My Creative Writing

Purple Dreams

In my dreams I wander...
through my mind
that’s like an ocean.
Vast and mysterious.
How funny that I think
of things that are at school.
This is what I see:

Strange and mysterious are my dreams.
Usually of fields and plains.
Tonight that of purple shirts
and backpacks (with binders within)
worn by my friends.

Shades of lavender, violet and purple
flood my squinting eyes
My eyes see nothing but the colors
the hues.
Although shapes form shadows within,
I see only the color.

When this purple blindness has past,
it seems as though
everything has become purple.

I walk to school surrounded by a purple morning fog.
The normally blue and white buildings are now a
light lavender and deep violet.
The art framed and posted in all buildings suddenly come alive with vibrant colors, but are dimmed by the image of purple.
Old books are a musty, old, dirty purple.
New books are bright shades of, of course, purple.
Suddenly everything starts becoming bigger.
the coffee mug that sits on the shelf is turning into a giant purple cup.

When everything is the most chaotic.
A faint whisper begins to quiet the color
The whisper becomes slightly louder.
The dream ends.
I wake with my mother whispering over me to wake up and get ready for school.

When I arrive at school everything is normal
As I walk to class I see a flower
a purple flower
And I smile

Cats
by, Laura
Orange, white, black,
Even sometimes blue
Basking in the warm sunlight
Taking in the view
And when the morning sun
Becomes too hot
The cats move away
To find a cooler spot.

In the afternoon
They lap at water
Trickling through a clear blue stream
Rolling in the sweet grass
Frolicking in the meadow
Then napping under the boughs of an
Old oak tree

When night comes
They are wide awake
Hunting, preying for small rodents
Scurrying through the brush








A Starry Night
by, Laura
How beautifully the night shines
Each star like a diamond
Sparkling in the midnight sky
Some are large,
Some are small
But all are beautiful as they shine
Twink, Twink, Twinkling
Twinkling

Frankenstien Poem

Dark

I am from the dark.
The dark, cold, world of pain
Hope, passion, fear, and rejection rule my
abhorred existence.

I awake in a dark, empty lab.
Running, running until I run out of air.
I find a fire.
It’s warmth melting my soul

I speak!
But, lo behold my wretched voice
none would like to hear.
Stones, sticks, and dirt thrown
to keep me away.

I am from the light
(at least I thought)
Where love and kindness flourish.
But even here darkness hides
My hideous being frightens
even those who love so freely

Darkness, black terrifying darkness
Only seeing and feeling the pain of
others
soothes my soul.

Now, my creator lies dead
from the trauma
I have induced upon him
I have no one
I must recede into darkness
I am from the dark.

Book 1: A Musician intervenes

Sing in me, Muse, and through my lips tell the story
of that musician who was skilled in all ways of melody,
the french hornist, troubled for years on end,
after she seized the principle seat
from the proud height of Philip Farkas.
She saw towards the conductor
and learned the minds of many clarinetists and bassoonists,
and weathered many sleepless nights and tired days
in her deep heart at rehearsal, while she played only to
please the orchestra, to bring the music up to its highest potential.
But not by will or valor could she save them,
for their own conductor destroyed them all –
egotistical and foolish, he misinterpreted Beethoven and
Chopin and Mozart, the king of all classical music.

Of these rehearsals, Muse, daughter of Bacchus,
tell us in our time, lift the great song again.
Begin when all the rest who left behind them
rushed sixteenth notes in practice or concert
had long ago returned, while she alone still hungered
for perfection and harmony.