New sl et te r - Ma y 20 02

Table of Contents

Section

Number of Entries

The Write Stories

.............................................................................1

The Write Poetry

.............................................................................4

Learn from the Masters

.............................................................................1

The Write "Stuff"

.............................................................................2

The Write Ads

.............................................................................

THE WRITE STORIES



MEDITATION ON A RAINY DAY

by SoranaLucia Salomeia (lsalomeia@tau.mec.tuiasi.ro)
16 years old
The Fine Arts Highschool "Octav Bancila"
Iasi, ROMANIA


The long awaited darkness falls casting grey shadows on the walls of
this gloomy and weary room And I am sitting here, alone, near the
fireplace, in the twilight hour, watching the joyful dance of the red
flames of the fire and the dying embers fading and warming up my face.
In this peaceful solitude my mind is like an open window. I can hear
images and hear songs that no poet has ever painted. So strange
Half awake and half in dreams, I can hear voices calling out to me,
calling straight to my heart, urging meand I let them carry my soul
away, lead me gently into another world where the brilliance of beauty
will defeat the darkness of the day. These wistful sounds awake me from
my shallow sleep, sweetly seduce me and I let them take me, play games
within my mind.
Now I find myself in the middle of an ancient valley. I can see the
dry, pale-colored autumn leaves falling to the ground and rustling down
the alley.
The air gets cold and I hear the high, chilly winds blow through the
trees. The rain falls softly on my face and I watch the black clouds in
the sky thronging as if fighting one against the other.
The whole world seems to be touched with mortality. Life seems
to be a blown-out candle. Still, there is no pain, no suffering, not a
sigh, just some kind of melancholy feeling. Nature's soul is enchained
by its own sorrow. Life is a discouraged bird of passage moving its
wings faintly, flying instinctively and aimlessly.
The icy kisses of the rain drops touch the dead leaves on the
ground and make them glitter, in spite of their rusty colors.
Hundreds of souls seem to be dancing in the moonlight, trying to
defeat the depression of the darkness.
The rustle of the leaves changes into an odd, incomprehensible
song; their millions of voices blend into a single voice. The air is
vibrant and there is a constant, steady rhythm of a heart that beats
The whole world is a prison one could never escape from.
Looking into the shadows, I have the feeling I'm forever trapped in
here.
The sounds are growing louder, building fright shudders into my
heart.
I'm waiting numb and frozen for the sunrise.
I'm caught in the landscape of emotion and feel the warmth of
all devotions.
Is it a dream or is it all real ?
I wonder: Could it all be just an illusion? Are they all just
illusive feelings?








THE WRITE POETRY





May in Paris (Karivet)
Flowers blooming
Fashion renewing
Busy cafe's in the street

Bonjour,
A french hello
Vanilla perfume
And an open door

Scarlet satin
Baby blue lace
Amarilla cotton
Untouchable face

Distinct grace
Beauties trace
Love in places
Unknown to the taste

May in Pars
The french open door
Never locked
Where they say bonjour

Sailavi
A Paris goodbye
I will return darling
Please don't cry

Your ebony tears
Will soon wash away
I shall return another day

As I board the plane
A kiss goodbye
Will seal
Our love
With an endless goodbye

Now take my hand
And I'll give you a kiss
The story never ends
In a way like this.

~Whispers~

I wish you'd
smile for me
for the camera
the sun
anything really
to see you
hear you so sad
can't point out the way
wonder what it is
why you call
what it is you have to say
the defining moment
waiting in silence
my happiness
redundent
attractive
I can feel you
your eyes
thinking
how silly she's
so cute
and you know what
I miss you
and us
everything we
had
and I know
your heart is
saying that you
still love me
I wish you'd
listen as
mine whispers back.

~Melissa Noelle (Simply_dreamworks@hotmail.com)




"This, the me without you"

Left
like a train you can barely see
Left
are frayed edges once me
Alone
like a big empty room
Alone
like a fork without a spoon
An ache
like your heart's about to break
An ache
like sweet words you never realized were fake
Broken
like shattering glass
Broken
like your memories of the past
Unbalanced
like an addict in need of a high
Unbalanced
like disappearing without saying good bye
Seperation
like oil in water
Seperation
like a mother without her daughter
Distracted
like a leaf blowing in the wind
Distracted
like a river with no bend
Regret
like needing a document you just erased
Regret
like angry words said in haste
Love
like a deep down need
Love
like the sun nurturing a seed
Scared
like losing your way in a snow storm
Scared
like touching cold hands that should be warm
Abandoned
like a starfish in the sand
Abandoned
like a beggar with an empty hand
Doubt
like the wrong word on the tip of your tongue
Doubt
like having to be an adult while you're still too young
Need
like a touch to calm your fears
Need
like a deep hunger you feel for years
Out of place
like being in a foreign country and seeing a familiar face
Out of place
like a lighthouse in a deserted place
Wishing
like having a juicy steak but no knife
Wishing
for another breath of life.

~Melissa Noelle 2002 (simply_dreamworks@hotmail.com)

*NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR* I wrote this about all the mixed feelings I have about my mother's
death.

The Shore of Life
Ai87

A lone mermaid,
Sitting on the shore of life,
Running free with contemplation,
A waterfall of hopes
Crashing down upon the sharp rocks below.
An endless cycle of dreams and aspirations.
Pure, perfect hopes as a flowing river,
Plumetting the distance as they are shattered,
Never to be seen or heard from again.

The solitary mermaid perched on her stone,
A droplet in the corner of her eye.
A turrent of tears,
A constant and perpetual wailing from deep within the soul.
A pouring out of emotions,
A fulfilling of desires.
Waves of rage crashing up against the rocks,
Turning into rivulets of sadness.
Rolling, soothing waves of a serenity that pervades all.

Oh! Cry me a river!
Sing me a song of the water.
Thus is the lone mermaid,
Sitting on the shore of life.





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 Shel Silverstein, a modern-day poet for children. This is a good example of a rhyming poem, and although it is intended for a younger audience, it is to be cherished by audiences of all ages. Enjoy!


SICK

"I cannot go to school today,"
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
"I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox
And there's one more--that's seventeen,
And don't you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut, my eyes are blue--
I might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I'm sure that my left leg is broke--
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb,
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is--what?
What's that? What's that you say?
You say today is...Saturday?
G'bye, I'm going out to play!"


Silverstein, Shel. Where the Sidewalk Ends. Copyright 1974 by Snake Eye Music, Inc.

THE WRITE "STUFF"




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