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Writer’s Journey
Quote
| “Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen.” ― Leonardo da Vinci |
Relationships © Lyn Crain
Relationships can be
like
fun house mirrors.
Reflections that are
warped, and distorted
versions
of one’s self.
Better left
invisible!
Walk on…
Beautiful imagery
*
Through dead dwellings of the living…
*
*
*
*
And on…
*
*
Under a dead dwelling of the dead…
*
*
*
*
And on…
*
*
To the pebbled shore.
Maya Angelou
“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”
Self-promotion
Cemetery in Her Mind
She has a vision of a cemetery in her mind
with his name boldly etched on the stone,
cause of death happily undefined.
Her survival, her life will sadly depend
on her keeping out of his way.
Heaven forbid, she might offend.
She has a vision of a cemetery in her mind
with his name boldly etched on the stone.
She focuses on his departure from humankind.
She’s tried to concede more than once
only to be brutalized by his rage.
She can’t continue with the pretense.
She has a vision of a cemetery in her mind
with his name boldly etched on the stone,
cause of death happily undefined.
She feels bad, wanting his death is unkind,
love and hate are very powerful emotions.
She has a vision of a cemetery in her mind,
cause of death happily undefined.
How to Write a Powerful Short Story — Write Your Great Novel
At different times the short story form reigns supreme, only to wane briefly in popularity. And while I want you to never stop until you write your great novel, I also encourage every writer to embrace the short story form, and author one for both posterity and practice. A boiled-down idea, the short story has […]
via How to Write a Powerful Short Story — Write Your Great Novel
Changing
Cherished memories are the key to our sanity at times.
Written by Jacob Ibrag
The boy rushed upstairs while his little sister followed him.
She knew something was wrong, he was acting peculiar like
something had happened. Tripping on the last step, he lands
on the ragged carpet in the attic. Rushing towards her brother,
she checks to see if he’s okay. ‘What’s going on? Why aren’t
you talking to me?’ He quickly shrugs her off and runs towards
the windowsill. Lodging his fingers underneath the bottom
rail, he struggles to open it. Using every ounce of his strength
and failing, he looks over his shoulder and asks his sister for
help. Finally getting the window to open all the way, the rain
starts to blow into the room and onto their faces. ‘Why did
you have to open it, it’s raining!’ She watched as he stuck
his head out the window in full embrace of the cool Autumn
rain. Wasting no time, he quickly looked…
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Imperfect Existence © Lyn Crain
Imperfectly Perfect
People Saw It at The Time
Mismatched Yet Perfectly Paired
Idealism
And
Horrific Brutality
Up-close and Unsettled
Inspired by What Lies Beneath
Purposely
Seduced and Betrayed
In a Galaxy, Far Far Away
We See
Belief is Potent
Every Angle
Mismatched Yet Perfectly Paired
We Understand
The World
Doesn’t
Change
For Better
Or Worse
Live
Titles and Subtitles from New York Times — December 2nd and December 3rd, 2016. There are no added words in this found poetry. I did make minute changes by separating lines to make what was said more potent.
#NYTimes #Found Poetry
What’s The Use of Regret?©Lyn Crain
It’s scary out there!
Me, myself and I
seeking a new direction.
I hear the fragile songs
of my bewildered youth.
What am I afraid of?
The Myth…
His love of the past…
Will it come find me?
The borders of insanity
are so close.
I’m a mere weak girl,
shuddering and shivering
in this sea of uncertainty.
He renders me fearful
in this complex nightmare.
Where the wild things flee,
seeking answers in the book
of alleged illumination.
I need a safe place to go mad
with my monumental memories
until they compose themselves.
I’m a fragile human being,
I don’t want to wage war
but I can’t continue
fighting the hard times in paradise.
I’m tired of paying for solidarity
I can’t keep confronting
his darkness when
there are the varieties of anger.
The pages’ turn
but the story is always the same
in her storied land.
Until the cats come back
and turn the tables.
Whatever happens
They’ll blame me
so
what language does love speak?
If
It stands alone,
Unarmed,
black and dead.
It’s my last chance
to escape this epic fail
What’s the use of regret?
Everything in Italics was taken from the New York Times headlines and subtitles. I moved them around until I created my poem.
lyncrain 