Haiku Monday

Based on a line prompt.

Does Silence echo?

Can you hear it? To find out

I yell silently.

Editors Choice Award!!!

I got an Editor's Choice award on Teen Ink!!!!!!!!

The Secret

The secret burned and pulsed inside of her like an uncontrollable fire. Her mind flailed and writhed trying to escape the grasp of the evil, villainous truth. She longed to shout it out to let it escape, reaching all who could hear. But no, she couldn’t, she was logical. She would stay calm.

Annie took a deep breath her chest moving up and down with each breath she took. She gritted her teeth her body shaking slightly.

The secret had started with the word. California. At the moment Annie had heard the word she felt only one thing. Fear. The cold monster that had driven its dark tendrils into parts of her heart and soul she didn’t even know existed. The silent tears flowing that had drowned her in mournful lamentation.

She had wanted to run, to flee everything about the secret. She wanted to find a place to be alone and free.

And still the secret bubbled at the tip of her tongue and threatened to boil over into the world. Finally she couldn’t bear it any longer and whispered the word over and over. California, California, California.

HAPPY VALENTINES DAY!

Title pretty much says it all.

HAPPY V-DAY EVERYBODY!

Haiku Monday

I forget sadness.

Calm happiness rushes in.

Every time I laugh.

Emotions Poem

Poem about various emotions.

Sadness drips like soggy mist.

Like trumpets playing Taps.

Rolling notes of night and goodbye.

And rain blurs our world.

Anger is like a flaring fire.

Like splattered pomegranates on the tiles.

Battering swords of desperation.

And fire burns our world.

Happiness cuddles and comforts.

Like inspirational hymns and spirituals.

Bright like a summer sun.

And light brightens our world.

Bella's Story

CHAPTER ONE: THE KINGS BAD DECISION

Japonia was a wild land. Golden, emereld and tin castles emereged from the wide, maple and oak woods. The aroma of fresh pine needles, in which scaterred on the ground and up in the trees, filled the air and covered the golden building of the king and other important towers that were not shadowed above by trees. The population there was not on a sign, therefore, if you wanted to know, you’d have to climb the tall oaks and count the castles. But you couldn’t climb any tree with holes in them. Those were the fairies property. The people who lived there had settled there after the fairies, in which case the fairies had claimed the trees to themselves, and were aloud to keep them that way. And yes, the same when walking. If you saw a sort of cave with a wooden door on it, sticking out of the ground, you must not walk over it. Those were the homes to the dwarfs. This was very risky because dwarfs were very caprishous, and if were mad, could bite the head off a giant. But all of them had a good side. At least, when the people first settled in Japonia. Dwarfs had built the golden, tin and gem plated castles and in return, asked for nothing. Yes, there were lots of magical creatures in Japonia, in which case, you had to be very careful about where you went or touched. All the people loved the magical animals, but not one. The dragons. They were fire breathing, sharp clawing dangerous beasts! Which is why around Japonia there was a tall (taller than a dragon I would hope) golden wall that protected them and kept the dragons out. Every year, the people in Japonia had a dragon hunt when they would send out hunters to kill the dragons. They hoped for the dragons to go extinct. For the dragons, if they ever did get in, would breath fire on the tin buildings and turn them to rust! And in one of these golden kingdoms, a young girl sat on a velvet stool, twisting her hair, and biting her other strand of hair that was stiff from being twisted. Her name was Adiela. Adiela Veavet.

Weird Random Thing

Jason sat on the tree branch his arms dangling by his sides. He looked down at the branch that he was sitting on and thought, the tree he was sitting in would eventually be cut down and then maybe it would be crafted into a chair and maybe he would even sit in that chair as he was sitting in the tree now.

A red leaf fell from the branches cutting through the chilly fall air. He sat and sat until the edges of the world softened and everything merged together into one thing, but what that thing was he did not know.

He leaned forward so he could get a better look at the thing and as he did he fell out of the tree and plunged toward the frozen ground.

He fell through the ground but at the same time it felt to him as if he was rising, or was he falling? He could not tell.

Around him was a cyclone of red, yellow, and russet leaves. All spinning around him like a giant whirling cloak.

But now he was moving and this time he knew he was falling. He fell and fell and he saw many strange things but none were important and he didn’t remember any of them.

Haiku Monday

It's a Masomenos Poem!!!!

I, Masomenos.

Am Nothing but everything.

All at the same time.

New Story!

Bernard walked down the dark street kicking loose pieces of asphalt and watching them skitter down the street. As he walked he saw the lights in the various stores and restaurants that lined the street dim and then go out completely. Dangling by his side was a large black instrument case that carried his Linton oboe. Every so often the case would bump against his beefy thigh. Whenever this happened his eyes would swivel and come to stop and channel their dislike to the over-sized case.

After Bernard had walked a couple more blocks down the street he reached his apartment building. He pushed open the heavy door and walked up the stairs that led to his cramped fifth story apartment. He reached the top of the stairs panting and reached with clumsy fingers into his pocket for his keys. His hand emerged with the key that glinted faintly in the dark. He inserted the rusted key into the keyhole and after a faint struggle pushed open the door and staggered inside.

Bernard walked deeper into the narrow hallway and reached his arms out looking for the light switch. His fingers found it and turned the light on. A light that hung from a wire flickered and then turned on flooding the apartment with a dim glow. He walked in and proceeded to turn on another light in the small kitchen.

He un tucked his button down shirt and took off his Nikes. Bernard opened a cabinet above the sink and took out a large pot that he filled with water and then placed on to the electric stove. He jerked open his refrigerator and took out a half full carton of eggs. He opened the carton and carefully placed the eggs one by one into the pot of water. After he had placed all of the eggs into the water he turned on the stove and walked to his couch where he collapsed gratefully on to the soft cushions. He sighed with relief and closed his eyes.

Prairie Marsh Story Beginning

This is a story I've been working on. Here's the beginning:

The dawn sun rose expelling bright rays of light across the endless ocean of corn stalks that blew noiselessly in the summer wind. It was a hot day in Prairie Marsh Wisconsin, whose population was 8,603 people, (Recorded at the last census) It was only four o’clock in the morning but many people were up setting up the county farmer’s market. The farmer’s market was something of legend; it had been reviewed in the New York Time Travel section by Michelle Higgins in the Practical Travel column. The article as written follows;

Continuing in my journeys in Wisconsin I ventured into, Prairie Marsh, Wisconsin which is a charming little town in Barron County. It is located four hours from Green Bay and Madison and five hours from Milwaukee. The most famous thing in Prairie Marsh is the farmers market which is widely considered as one of the best farmer’s markets in the Midwest. Every Saturday a sign is lifted between two telephone poles that proudly reclaim “Prairie Marsh Farmer’s Market, The only Emu Egg Omelets in the Midwest.” Along with the emu eggs there is also, eggplant salsa, vegetable juice smoothies, moose medallions and honey combs dipped in chocolate and even a large selection of freshwater caviar. In my visit I met Jane Sumac, the head organizer of the farmers market. She is a bubbly woman with wild blond curls and piercing blue eyes.

When I asked her what is the goal of the farmers market she didn’t hesitate before answering this, “The main goal in the Prairie Marsh Farmer’s market is to bring fresh fair trade meat and produce to the public at a fairly cheap price.” She continued with a smile, “It’s a pretty unique place,” she tells me goodbye as the first customers start to arrive for the morning market.

If you happen to be in the area, I highly recommend that you visit the market. Saturdays, starting at eight.

By Michelle Higgins, AP

Milo slapped the newspaper down on to the wooden table with many rough patches and knots in the brown solid surface. He had saved the article, not for a scrap book or a keepsake, but as a reminder of his mother. Jane Sumac. On the page in the newspaper where the article is there is a hole in the page, this hole was where the one photograph in the entire article, a picture of his mother, all blond hair and blue eyes. Milo sighed and stared at the hole in the paper imagining his mother bursting through the hole like a whale leaping up from the water.

He waited as if it could actually happen. Nothing. He sighed again, it was a tired sigh, a mournful sigh; that sigh was what summed up Milo’s feelings. Tired and Mournful.

He stood up stiffly, like the tin man, the tin man whose joints needed a oiling, in the form of happiness. Happiness, a thing that Milo’s life was extremely devoid of at the moment. He walked to the side of the road and sat on a log that was still wet from the night’s rain. He sighed again, the only sound in the still silence that let you here the blood flowing in your ears. He picked at the rotting log with his fingernails letting the flakes of wood fall to the dewy ground slowly accumulating in a pile.

A car drove by its tire kicking up geysers of water droplets from the dirt road that was Main St. The car’s front tires hit a puddle, splashing Milo with muddy water. He ducked to no avail, he coughed and spit out water and then wiped dirty water off his face and hands. He walked inside, a gloomy expression on his face.

Haiku Monday

Filled with red rubies.

Sweet, sour, and bitter taste.

The Pomegranate.

10 Different Ways of Looking at a Walnut

I wrote this poem in writing group. It was inspired by the poem, "13 Different ways of looking at a Blackbird"

I.

In the vast forest,

the only sound

was a falling walnut.

II.

Taken from sky

to earth,

the walnut sits for many seasons.

III.

The mountain adventurer,

knapsack leaning on his back,

steps on a walnut.

IV.

If a walnut falls in a forest,

and no one is around to hear it,

does it really make a sound at all?

V.

The Walnut,

eaten by people,

eaten by squirrels.

VI.

Who walks in the many

cliffs, crags and fissures

in the shell of a walnut.

VII.

There are some with

a rare talent, to

see the pattern in the leaves

of a walnut tree.

VIII.

Rain falls in a storm,

the pattering

is accompanied by

the creaking of a walnut tree.

IX.

The food critic sips

wine aged in a barrel

made of walnut

and nods.

X.

They thought they found

Blackbeard's lost treasure

but when they opened the chest

they found that it was full of walnuts.

Ava's Writing Piece

~One~

RAYA

The man was dressed in decidedly unremarkable clothes.

In fact, they were quite shabby. She could tell that even as he ran. His plain shirt was torn along the edge and his black slippers had multiple holes.

It was an odd contrast, actually: his creased, drab clothing in shades of brown and grey, and the bright object he held in his hands.

It was a large piece of pottery, a vase, bigger than his head. The colors of it so new and fresh the sun glinted blindingly off the glazed surface. Blues, golds, crimsons. All in intricate design. Vibrant.

But look. He was stopping. His feet were planted firmly on the cobblestones, holding the vase high with both hands. She could see him better now, as he stood still, a faded brick wall behind him. Middle-aged, with a roundish face and small stubbly beard. There was no expression in his features. No expression as slowly, slowly, he drew his hands apart and the vase fell.

Fell down to the street in what seemed the slowest manner gravity would allow.

It shattered. A mass of color and fragments of dreams. There was a scream from the street below. The man’s face stayed blank. She banged the window shut.

There were warm tears welling up in her eyes now. She opened the window back up and let herself fall, not caring anymore.

~Two~

KIR

Kir’s dreams were fitful that night.

Her entire life was falling down, and she was falling. And everything around her was falling.

The vase. Dropped by the man in the square.

Raya. Out the window. To that same square, because it was too much to bear anymore.

A white feather. Drifting. Doors slamming and a light flashing:

On, off. On, off.

Morse code. Old metal pipes lying under the snow, waiting to be found again. The spilled salt. Red droplets like blood. Or maybe they were blood. Nothing was certain anymore.

Everything was falling and spinning, spinning and falling.

Control.

There was none of it.

A cannon firing blanks.

She wept.

The darkness was crushing her.

Everything. Nothing. No more.

~Three~

ALEXANDER

He swept up the pottery shards. The girl’s body lay on the stones, crumpled.

His mustache ticked his lip, like it always did, and he sneezed. Why did he have a moustache anyway? It was idiotic. He would shave it off tomorrow.

Looking up at the darkening sky made him wonder. Why was anything anything?

There were still dark stains throughout the square. He had tried to scrub them off. They stayed. A reminder.

Corruption.

Everywhere was disaster, disaster was everywhere.

Corruption.

There were tears in his eyes. He let the broom fall to the cobblestones.

~Four~

TENDAI

Tendai stared out the window at the town center. People bustled through the square, noses red from the biting wind.

It was as if they didn’t care, she thought. They were caught up in their own lives, their own business, thinking about inane things like how butter sure was getting expensive or a little itchy thread in their coat.

Did it not matter to them? Did nothing matter? It was just the way they walked past the stains on the cobblestones, the pink marks spreading like pale flowers that killed her inside. The way the people stared straight ahead and walked faster, and pretended—to themselves and to the world—that they weren’t in the middle of a catastrophe.

Tendai told herself maybe it was the right approach. I mean, life must go on. Through war and through hardships.

But she always came back to, how can they not care?

There are bodies lying in the street and people act like they aren’t even there.

She sighed deeply. It was something Tendai did a lot, lately.

How is everything like this so SUDDENLY? How can the empire just unexpectedly work itself into a corner and start making all the wrong choices?

She sighed again.

Well, no one knew the answer to that.

Picking up her quill, Tendai turned her attention towards the piece she was supposed to write for the newspaper. Of course, it didn’t make her feel the least bit more cheerful thinking about what was coming. After her weekly fiction piece it had been arranged that she also write out a list of the dead.

Haiku Monday

This is about a mask I made in 3rd grade.

Constantly staring.

Face, cold-blooded, looks ahead.

Motionless, always.

Strings attached in back.

Strikingly proportionate.

The mask, hanging, still.