SOMEONE ASKED THE QUESTION: HOW DO I BEGIN WRITING POETRY?
This was my reply on the fly....
Take out your notebook and let's begin with an apple...
Place the apple on a table and describe it without mentioning fruit...write about the taste, the color, the smell...what does it remind you of? Maybe it reminds you of your grandmother's apple pie. The smell of cinnamon and vanilla when you walked into her house. What did the house remind you of? My grandmother's house reminded me of a museum, everything covered in plastic. How about you? How would you describe your grandmother's house? Was there cigarette smoke mixed in with the cinnamon and vanilla? There was with mine. Was it a safe space in time? Were you a child or an adult? Did you visit with family or alone? Was she a mother figure like mine? Your thoughts don't have to rhyme. What color dress was she wearing the last time you saw her? Did her dress look like a bouquet of flowers on a coffin or a grave?
Or maybe the apple reminds you of an apple grove. Picture this in your mind: Sitting under an apple tree with your first love...what was she wearing? Were her eyes blue as the sky or green as grass? Was her dress lavender or pink forget-me-nots? Was her hair red as a sunset or black as a Raven? Can you describe her as a color...as a painting...as a song.... and if as a song, what lyrics come to mind? How do you feel when you think of her now? Were you both eating apples? Were they sweet or sour? Did her kiss taste of apples or peppermint bubble gum? Was it raining? Was there sunshine streaming through the trees? Describe those sunbeams of light through the trees, resting on your lover's face, on her hair, on her body. Did her lips glisten as if touched with sweet cream butter melting in the summer sun..
Now imagine the apple orchard is a garden, not just any garden, but the Garden of Eden. Your lover hands you an apple....it's the first time you've ever tasted it. Describe the taste of it as a secret between you and her. Do you feel guilty about this, are you happy? Now describe temptation. How would you tempt someone? As a serpent, as an elephant or as a butterfly? Describe falling from Grace or Separation from God, distance from a parent or betrayal from a friend.
Imagine now you walk back into your grandmother's house and she has just baked an amazing apple pie and it smells delicious and you can't wait to taste it because the taste of apples reminds you of your lovers kiss, but this time your grandmother is laying dead on the floor. Was it a heart attack? Was it murder? There is flour all over the floor and footprints leading to an open window. Now replace the flour with snow and you are standing outside the house looking in on the scene with footprints in the snow leading up to the open window as you look at her on the floor and you can smell apples outside the window in the cold. It's snowing big snowflakes or is it flour floating in the air? What does the cold feel like? Can you compare cold to an emotion or to an event? Or are the snowflakes actually Cherry blossoms? Do the cherry blossoms smell like your lovers perfume? Have you returned to the Garden or are you laying in her bed somewhere in Japan? What pops into your mind as you are looking into her eyes? Compare this moment to something else past, present or future.
How do you feel about the loss of your grandmother? Describe pain as a color. Or maybe your lover just broke up with you under the apple tree...describe how you feel without mentioning the tree or the apples. Now replace the apple tree with clouds and the apple with thunder and the kisses with tears and the excitement with lightning....I can go on and on and write a book around an apple...but that's just me...this is about you....let your imagination soar....open your mind to the possibilities all around you....poetry is like a filter for life!
You are under a lilac sky, a gleaming night sky which barely overlooks the remnants of your whims and calls, aren't you? Now you wonder Jasmine, how I do know all this, don't you? I know myself and that's why I can say, you wonder. And at this time, you are frowning and digging every possible souvenir out to connect the dots. But you fail. And now you are just going to see the name of sender. Don't do that for now. Let me say who I am. I'm, you, Jasmine. I am the twenty years old you, writing these letters to you, my nine years old self. I'm twenty now and I have so many "could've been" and "would've been", in other words, regrets. There are some things, I would like to tell you before you keep your feet on the thorns like I did eleven years ago. I know you would believe me. I was as simple as a mirror back then. As fresh as first rain of monsoon. As soothing as the first sakura of April. Here are some letters. And at the end of each letter I have mentioned exactly when you are supposed to read the next letter. Please do as I say. I know you will. I was obedient back then. You may read the next letter right now.
Letter 2 :
Jasmine, if you are reading this, then I assume you have read the first letter with your rapt attention. In few weeks you are about to have your final exams of KG school. I know you are morose. You abhor goodbyes. You hate showing back. Then it will be the day of result outing. You, along with your classmates, would make a promise to themselves that you all would be coming for the ultimate goodbye. A proper, goodbye. Don't make that promise. Your closet friend would make that promise too. And you would expect him coming. Don't do so. Here the sun of questionnaires would be rising deep inside your heart. But as I can't fumble the curtains wholly, only I can say this. That day, you would be meeting your first heartache ever. The very first crack on the ground of your heart. And the root is that promise. Don't make it. Please. You will be moving to a next town. So get prepared for new air. New sighs. New classmates. New. New and everything new. Only the blood in your veins and your bloodline would be the same. And nothing more. You should read the next letter before you join your new school.
Letter 3 :
Here, you have made two letters, imprinted on your mind. Well done Jasmine. Here is something very important. I need you to listen to this. Very carefully. With every ounce of yours. Father will be willing to put you for your drawing classes. Don't join the class. Don't! The classes would be on Sundays. You love painting. And back then I was pretty good on that. You have a good choice of colours and canvases. You have been adoring hues for so long. The crimson twilight, the blue winter. The orange and your favourite back then, the summer rose. Here, at my twentieth step, things are unbearably grey. Mundane. Don't join the class. Save yourself. Save jasmine. Father would listen to you. He loves you.
You will be leading the top position in your class. But you pushed yourself very hard. Well, precisely saying, I pushed. You don't do that. Perhaps Mum would love you a little less, perhaps Dad would be less proud but hey, it's gonna be okay. Things would tend to better-ness than bitterness.
After the summer vacation, you would skip school for one day. Don't do that. Go to school. Successively. No matter what and how. You would be refraining someone from doing something notorious. Something fatal. And this way you would be able to save both of you.
Make some good friends. By the word "Good", I meant, the friends who would be by your side no matter what. You will get one, your best friend. Don't let him go away, in any cost. He really cares. With him things would be little bit more bearable. He really would be meaningful to you with the passage of time. He would be shy or perhaps a slap of introverted self. But he will be doing things for you silently. So each time he would be making you smile, don't forget to thank him. He would be overwhelmed. He would be smiling.
You must read the next letter before 2013
Letter 4 :
By this time, you have embraced your puberty. Now you know about hormones and feelings, chemistry and all the statics. You are struggling to untangle the knots left, I assume. And I really hope you did as I said and now having a serene smile on your face. The most important thing, in fact the main tornado of your life is, Love. Next year, you would be falling in love. I can not say, don't fall. This is something words cannot control. This is beyond all. Rather I would say not to go out on 15th March. Stay at home. For the entire day. Read as much as you can. Don't go outside. From here things would be pretty much awkward. Love is something, that was never in my basket. To me it has always been a cigarette, passionate enough to kill all the butterflies of my very stomach. If people wanna abandon you, let them. People are breeze Jasmine, they are just to touch your face and leave.
Perhaps life there, has been changed a bit or maybe a lot. And I hope that's for good. Maybe you have found someone who is apt to cherish your heart. If not then don't hurry. Just don't fall for the wrong autumn. The spring would mourn. Just wallow over the canvas and wait for the sky to fall upon.
You may read the next letter after your 10th board.
Letter 5 :
I know you have done very well in your 10th board. Congratulations. But you are not so happy, well, I know myself. It's gonna be okay. Don't worry.
In my world, I write. Precisely I'm a scribbler. And I find my euphoria here, in the lines, voids and metaphors. I started writing to lift up the burden, to set the world free from upon my shoulders, from the heart. If you have done accordingly as I said and if there life had been changed for a betterment, still you can hold a pen. Still you can sniff the aroma of ink soaked paper. There are zillions of hues that you can paint with black and white, in poetry.
Above all, I would say, if you can, Write. Write for the goods. Write for the summer rose. Write for the sufferings and sufferers. For the survives. For the fighters. For zeal. For nature. For the these letters. For mum. And above all, for yourself.
And on this pathway, in the poetic exodus of unspoken and metaphors, you may fall for amalgamation of words but don't fall for the hands who write it. Poetry is better than a person. Fall for a poetry but never for a person. Not now. Be sane.
You may read the next letter.
Letter 6 :
This is the ultimate letter. From me to the junior me. Now I wonder whether I could reach you with these words. How are you now? I wonder. But asking a question would be a vain. You can't answer. But someday if you see a dandelion dancing in rain, wave your hands towards that. Do so. 'cause that would be me.
You may think, I am happy, dancing at my edges as I told you some alterations and now I, here, would be breathing in a fresh air. But no. Jasmine.
I can never change future by writing letters to bygone. Here, I would be the same as I was. And somehow I have accepted it. By altering the bygone, in your world, you would be creating a parallel world, different from mine where you would live, breathe in a fresh air. The letters cannot be back to me. So you may keep them.
I always wanted to save myself. But each time, I failed. I stretched my back to save else's sake. I always have been doing so. But at the end of the day, I am fallen all alone, like a culprit. And here I'm, a culprit for decade. Whenever I see a kid, cold, standing, or is about to jump into the world of blue, I shiver. I urge to save the kid.
Nobody said this to me. Even when I needed to hear it the most. And if nobody has said this earlier then let me say now, to you, "it's okay, you will be just fine. I'm here."
So I wrote the letters. To save you. I know not how far I have come out victorious. But I guess, the world there, the parallel one would be a bit more bearable than it. The wind here, it blows from land to sea, dried and hot. I hope the wind there would be blowing backward, from sea to land, full of moisture and heartthrobing. I hope I saved you. And not me, in this world, but you, would be smiling Jasmine. Somewhere, somehow. Beautifully. Perhaps more beautifully.
This is a piece that's been in my memo app for several months now. It was initially quite a bit longer, but I cleaned it up and revamped the ending to make it eligible for today's Mirakee challenge, using the word 'farce.' I would describe this piece as post apocalyptic ruminations and dystopic daydreams, in which I've relied on my untamed imagination to envision what the world might be like in just such a dire situation. It's a bit gloomy and doomy, but hopefully you'll find it interesting. I think my sons might actually like it. I'll have to remember to read it to them. Oh! And you'll be happy to know that it is by no means an accurate depiction of my state of mind. Still very sunny and cheery in there, as per usual; so no worries, eh? ;) Thank you for reading. Blessings, Carolyn
DYSTOPIC DAYDREAMS by Carolyn Glackin A raging inferno Mind on a bender Prayers left unanswered Marked 'return to sender'
Scornful reproaches From beings of Light A brash disregard For what once was deemed right
A journey of dreams Steeped in emotion A temple ahead Yet I'm devoid of devotion
Every heart like a tomb Where love's laid to rest While burning a hole In the pit of the chest
A merciless tune Playing on on my mind A bitter lament Of a past, left behind
Time, a cruel mistress Who demands a large fee Though I try to ignore her And I won't bend the knee
But when the piper comes calling Give the devil his due You don't have to like it Just pay up and be through
There's a roomful of angels Without any wings And a table of crowns Without any kings
Purveyors of truth Are dealing in lies The heralds of hope I've come to despise
The bards and the minstrels Are fresh out of tunes As I seek my salvation In a pocket of runes
The state of the world Is apocalyptic The beggars and thieves Are all opportunistic
Spinning their tales With pitiful eyes Well all the while They move in on the prize
Victims are many Heroes are few And as for the rest They haven't a clue
The gurus, long gone Not a single saint here All the news channels shouting That the end's finally near
And the one I once knew Cast me out for defiance Then left me for dead And sought out new alliance
So I can't help but wonder When words become sparse Was it ever for real Or was it all just a farce? Copyright Carolyn Glackin 12/23/18
He was scared of falling asleep. The dreams had been there for quite some time now, and he wondered if they were ever truly going to go away. After all, two years had already gone by. He'd seen his most dreaded nightmares come to life when he'd close his eyes. Claustrophobia, heights, the death of his few friends, wars... But most of all he dreaded seeing her die. Beatrice Prior... the first jumper. His Tris. He'd seen her die many times now... all in different ways... Jeannie, Caleb and David teaming up for the job, Peter throwing her over the chasm... it was a never-ending abyss. Each time he would watch her mutilated self calling out for help to him... Each time he would be rooted to the spot unable to move. It was really strange how he could sense himself entering his dreamworld as he slowly fell asleep, but then in their carefully programmed world where every person was some sort of a stereotype, some were different. And they were divergent. ............. Tonight was different. Tobias could feel it. He was walking along a strange and lonely path that seemed to stretch on endlessly. He kept walking for what seemed like eternity till he came upon a clearing. A giant ferris wheel... Memories came back to him in a rush. He forgot that he was afraid of heights,... He just clambered onto the ladder and started climbing. ............ "You took your own sweet time". For a while, he couldn't move. He had seen her regularly in his dreams, but tonight she looked different. "wanna join me?" "Uh huh..." They sat in silence for a while gazing out at the city in front of their eyes. "So, how's life?" Tris asked. He took a deep breath before he started. He told her of everything that constituted his life now... his mom, Caleb, Zeke, Shawna, Christina... the reformation... the abolishment of the factions... She listened in silence, a light smile on her face... When he finished, he looked at her straight in the eye and asked " And You? How's life ?" Tris let herself get lost in his eyes, but only momentarily. She leant forward and gave him a long lingering kiss. "You've not been entirely honest, have you?" She said walking up to the edge of the platform. He kept silent. " I know about the dreams".
" You wanted to know how's life going on for me right? Well, it's not too bad... I've got my parents...and Uriah... and Al really tries hard to make it up to me. Will... I apologized to him... and he forgave me. He understands my situation. That there really wasn't anything else I could've done. Marlene and Lynn are really the best friends I could've hoped for... But it still gets lonely without You, you know... I miss you. Strongly at times. But Tobias, I'm okay... so please don't be in a hurry to join me. Please take your time. Live your life to the fullest... Please don't get stuck on me... forever."
She looked at him... and her eyes spoke of sadness.
"TRIS, NO!!!!" he screamed out as soon as he realized what she was going to do.
" You need to let me go, Tobias..." she whispered "Goodbye". She took a step back and suddenly, the first jumper was hurtling through the air again. He ran to the edge... He wanted to have a last glimpse of her... But before she hit the ground, her body transformed... into a thousand black ravens like the three tattooed on her collar bone. Away they flew disappearing into the night. .................. " Did you hear what Four has been talking bout recently?" Zeke asked Christina, over the phone. " Yup I was surprised too... I didn't imagine that he'd like to scatter Tris' ashes that way!" " I wonder what happened? He's scared of heights". Christina stared into the space... " You know something Zeke? We're never irreparably broken. We heal each other." Outside rain was falling... cleansing the earth. Maybe the process of healing had already begun.
Hello guys! That was some divergent fan fiction as per the challenge by @readwriteunite. Hope you enjoyed it. Any mistakes are mine of course !