Table of Contents Number of Entries The Write Stories .............................................................................1 The Write Poetry .............................................................................4 Learn from the Masters .............................................................................1 The Write "Stuff" .............................................................................2 The Write Ads .............................................................................
Section
BELLS AND CANDLES
by Sorana-Lucia Salomeia(lsalomeia@tau.mec.tuiasi.ro)
16 years old
The Fine Arts
Highschool "Octav Bancila"
Iasi, ROMANIA
Flying through the garden of the roses and the silver poplars,
I can see a bird. It's the bird of sorrow and I hear its song. Singing
of the long lost, land of far away, and my heart is trembling. High
above the garden of the silver roses I can see a bird making for the
sky. I must leave the garden, I must go away, but its song's echoing in
my heart.
There's a wave of quiet anger in the streets tonight and the
sense of loss and sorrow is mixed with helpless fright. As a newborn
hope was rising, it was cruelly swept away and the gloom of twilight
overtook the daylight and the shiny colors of the rainbow, the bridge
over eternal darkness. Have mercy, mercy on everyone
There's a flood of mourning faces in the darkness of the night,
a procession in the honor of a fearless ice shudder. How can anyone
believe that there's a place for decent people if the world is meant to
suffer time and time again.
Have mercy, this is a trying time and the bell that used to
chime was hushed to the silence by the dark horror of wars and
irritation.
Now that the misdeed is done, after the vicious blow, we're at
a loss, puzzled and dizzy. There's a feeling of belonging in the quiet
air. Those who were against him have all vanished out of sight and
they'll remember how we used to tear apart their poor defense with the
quiet wisdom of the language of the heart.
There's a sense of deprivation looming all around us for the
candle burned out just as we could glimpse a light. How we hungered for
a vision and he gave us all a dream, a hope, in a time of pride and
passion that we can't redeem.
If we only had the time to stop and start all over, if there
only was a way to build a brand new world Is it really much too late to
try and think about it and then to change all those fatal mistakes?
If we only had the time to see we're all just people in a cold
and lonely world, or have we all gone blind? There's so much love to
give and get in return if we give ourselves a little time.
Look at all the children playing games in the sunlight. Why did
we forget that way of having fun? If we lived a century, if we cried a
million tears, would we listen to the voice that no one hears?
If we only had the time
There's an old man throwing breadcrumbs to the sparrows,
sitting on a bench beside the children's playground and he nods and he
smiles as he hears the careless laughter. As I sit and watch the old man
and the children, there's a cold and lonely feeling running through me.
It is late in the day and the air is getting chilly and it's time to go
home; soon the shadows will be falling.
I'll spend another night waiting for the bright light of
the morning like so many nights before, until I hear his key in the
front door. I'm amazed at all his words, soaring like the flight of the
birds in the sky, but the message they can bring is just the flutter of
a wing making ripples in the ocean.
Down the slide she comes, my younger sister, giggles ringing in
the ear like clear blue water and her hand is so warm and so confident
and sandy Lately, I have a constant need to see then happy. Something
breaks whenever one of them is crying.
Looking back as we leave, I can see the bench is empty, but the
sparrows remain and, as ever, keep on searching.
THE WRITE POETRY
QUESTIONS
[visionsnvoices@hotmail.com]
You speak of questions
but never asked them.
You know already
the things I feel.
Yet ask me
I will tell you
if that will make it
seem more real.
I'll tell you this
about my feelings,
they have the strength
to breed or kill.
Before you ask me
I should ask you
do you want
the answers still?
"I got sick of the kids in my class making fun of me
and I wrote this in my frustration insteading of
slapping some of the kids."
Sick of This
You start talking,
So I bite my tongue.
Im about to snap
But youre having lots of fun.
Just because Im different
You point and call names.
Well, you want to know what?
Im sick of playing these games.
My tongue is in pieces,
My patience on the floor.
Im going to stand up
And kick your ass out the door.
Just do me a favor,
And shut your f**king mouth
Before I stop standing idly by
And begin to shout.
Because when my voice rises
My fists will start to fly.
I am so sick of everyone
And you know the reason why.
Im sick of all the jokes,
The comments, the names.
Well, Im standing up
And Ive won the games.
~princess_leia_organa_12@yahoo.com
Burden
A priceless figurine
Shatters to the floor
Everything I touch, it seems,
Is not worth much anymore
A flower in bloom
Will wither in my presence
I make everything cheaper
I am more for less
I can break the unbreakable
Burn the inflammable
Destroy the unthinkable
I lose every gamble
I dont know my direction
Taking the wrong turns
F**king things up
I'm always saying the wrong words
I have been forgiven
Too many times to believe
If I gather up my odds
Way past strike three
Always I misplace
And always I forget
God am I a mess...
I am guilty of neglect
There has to be a curse
Within my fingertips
Turning all to dust
And ash from cigarettes
The future of regret
For what is soon to be
You're better off dead
Then with a burden like me.
By: Christy Weaver (Tori462)
(JyDesolateShadow)
In the beginning, her eyes told me I had no chance,
They spoke to me of an intense love and impossible romance,
But chance only exists when there are odds--and odds cannot exist if one cannot lose.
I could not lose for she was my Cinderella,and in my hands were both of her shoes.
What do eyes know? Within is merely a reflection of myself,
And in my reflection I see what my heart desires--an endless wealth,
But while reflections do not cast shadows,mine hides itself not
For if desire is all that exists,should those desires be sought?
What lies behind my reflection I am left to ponder,
Yet when I look into her eyes once more I see beauty that wanders,
And then I can no longer breathe nor speak nor move, all I can do is dream,
Reality has become a plagiarism of fantasy, nothing is as it seems.
But in the end, my reflection told me what I needed to hear,
She and I are reflections within reflections, and together we'd always be clear.
LEARN FROM THE MASTERS
This is a new section in The Write Stuff's newsletter. In this section, there are excerpts from already-famous writers and possibly some other insights regarding them. This issue's spotlight will be on William Wordsworth, a nineteenth century English poet of the romantic movement who defied many contemporary poetic conventions. One of his most famous poems was "Daffodils."
DAFFODILS
by William Wordsworth
(1830)
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed--and gazed--but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
-- THE END --
For more information on William Wordsworth, please feel free to browse some of the following websites:
- The Academy of American Poets
Wordsworth, William. 1888. Complete Poetical Works
Wordsworth, William
William Wordsworth
Inspiration
I want to be a doctor, who saves lives.
I want to be a teacher inspiring students to make the world a better place.
I want to be a coach motivating my team.
I want to be the writer who reaches the people though my words.
I want to be a fireman saving lives and risking my own.
I want to be a scientist who finds cures for deadly disease.
I want to be a police officer fighting crime.
I want to be a grandparent who spoils her grandchildren.
I want to be a parent taking care of her children.
I want to be the oldest child taking care of her younger siblings.
I want to be the youngest child making everybody laugh.
~Scoobygirl0403
Special Birthday Announcements
April 6th XAzureRaindropsX
April 20th Corn4201
April 25th STINALALA
April 30th Tcket2Ride
Happy Birthday!!!
THE WRITE ADS
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