A Collection of Relationships

Created by Sharee Callister

Creative Writing Period 5

January 14, 2015

Conversation artist

Leave the talking to me,

I know what to say.

I’m a conversation artist.

Don’t say a dangerous word,

Stay safe, far away.

Don’t give the awkward space.

Live in the safe community,

Of obvious answers,

Easy responses.

When I laugh,

You keep going.

Looks of warning,

You stop speaking.

I know what I’m doing,

Leave the talking to me.

Kiss in the Rain

He noticed me at school,

But was afraid to say hello,

His message felt sincere,

He wanted to get to know me.

I fell hard and fast,

He was cute and so much older,

He sweet-talked in circles,

My innocence bought it.

Our first date was single,

He wanted to play in my hair,

I wanted to play in his.

He wanted to hold my hand,

I wanted to hold his.

He told me that a first kiss,

At sunset was romantic.

I believed him.

He said it was my choice,

He didn’t force my lips,

But his were easily found.

Then I couldn’t stop.

Then I was in lust.

He taught me kinds of kissing,

I never thought existed,

Our last was a kiss in the rain,

But it was just a sprinkler,

The real rain would come weeks later.

First Shall Be Last

The first lasts forever.

There’s a special connection.

Something unusual about being each other’s firsts.

A bond that even when it’s over,

Makes the smiles mean a little more.

Coming back to be friends,

Holding hands because it still feels right.

Even when the reasons for love have faded,

It still exists in a different form.

An understanding and acceptance,

That comes from no one else.

New loves come and go,

But the first will always last.

  

Song of a Player

Ripped his heart out.

I was a monster.

They looked at me with anger,

Fear.

They warned others,

Stay away.

He pulled his own heart out,

I saw the strings and sinews

He knew from the beginning,

I wasn’t his.

He let himself up and down,

But he used me as his step.

He needed me to take blame.

I did not hide my feelings.

I let him hold my hand and kiss me,

But he knew he wasn’t the only one.

He watched me flirt,

I concealed nothing,

Just let him have what he wanted.

Nothing but a player.

They trust each other,

Don’t look me in the eyes.

Ignore my lack of cover,

Put their own deceits upon me.

For Richard Stephen

He looked in my eyes today,

I looked in his.

His gray-blue met my green-gray.

For a moment I felt beautiful.

My usual cute and clumsy

Became grace and elegance.

Our future is uncertain,

A turbulent desert storm.

Fear and resilience coincide

As our bright eyes shine.

My hope is beating,

Flinging in his chest.

Our hearts drawn,

Sketched in glowing ink,

Find each other delicately,

They give and share sparkle.

It’s called love,

That transferring spark we shared.

 Prescription Perception

Never borrow glasses.

Your head hurts,

And lines get a little blurry.

Seeing things how they do,

Somehow just causes worry.

Such is so in love.

Never borrow passion.

Sensations mesh and morph,

Recognizing a toad,

As a prince or a dwarf.

Reflective Essay

1. My biggest challenge with creative writing is finding the motivation to write, I struggle finding time and ideas

2. I learned that I don't always like to write, but that I can learn to enjoy it and improve my writing when I do.

3. I learned that once I start, it's easier to keep going and improve.

4. I noticed that my writing turned to deeper subjects and I could express myself better.

5. I don't think or write much about my own writing, but when I do I'm a bit prideful, I think.

6. A little, I think I've gained more of an understanding of what writing is really all about.

7. I like the freedom and possibilities of creative writing, but at the same time I don't like the way it's hard to edit and critique because of the lack of guidelines and expectations, it's all just a little too ambiguous.

8. I will continue to read and write as things come to me. I won't let thoughts fester and pester, I'll put them on paper and let them grow.

9. I included pieces that meant something to me, or that I got a lot of positive feedback for. Basically whatever felt true to me and my style of writing.

10. My blog/presentation reflects quite a bit about my feelings and attitude in life. There's sorrow, but there's also always sunny days and sunflowers we can appreciate. I consider myself a simple person, I love people but I rarely understand them and why they do what they do.
11. I will always find myself writing in my journal, or a letter or card to a loved one. Poetry seems to leak out of my pen every once in a while. I will use that as a way to vent, perhaps it will relieve some stress.

 

Creative Portfolio

1.

Variable

            When rain fell she would cry. All her carefully bottled and labeled frustrations would leave their jars and fill her eyes with emotions she didn’t understand. She would sit in her car and listen and sob, creating a simple song of sorrow. She never knew why the rain did this to her. Perhaps it was her close tie to the heavens. She had always looked, acted and generally been angelic; it was not surprising that when heaven cried, so did she.

            The drought came through once, and she disappeared.

            My heart broke unevenly, and I felt lopsided without her. I ate both scoops of ice cream and only listened to jazz. I glared and swore and took apart my jeep. I stood in the sprinklers for hours.

            Three months later, there was a rainbow.

2.

A Pondering of Storm

Calm and sweet, her wet hair dripped onto her home-sewn dress. The night was chilled and the sun had been down for a time. The slight valley below shimmered with lights, but she didn't see it. She was looking farther, deeper. Her heart was a mystery to herself. She inquired of the Father who created her, the Omnipotent being that knew her. The lightning stood stark against the night clouds, while perfectly safe on the hill, she observed. She imagined the unheard cracks and rumbles to match the view. Surrounded by the dead, she felt alive. Her grandparents so close and silent. Then she knew, she understood. While others saw a girl in the graveyard, she felt a woman with a purpose.

3.
DENTIST
Open up, try not to speak.
You don't need to cuz I can see it all.
Your teeth and mouth can tell me
Much more than just what you ate,
The details of your love life,
Where you vacationed last month,
Your mouth says it all, so please,
Don't speak.

(Text Message Poem)

4.

Ode to My Hair

Manipulated through life, pulled this way and that. Like some angelic cloud it settles. Golden honey, dripping down the spine. Filled with passion and energy, waves tossed over a mountain. A cascading shower of fine-grained sand. Slippery, delicate strings of straw. Wind catches and wings spread. Soaring goes the free gold phoenix, before melting back to its nest. A shape shifting mass of amber vines pushed to and fro by sleek brown crocodiles and cobras. Possibilities rove the surface of the skull, to create a whole new soul.

5.

Daisy and Rose

                She stands out. Dark and lovely and exotic. A regal princess in a ruffled chiffon indigo. Perfect features and perfect poise is before us in this girl. The sun beats down in the desert stadium, but there’s no hint that she’s uncomfortable, she stands with grace and pride. Her gestures of gratitude flow and her eyes shine brightly as she looks out at us.

                Her voice as she sings, is not of earth, but of the heavens. The clarity and tone ring truer than a pure gold bell. She sings with wisdom, her experience and learning are evident. Not a perfectionist, simply a master of all she does. The harshest judge could not find fault with this figure of beauty. Every motion and breath is so like a dove or swan. She is the balance of kindness and fairness, she earns respect and loyalty. We all watch as she finishes her final note, our ensuing applaud starkly contrasts the music she created.

                As I stand there in the burning passion of sun, I think of how she is a rose, beautiful as an individual. We are as a field of daisies, beautiful in our uniformity. Flipped every which way, we throw our petals to the air. Daisies can’t be roses. It doesn’t become us to try, but I feel a bloom in my chest. One that breathes of red and folded petals very unlike my natural snowy and outsprung leaflets. But a scarlet that stands out amongst the white and yellow will never be mine to expose.

6.

When I am Old and Aged

When I am old and aged,

I hope they know I smiled.

I hope they see within my face,

That I was once a child.

I hope they say because of me,

The world was somehow lighter,

I hope they look inside my eye

 And see that there’s a fire.

I hope they call me one like Mary,

So gentle and so pure.

I hope I’ve learned a whole lot more,

And I hope I’ve found a cure

For life and all it’s losses,

When I am old and aged.

7.
Mrs. Richard

Such love, such hateful love.

The hate that comes when love mustn’t be.

She is not mine, nor ever will be,

Belonging forever to another man.

Her gentle figure held by night,

But not by he who cares as I,

By one who thrives on hateful love.

And yet I have her still.

Her grace lies in the hanging branches,

Her glorious eyes shine from the heavens,

For natures beauty and she,

Are one and the same to me.

Her rosy cheeks are what they say,

The bright little flowers grown.

She gazes at me with wistful visage,

Her coils of soft hair whisp with wind,

And a singe tear, might I see,

Drip from her lovely lash.

For hateful love is hers,

Such love is hers, but not alone.

8.

We say it, but we don't mean it. How much truth is there to what we say in passion?
Leave and never come back.
I've moved on.
I can't deal.
Go away.
I never want to see you again.
I can't stand.
Forget it.
I'm done.
You messed up my life.
Truth is? There's more.

9.
Rewriting History

Another big day for the President, riding in his open-topped car, he and his wife were the embodiment of class. She wore her trademark pillbox hat and tweed coat and he looked sharp in his custom-tailored suit. The country looked at them and saw youth and hopes for a bright future. He was eloquent and she was gentle. He was strength and she was beauty. Every move they made was full of grace and surety, and today was no exception.
He was relaxed and smiled at the large crowd that was gathered to see him, he had no idea that one frustrated person among them had a fatal plan. The angered man raised his gun, but in a motion just as swift, a young woman beside him thrust the gun's barrel down and the bullet was shot into a simple piece of grass that bordered the road. The already nervous man, realizing his trouble, dropped the weapon and ran, only to be caught and dealt with later that day.
The nation owed much to that quick thinking girl, but she hastily disappeared and became just another plain face in the crowd. The President would live on in safety to complete another term in office and leave a legacy that even after many years, could not be forgotten or replaced.

10.

Fading, Falling

I am a sweet peach rabbit,

I picnic in the sun.

Imagination gives me life,

In a world that’s all your own,

I am free and wild and totally unreal.

I am a pocket full of bread.

Light and soft, I’m here to take.

Greedy fingers snatch me up.

I freely give till crumbs alone,

Are left for sticky fingers.

Fading, falling,

I give myself away.

Fading and falling,

I slowly disappear,

There’s not much left to give,

What’s here is but a shell.

Fading, falling.

I am an innocent sunflower,

Unsuspecting, I stand tall.

I brightly reflect that of celestial lore,

But alas, I wilt at the frost.

Drooping I grow limp.

I am a honey-colored leaf.

Bringing fleeting moments of peace,

On the eve of a dark, cold winter.

My prime is gone as boots crush my flesh,

The load turns my bones to dust.

Fading, falling,

I give myself away.

Fading and falling,

I slowly disappear,

There’s not much left to give,

What’s here is but a shell.

Fading, falling.

I am a deep, red rope swing.

Resilient I may seem,

But lacking momentum and a consistent push,

My slithering turns to stillness.

I give you flight, but stagnant lie,

Once you, spry child, withdraw.

Fading, falling,

I give myself away.

Fading and falling,

I slowly disappear,

There’s not much left to give,

What’s here is but a shell.

Fading, falling.