other bits of blog

Thursday, March 11, 2010

inspiration

Today I had English in school.

"We had some people absent yesterday. So they're just gonna take the quizzes that we did in Reading, since we have library for Reading class today. So the rest of you, take out your Writer's Notebooks and write for about 10 minutes, alright?" my teacher said.
I sat down at the big window that faces out onto the bus parking lot. But at 8:30 in the morning, there aren't any buses. So that meant I had a clear, but gray (no sun today...) view of the tiny green forest. My first thought was the wind. From my classroom, it seemed as if the breeze was dead. And that I wanted to write a poem. From the point of view of one of the tiny green pine trees at the edge of the tiny green forest.

Dead air swirls around me
Like nothing ever shifted its course
But I know

Know what? Who was talking? I was sure it wasn't a tree. Something didn't seem right in the poem. Something seemed sad. Danger.

The stench of dead
Fear
Sadness
It fills my nostrils like black tendrils of smoke

Okay, so I'm feeling that someone died. A sad poem. Why? My mind takes over. But when I see the tiny black crows on the edge of the tiny green forest, my feelings get their own idea, so my thoughts aren't allowed to do it all.

Dark crows light on trees
Bare of leaves
Of life
They are the lucky ones, those crows
Who fly

They fly. Bo-ring. Flying. Free! Unlike the story-teller...

Who fly without a care in the world
Kings amongst a land of clouds
And a throne burnt from sun
The wind that was still picks up again
Leaving me inside a room of shrieking

Um...what next, what next? More thoughts fighting for the glory. I give in.

For there
On the ground she lies
Nothing more than an empty shell
Open eyes

Creepy. Keep going.

Still heart
She may fly with the crows
And I may kick up pebbles as I walk
Forever stuck on the ground
Never to fly free
Never to soar with the sun
Stuck here as I cry
Without my sister

Woa, woa. Her sister!? I don't know about this. "Just listen!" my thoughts chide. "A few more lines." Okay. Go.

Who is gone
But who forgets
As I wish to forget
Forget
Never paint again in my mind
And she lays unmoving
And I stand unmoving
So her soul runs to the sun
To drink in the rays
And the wind swirls my hair
Dries my tears
I step away
To let go
She is safe
In the Hall of Crows

"Now read," my mind urges. I do.

The Hall of Crows
Dead air swirls around me
Like nothing ever shifted its course
But I know
The stench of dead
Fear

Sadness

It fills my nostrils like black tendrils of smoke
Dark crows light on trees
Bare of leaves

Of life

They are the lucky ones, those crows
Who fly without a care in the world
Kings amongst a land of clouds

And a throne burnt from sun

The wind that was still picks up again
Leaving me inside a room of shrieking
For there

On the ground she lies

Nothing more than an empty shell

Open eyes
Still heart

She may fly with the crows

And I may kick up pebbles as I walk

Forever stuck on the ground

Never to fly free
Never to soar with the sun

Stuck here as I cry

Without my sister
Who is gone

But who forgets
As I wish to forget
Forget

Never paint again in my mind

And she lays unmoving

And I stand unmoving
So her soul runs to the sun

To drink in the rays

And the wind swirls my hair
Dries my tears

I step away

To let go
She is safe
In the Hall of Crows

Wow. I wrote that? It's a little extreme isn't it? Oh, well, I have to clean up. Forget it.

And now I remember. So I thought to give you a little taste of how I write. You? Comment? Please? Please? PLEASE????
Thank you.

3 comments:

  1. hi you can comment

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  2. Maia - love how you shared your process with us. It was funny a bit and mostly insightful and very interesting. Would love to see that be a regular thing! I enjoyed the two streams of thought: your analytical mind vs your thought-streaming mind

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