent yet mind still fresh
with a hunger for more than I knew.
Rain fell from the world?s ceiling,
the ceiling from where my stars were dotted
and then was when my thirsty cranium
gathered all knowledge of earth.
I then resided with the heavenly bodies,
that once cradled me,
and whispered stories in my ears.
I had walked a mile,
lived a life,
and dreamed another dream.
It's not as long as I'd have liked but... I really like the poem.
This next piece is an essay I wrote last year for a competition called Wordsmith. I was one of my school's three chosen essayists, but sadly, I didn't place in the contest. Nevertheless, I enjoy the essay.
The bathroom of our house is rather small in size and very narrow, tiled with crimson ceramic plates and molded fillings. The bright yellow color that was painted on the walls after my family moved in has now faded but is still glossy, as if a fresh coat of paint had been laid earlier in the day. After hours, lights are dimmed or turned off, leaving only a chosen few to illuminate the corners of our living quarters. But in the lavatory, a single lamp is left on, dim but lit, leaving the modernized bathroom darker than most places.
Oddly enough, I find it calming here, at night. Everybody?s asleep as I prowl around the house in my ducky print pajama bottoms and purple tie-dye tee shirt, abusing patterns. Creeping into the washroom, I am able to sit on the ledge of the tub and watch a face in the medicine cabinet mirror, my face. Yes, yes, I know it sounds conceited that I choose to stare at myself, but there?s a lot more to this examination. Seeing the oval shape and peachy flesh, I view myself in a different way than usual.
This young woman, who appears as a reflection, thinks to herself: God, I have changed so much. From when I was short, small, and blue-eyed, I have matured. No longer tiny in size, the little bitty ?pipsqueak? I once was, I?ve grown, as I still do. I have shed the skins of childhood, trading them for one of adolescence, and I then advance into adulthood. Through these midnight excursions to perch on the rim of the bathtub, the progression of life has been noted, just like the coloring on the plaster walls.
Growing up is like? making a glass of lemonade. At first, you start out with a pitcher of water, but gradually, as you mix the sweet and sugary lemon scented flavoring with the clear liquid, the mixture is transfigured into a yellowish haze of fluid chock-full of visible particles that are a tantalizing treat for the taste buds. A childish juvenile ages into the life of a youth, witty and rebellious, yet still a kid, and then advances on toward the eighteen-and-over stature of a grownup. A youngster?s still a child until he is no longer a minor, like the water is still water until the lemon powder is completely combined. Over the years both the pastel pigment and I have and will continue to ripen, living every day. Each morning, as the golden rays of sunlight hit the inner walls of our cluttered and dusty household, the chipping paint fades. The walls are host to faint streaks of magenta and cracks the peak through the coats, giving proof that they have taken a bit of a beating over the years. Just like a person, in all of her new grandeur, both paint and people will eventually fade, old in body, but wise in mind.
As I continue to develop in mind and body, many things may change. Whimsical longings and extravagant thoughts are put away because they do not fit into the tight schedule one seems to acquire as she matures. However, these desires never whisk themselves away; they stay forever, reminding the cranium that even I once was small, filled with naivety and wonder. Outer appearances will alter as I progress, as will timetables and all that free time I once possessed, but always inside, my soul will always remain a kid.
I have a lot of essays and poem contests and projects coming up so there will be numerous new pieces to be added. But for right now, these are my favorites.
Author's Note
Please, these are my writings and I would appreciate it if NONE were plagerized or stolen. I spent hours working on these pieces and it would be unfair and rude if they were used for another reason without my permission.
This first piece is a poem I wrote last year while in seventh grade. It is by far the best poem I've ever written and many of the PC-goers have already read it, but might as well let a few new members have a look-see.
2/11/04
I have walked a mile
Once in a dream I spoke with the stars,
that told me the tales
I have longed to hear.
I took steps through a dusty desert lit with purple skies,
and conversed with the light-hearted and learned jackrabbits
that taught me how to run in the race of life.
I was guided toward a crowded evergreen woodland,
where the elder trees babied me
with songs of old and lessons of new
They pushed me forth out of their timberland,
and onto sandy beaches
speckled with seashells and creatures
that watched as I crawled to the sea.
I swam into the vast expanse of ocean,
on my own,
recalling all that my mentors taught.
Paddling ever closer to the shores,
my body was worn
age apparent yet mind still fresh
with a hunger for more than I knew.
Rain fell from the world?s ceiling,
the ceiling from where my stars were dotted
and then was when my thirsty cranium
gathered all knowledge of earth.
I then resided with the heavenly bodies,
that once cradled me,
and whispered stories in my ears.
I had walked a mile,
lived a life,
and dreamed another dream.
It's not as long as I'd have liked but... I really like the poem.
This next piece is an essay I wrote last year for a competition called Wordsmith. I was one of my school's three chosen essayists, but sadly, I didn't place in the contest. Nevertheless, I enjoy the essay.
Paint and People
The bathroom of our house is rather small in size and very narrow, tiled with crimson ceramic plates and molded fillings. The bright yellow color that was painted on the walls after my family moved in has now faded but is still glossy, as if a fresh coat of paint had been laid earlier in the day. After hours, lights are dimmed or turned off, leaving only a chosen few to illuminate the corners of our living quarters. But in the lavatory, a single lamp is left on, dim but lit, leaving the modernized bathroom darker than most places.
Oddly enough, I find it calming here, at night. Everybody?s asleep as I prowl around the house in my ducky print pajama bottoms and purple tie-dye tee shirt, abusing patterns. Creeping into the washroom, I am able to sit on the ledge of the tub and watch a face in the medicine cabinet mirror, my face. Yes, yes, I know it sounds conceited that I choose to stare at myself, but there?s a lot more to this examination. Seeing the oval shape and peachy flesh, I view myself in a different way than usual.
This young woman, who appears as a reflection, thinks to herself: God, I have changed so much. From when I was short, small, and blue-eyed, I have matured. No longer tiny in size, the little bitty ?pipsqueak? I once was, I?ve grown, as I still do. I have shed the skins of childhood, trading them for one of adolescence, and I then advance into adulthood. Through these midnight excursions to perch on the rim of the bathtub, the progression of life has been noted, just like the coloring on the plaster walls.
Growing up is like? making a glass of lemonade. At first, you start out with a pitcher of water, but gradually, as you mix the sweet and sugary lemon scented flavoring with the clear liquid, the mixture is transfigured into a yellowish haze of fluid chock-full of visible particles that are a tantalizing treat for the taste buds. A childish juvenile ages into the life of a youth, witty and rebellious, yet still a kid, and then advances on toward the eighteen-and-over stature of a grownup. A youngster?s still a child until he is no longer a minor, like the water is still water until the lemon powder is completely combined. Over the years both the pastel pigment and I have and will continue to ripen, living every day. Each morning, as the golden rays of sunlight hit the inner walls of our cluttered and dusty household, the chipping paint fades. The walls are host to faint streaks of magenta and cracks the peak through the coats, giving proof that they have taken a bit of a beating over the years. Just like a person, in all of her new grandeur, both paint and people will eventually fade, old in body, but wise in mind.
As I continue to develop in mind and body, many things may change. Whimsical longings and extravagant thoughts are put away because they do not fit into the tight schedule one seems to acquire as she matures. However, these desires never whisk themselves away; they stay forever, reminding the cranium that even I once was small, filled with naivety and wonder. Outer appearances will alter as I progress, as will timetables and all that free time I once possessed, but always inside, my soul will always remain a kid.
I have a lot of essays and poem contests and projects coming up so there will be numerous new pieces to be added. But for right now, these are my favorites.
Author's Note
Please, these are my writings and I would appreciate it if NONE were plagerized or stolen. I spent hours working on these pieces and it would be unfair and rude if they were used for another reason without my permission.
Last edited: