Teacher

Poetry, Small Poems

It’s been so long since I’ve written a poem, at first I was afraid to write. I stopped writing a while ago because I felt like I had nothing to say and if I did have something to say I wouldn’t say it right. Then, this summer, my grandma passed away (may she rest in peace). After a long battle against all her signs of weakness she left us and the silence that remained was overwhelming, both from losing her and my will to write. After a long battle against myself, my depression and my guilt, I finally decided to put my fingers on the keyboard again and write my first poem about her. I truly miss her, and I’m still not sure if the words I’ve used can capture the true essence of what a great woman she was. But I’m trying, and if I can even capture a tiny part of her through my poetry, then I think I’m doing as well as I possible can to preserve her memory.

Rest in peace Granny 

Ode to my broken piano

Poetry
On the days that I do not love you
my love looks nothing like love.
In fact, it looks much like
not quite
the opposite
but an
in between state:
A half-working key,
an almost soundless note
pressed against my finger-tips.

If Love was human

haiku, Poetry

The final Savannah Brown writing prompt is:

Make it human

I decided to write a haiku today, since I’ve recently been contemplating how this genre of poetry is so good at conveying so much in so little a space.


Quiet voice

Poetry

The new poems will be based on the Savannah Brown prompts which she gave in the description her write with me video. If you’d like to check them out they’re here.

The first prompt is:

Listen to the quiet voice


Quiet voice

When Time fades, and the clocks melt away,
I want to be right where I am now,
not beside another name, place or day.

together but alone, is how it’s best,
together is where we shall be,
isolated from the rest.

this feeling is our home,
that we have built from the ground up,
the foundations run smoothly,
even if they took long to put up.

within this house is where we shall remain,
listening to the quiet of our voices,
sheltered from all the rain.

 


This poem was written as part of National Novel Writing Month 2017 [Day 9, Poem #3]

Faces | Writing Prompt Passage

Poetry

WRITING PROMPT #74


“Why are we not permitted to show our faces in the picture , Mama?,” Charlotte asked, staring down at the photograph in her hands. The whole prospect of one picture alone to represent three young ladies in the newspaper seemed so obscure to the girl, that she had initially refused to be part of it at all; but her Mama had insisted, and so she did.

“Men shall often find one’s body more agreeable than one’s face,” Mama answered sharply, “can you not see that is why I have dressed you in the finest silk dresses you own?”.

With her nose held high in the air, so as to maintain decorum, Mama sauntered over to her grand mirror, her favourite part of her bedroom. It had been bought for her as a gift by her husband, as had the house her and her daughters now lived in. Many hours had passed in front of its golden frame, preparing herself for her husband or local balls. Time had withered her patience and she prepared as such for no one but herself anymore, and her three daughters. Now, in her corset and petticoat, she placed the photo on the bed beside her and began adorning her face with powder.

Her youngest daughter, grabbed it and exclaimed, “No rouge, no curls! No man shall ever send us prospects of marriage.”

She turned to her mother.
“Mama! What were you thinking?”

“Hush now, Anne! Your father payed a large amount of money to get that photograph taken, and we shall be rewarded for our efforts, I guarantee.”

A book snapped shut to Mama’s left.

“Then perhaps a woman shall send us a marriage proposal,” Emily began, “and I shall be so very pleased if that were to happen instead.”

 


This poem was written during National Novel Writing Month 2017 [Day 3]