Saturday, February 18, 2012
Creative Writers
With the end of the trimester yesterday, came a rush of poems and short stories being posted on the blog. Many of the people in Mr. Bean's Creative Writing class decided to put up one of their pieces from the class for display on this blog, sharing them with the world. Read them, learn from them, be inspired by them, and write! Just write whatever comes to mind, be it in the form of poetry or prose. Write, and rewrite, and rewrite again, until you have something you are truly proud of. Then, when you do, you can send it in an email to one of the admins of this blog, or you can post it in a comment on one of the pieces that you like the most. You can choose to remain anonymous, or you can share your name, it's all up to you. But anonymous or not, only when you share your work can you receive feedback and grow, or bring enjoyment and pleasure to the readers.
Friday, February 17, 2012
Bell Bouy by Henry Willets
Up and down
and up and down.
Swinging and swaying,
Ringing and dinging.
Away from it’s friends
communicating from with sound.
Communicating with flashing lights.
One day, one day
365 days a year.
In the dark and cold,
in the bright and hot.
Green and red,
blinking and bobbing.
Rocking and rolling.
Big and cold,
Rusty and dusty.
Covered in sea gulls.
A signal, a part of life
marking the way
for many to stay.
Up and down
and up and down.
Swinging and swaying,
Ringing and dinging.
One day, one day.
When the current shifts,
it may have a neighbor.
It may have a friend.
and up and down.
Swinging and swaying,
Ringing and dinging.
Away from it’s friends
communicating from with sound.
Communicating with flashing lights.
One day, one day
365 days a year.
In the dark and cold,
in the bright and hot.
Green and red,
blinking and bobbing.
Rocking and rolling.
Big and cold,
Rusty and dusty.
Covered in sea gulls.
A signal, a part of life
marking the way
for many to stay.
Up and down
and up and down.
Swinging and swaying,
Ringing and dinging.
One day, one day.
When the current shifts,
it may have a neighbor.
It may have a friend.
The Spark by Wyatt Costello
I don’t know how to start or where to even begin
Things have changed
This world is forever changing
and like this world, we are changing too
We drifted apart
Where is that spark that was between us
It went out.
This flame that kept us warm that kept us close
That drew me in and made me speak to you for the first time
Why? Why did it have to go out.
The cold gust of wind came
It took me with it, swirling my thoughts
Taking over my thoughts.
It had control over me. Or did it really?
The gust sparked a new flame
This flame was small, but it caught my gaze
It danced, drawing me closer
Seducing me, growing bigger and bigger
The flame knew it had me
It consumed me, and I consumed it
But as soon as it consumed me
It went out, and my body went cold
But my thoughts burned
I knew that the chance to rekindle our flame was gone
If only I hadn’t found a new,
Someone else to relight that spark.
but this flame was there and ours was out.
It was a moment of weakness,
and I just needed some warmth.
Things have changed
This world is forever changing
I am forever cold now
Forever searching for a spark
But none of them are as warm as the one we had.
That spark extinguished
We became cold
We drifted apart.
Things have changed
This world is forever changing
and like this world, we are changing too
We drifted apart
Where is that spark that was between us
It went out.
This flame that kept us warm that kept us close
That drew me in and made me speak to you for the first time
Why? Why did it have to go out.
The cold gust of wind came
It took me with it, swirling my thoughts
Taking over my thoughts.
It had control over me. Or did it really?
The gust sparked a new flame
This flame was small, but it caught my gaze
It danced, drawing me closer
Seducing me, growing bigger and bigger
The flame knew it had me
It consumed me, and I consumed it
But as soon as it consumed me
It went out, and my body went cold
But my thoughts burned
I knew that the chance to rekindle our flame was gone
If only I hadn’t found a new,
Someone else to relight that spark.
but this flame was there and ours was out.
It was a moment of weakness,
and I just needed some warmth.
Things have changed
This world is forever changing
I am forever cold now
Forever searching for a spark
But none of them are as warm as the one we had.
That spark extinguished
We became cold
We drifted apart.
Apartment 4 by Oluibukun Ekpebor
Momma used to tell me that a woman’s hair was her crown. The longer her hair, the prettier she was. Momma pretty was an understatement. I can remember my long Rapunzel strands gliding softly into my teardrops-- I was like a bird with all of its feathers plucked. As the clippers went through her hair, I thought of how beautiful I used to look but suddenly the reflection started to fade when her last curl fell down to the tiles.
The ceiling dropped its last chip of mustard yellow paint just as the street light blew out its remaining bulb. The pissy apartment hallways were still abandoned and safe from any hopes that the cops would shut this place down. We laid outside of the bedroom door with numb legs, black bruises, ripped panties and terrifying scars that showed the fight we may have put up. I only wondered what was she thinking? Most girls who came in the first day, cried, shouted, and left scars on the man’s face who was dragging them to a room. This unknown woman just sat in the corner staring at the boarded windows. “What’s ya name?” I asked the politest way I could, monotonous she turned her head and said, “Piper.”
The ceiling dropped its last chip of mustard yellow paint just as the street light blew out its remaining bulb. The pissy apartment hallways were still abandoned and safe from any hopes that the cops would shut this place down. We laid outside of the bedroom door with numb legs, black bruises, ripped panties and terrifying scars that showed the fight we may have put up. I only wondered what was she thinking? Most girls who came in the first day, cried, shouted, and left scars on the man’s face who was dragging them to a room. This unknown woman just sat in the corner staring at the boarded windows. “What’s ya name?” I asked the politest way I could, monotonous she turned her head and said, “Piper.”
Operation by Scott Cameron
6200 West 45th Street, fourth floor, apartment forty-two. Igor knocked firmly on the door, his right hand on his right hip, next to his revolver. A precaution.
The door opened. There stood Viktor Trubachev, who had taken the same precaution. He looked down at Igor’s suitcase. “You have it?”
“Da.”
Igor stepped into a barren apartment, decorated only by peeling wallpaper. He placed the suitcase a table and popped the lid. Igor scanned the layout of the room and was pleased, easily defenseble. Viktor checked the contents.
“An SVD?”
Igor only nodded
Together, they began the construction. Upper receiver, lower receiver, barrel, shoulder stock, flash suppressor, and lastly, the two-by-six scope.
Viktor opened a window, and, satisfied with its angle down West 45th, brought the table nearby. Igor sat down in a chair and lit his cigar.
Two hours later a man had stepped out of a limousine to the flashes of cameras and the microphones of reporters. He took his place at a podium. Four hundred meters away, a man named Igor Komarov focused his gaze through his scope.
But through the scope, there was no longer a target. There was a face, a name, and a personality. There stood a life which was now in Igor Komarov’s hands.
But it didn’t matter. Igor held his breath and braced for recoil.
The door opened. There stood Viktor Trubachev, who had taken the same precaution. He looked down at Igor’s suitcase. “You have it?”
“Da.”
Igor stepped into a barren apartment, decorated only by peeling wallpaper. He placed the suitcase a table and popped the lid. Igor scanned the layout of the room and was pleased, easily defenseble. Viktor checked the contents.
“An SVD?”
Igor only nodded
Together, they began the construction. Upper receiver, lower receiver, barrel, shoulder stock, flash suppressor, and lastly, the two-by-six scope.
Viktor opened a window, and, satisfied with its angle down West 45th, brought the table nearby. Igor sat down in a chair and lit his cigar.
Two hours later a man had stepped out of a limousine to the flashes of cameras and the microphones of reporters. He took his place at a podium. Four hundred meters away, a man named Igor Komarov focused his gaze through his scope.
But through the scope, there was no longer a target. There was a face, a name, and a personality. There stood a life which was now in Igor Komarov’s hands.
But it didn’t matter. Igor held his breath and braced for recoil.
Sugar by Olivia Phillips
When I was young I dreamt of sugar
And smiles
In a field of violently blooming roses
Near the river
Where we mocked damnation
And we closed our eyes to the sun
But still felt its warmth (it was a lovely warmth)
You didn’t say it but I knew you meant it,
And that was enough
To know something, to really be sure of it
For once in your life
To feel it everywhere, hot and cold at the same time,
That was all I wanted,
all I fucking wanted,
And you were there.
But I did not realize the impermanence
of all things, of how quickly
and drastically
you could wash me from your skin
Last night I dreamt of metal
This morning I took my coffee black
The river runs harsher and
In my dreams,
The field is a giant thorn
A crooked clock
Your eyes are cold Your hands are rough
Because then I won’t be disappointed
In reality
And I won’t feel the need
To dream of sugar,
Because we ran out
To mock damnation,
Because I fear it now
To have you by my side,
Because you won’t be.
And smiles
In a field of violently blooming roses
Near the river
Where we mocked damnation
And we closed our eyes to the sun
But still felt its warmth (it was a lovely warmth)
You didn’t say it but I knew you meant it,
And that was enough
To know something, to really be sure of it
For once in your life
To feel it everywhere, hot and cold at the same time,
That was all I wanted,
all I fucking wanted,
And you were there.
But I did not realize the impermanence
of all things, of how quickly
and drastically
you could wash me from your skin
Last night I dreamt of metal
This morning I took my coffee black
The river runs harsher and
In my dreams,
The field is a giant thorn
A crooked clock
Your eyes are cold Your hands are rough
Because then I won’t be disappointed
In reality
And I won’t feel the need
To dream of sugar,
Because we ran out
To mock damnation,
Because I fear it now
To have you by my side,
Because you won’t be.
Falling Horizontal by Rose Gill
Odelia was staring out the window, wanting nothing more than to get out of the car. It was all just so tedious; the car, the drive, life, everything.
“Shit, I hate getting stuck behind big trucks,” said Ria. Odelia glanced over at her scowling sister, before going back to looking out the window. Nothing particularly interesting. Maybe an accident would happen, spice up her life a bit. “What’s with those rods, anyways?”
Looking at the truck in front of them, Odelia couldn’t help but feel like something was going to happen. Big trucks always made her feel like that, no matter what they were carrying. They always looked about ready to tip over. As Odelia stared at the truck, she calmly noted to herself that a few of those rods looked about ready to slide off. Why was everything so precarious with big trucks?
“Ria, don’t you think you’re driving a little close to the truck?”
“Whatever Odelia. Maybe he’ll notice and speed up a bit.” There was just no helping it with Ria, Odelia supposed. She went back to watching the truck, in time to see two rods slide off the back, followed by several more. Ria swerved to avoid the flying rods, as one flew straight at their windshield. There was a brief moment of excitement and a racing heart, and then everything went black for Odelia.
The only things Odelia was aware of were the sharp sounds of sirens growing ever closer and of people screaming, hysterical over what they saw, the acrid smells of smoke and burning rubber, and the sight of legs covered in a beautiful ruby red, all blurry. She couldn’t seem to move her head, and look away from those ruby red legs. She closed her eyes, ready for whatever might happen next. With her eyes closed she got the sensation that she was falling away from everything, falling horizontally. She knew she wasn’t flying though, because there was a certain lack of any control. She was hurtling along, as if she were falling vertically, and the earth had just been tipped on its side.
When Odelia opened her eyes everything was clear. She could move her head, and see the people running towards her, crying and yelling. She looked down and saw the ruby red legs again, and she understood that they were her own. She looked at her chest and saw the rod that stuck there, surrounded by a growing, blooming, blood red rose. She smiled at the people running towards her, and she closed her eyes again. She knew she was dying, but she didn’t care. It was a relief in a way. She was finally released from living. She hadn’t really enjoyed it all that much anyways, it was just too much of a bother. She had tried to spend most of her time asleep to begin with. The way Odelia saw it, death was just another sleep, one you just didn’t wake up from until you were reborn. And who knew how long that might take.
“Ahh...It’s time to rest. Bye Ria...‘till next time, yeah?” Odelia couldn’t be sure she’d been heard, but she thought it didn’t really matter anyways, and she closed her eyes and went to sleep for who knows how long.
“Shit, I hate getting stuck behind big trucks,” said Ria. Odelia glanced over at her scowling sister, before going back to looking out the window. Nothing particularly interesting. Maybe an accident would happen, spice up her life a bit. “What’s with those rods, anyways?”
Looking at the truck in front of them, Odelia couldn’t help but feel like something was going to happen. Big trucks always made her feel like that, no matter what they were carrying. They always looked about ready to tip over. As Odelia stared at the truck, she calmly noted to herself that a few of those rods looked about ready to slide off. Why was everything so precarious with big trucks?
“Ria, don’t you think you’re driving a little close to the truck?”
“Whatever Odelia. Maybe he’ll notice and speed up a bit.” There was just no helping it with Ria, Odelia supposed. She went back to watching the truck, in time to see two rods slide off the back, followed by several more. Ria swerved to avoid the flying rods, as one flew straight at their windshield. There was a brief moment of excitement and a racing heart, and then everything went black for Odelia.
The only things Odelia was aware of were the sharp sounds of sirens growing ever closer and of people screaming, hysterical over what they saw, the acrid smells of smoke and burning rubber, and the sight of legs covered in a beautiful ruby red, all blurry. She couldn’t seem to move her head, and look away from those ruby red legs. She closed her eyes, ready for whatever might happen next. With her eyes closed she got the sensation that she was falling away from everything, falling horizontally. She knew she wasn’t flying though, because there was a certain lack of any control. She was hurtling along, as if she were falling vertically, and the earth had just been tipped on its side.
When Odelia opened her eyes everything was clear. She could move her head, and see the people running towards her, crying and yelling. She looked down and saw the ruby red legs again, and she understood that they were her own. She looked at her chest and saw the rod that stuck there, surrounded by a growing, blooming, blood red rose. She smiled at the people running towards her, and she closed her eyes again. She knew she was dying, but she didn’t care. It was a relief in a way. She was finally released from living. She hadn’t really enjoyed it all that much anyways, it was just too much of a bother. She had tried to spend most of her time asleep to begin with. The way Odelia saw it, death was just another sleep, one you just didn’t wake up from until you were reborn. And who knew how long that might take.
“Ahh...It’s time to rest. Bye Ria...‘till next time, yeah?” Odelia couldn’t be sure she’d been heard, but she thought it didn’t really matter anyways, and she closed her eyes and went to sleep for who knows how long.
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