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Moderator
Brandi_R
Posts: 1,598
Registered: ‎10-19-2006

sides of yourself

Ah, only a few days left, and I feel compelled to offer up another writing exercise. This one has a bit of self-reflection build right in. It comes from Susan Goldsmith Wooldridge's Poemcrazy 

 

She writes: "Poking around the house now and then, I catch myself in the mirror. There's no telling what side of myself I'll see." With that in mind, list all the sides of yourself that you can. Think of all the different situaitons you find yourself in and what aspects of your personality come forth in those different situations. Chose the voices that seem to most want to speak and let them speak. Work in concrete details: What does that side of you wear? What does it like to eat? Perhaps some of those voices want to speak to each other. Perhaps there's a debate brewing. This might turn into a poem or a short essay. Or you might use it as a springboard for a fictional character. Feel free to post what you create!

letterpressfiction.blogspot.com
Distinguished Bibliophile
Darkkin
Posts: 2,224
Registered: ‎08-15-2009

Re: The Swings on the Corner of Sarnia and Lake.

[ Edited ]

Chest wrenched open, I cried last night.

Snot and tears, clogging my breath.

Obscuring my sight.

One thing and another, became one, too much.

 

I can no longer pay to keep my heart beating.

This fight I have fought, I have been driven to the ground.

A faded wraith, choosing between life and eating.

The pain in my chest, the quiet rage does pound..

 

A damned unicorn amid the zebra masses.

Fleet of foot that unicorn was, whether it was bright or raining

Battling on through the dark, skirting broken passes.

She is my warrior, against a demon, gaining.

 

My eyes are hot, my anger bright, clear and hard.

Stillness, sleep is no option, a restless tide does swell.

Rue at my side, I'm out the door, through the yard.

I head to the place, my one secret spot, where I break free from hell.

 

It is three miles straight down from my door.

A set of old rusted swings on the corner of Sarnia and Lake.

In the shadow of Sugar Loaf, some yards from the shore.

My swing, it catches me as I drop, my heart a broken ache.

 

It is black as pitch and humid as a hot bath gone cold.

Lightning streaks, but there is no hint of rain.

My toes dig in, I push off hard, soaring like memories of old.

Chains creaking, the wind shrieking, giving a voice to the pain.

 

Higher and higher and higher, I go.

Back and forth and back again, my hat flapping.

I open my eyes, feel my heart beating, silly, I know.

Bruises rising from the chains pinching and slapping.

 

My blood is rushing, muscles are screaming.

My calluses, holding strong and true.

By now all others would be asleep, sweetly dreaming.

But, I am fighting, knowing there are stars in the cobalt blue.

 

I am down, my fleet feet stilled.

My stories as yet, not all written.

My trace upon this world unfulfuilled.

But my will to live, my dreams, still glow, here where I'm sittin'

Here on the swing on the corner of Sarnia and Lake.

 

 

 

 

 

'Of wings and words and dancing milkweed seeds...'

Moderator
Brandi_R
Posts: 1,598
Registered: ‎10-19-2006

Re: The Swings on the Corner of Sarnia and Lake.


Darkkin wrote:

It is three miles straight down from my door.

A set of old rusted swings on the corner of Sarnia and Lake.

In the shadow of Sugar Loaf, some yards from the shore.

My swing, it catches me as I drop, my heart a broken ache.

 


A beautiful poem, Darkkin. This stanza, in particular, makes me feel as though I'm right there with the speaker, hearing the squeak of the rusted swings.

letterpressfiction.blogspot.com