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Post by anna maria on Mar 12, 2004 0:38:31 GMT -5
i've always wondered what makes me write..and am yet to find an answer.
all ii know is that i write..sometimes from a heavy heart,sometimes from joy and most times i just write.
i find i cannot improvise on what i write 4 most of the time..ii dont try to unless i write 4 a specific purpose..
my longest po'm must be about 60 lines..my po'ms r usually short..within 25 lines..25 words most of the time..lol. myy brain switches off somewhere then..
i've always wondered what the paper feels when written on it.. p'raps it feels raped.. thats when ii wrote.. virgin white paper raped. rapt. ..and titled it POEM. maybe it feels happy at the beautiful thoughts put upon it..thats why theh word rapt was used as an after thought.
I try not to b coarse or vulgar in my writings..there's so much of it all around..yet i donot overlook emotions and what they do to man..
my readers are my kids , my brothers (they r heavy writers unlike me.).,they criticise..and its only very recently that i've taken to these boards on the net.. i ireally love it..the feedback and the rest..makes u feel good.
i thankk God 4 all who write. i wish all writing would bring out His glory in one way or the other.
Well..that's all 4 now.
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Post by Belinda on Jul 9, 2004 10:30:38 GMT -5
WOW Anna..thanks for sharing! Funny how you wrote one about paper, I wrote one about a pencil....lol Here it is: (maybe, I'll go post it too ) A Chip Off The Old Block Remembering his roots The mighty towers of neighbors Soft lushes grasses, full dense shrubbery Soaring birds of all size, color and variety The warmth of the Sun's rays Scurrying soft rodents busy at work Peck..tap..tap of the determined Woodpecker Roots Now he lies here Motionless, armless, rootless Packed like sardines His comrades in darkness Light streams in as the murk opens Chubby fingers reach in He is escorted to a mechanical coffin Then removed Pointed at his bleached brother His new inners bleed Not blood or crimson red, But black….charcoal Hours later, he's lifted Pride wells! Now seeing his journey hadn't ended, But only begun... A creation on lines, spots and shadows A graphic illusion of depth and imagination The now familiar chubby fingers guide him back to retire Home in his pencil case, he tells the tale of creation!
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