Final Post.....*sigh*

A silly little sestina...

The Language of Love

I cannot live without my piano,
Or even without any kind of music.
I learned my first song in the key of C
And no, I can’t play it for you
But if he asks, I might play it for him
Because he is the one I love.

He doesn’t know that he is the one I love.
Instead of me, the piano
Can tell him.
It’s easier to speak through music.
And let me tell you,
I can do it in the key of C.

With a song, hopefully he will see
That my love
Is not for you,
Or even for my piano,
Or even for my music,
But only for him.

The reason is him,
The reason I would cross the deep blue sea
And spend hours writing music
To express my love
On a baby grand piano
And sing “I only have eyes for you.”

It is for not you,
It is for him.
That I sit at my piano
And try to seize
Those perfect words, chosen out of love
That can only be spoken through the language of music.

Because only through music
Will I be able to tell you
That my love
For him
Reaches farther than I can see
But all I have is my piano.

The little black piano in the corner that plays the sweetest music
Is the only thing I see when I look at you,
Because it reminds me of him, the one I love.

Creative Writing: Flash Fiction

My attempt to follow Hemingway's flash fiction structure. Here goes...


Missing: 17 year old Sarah Adams. Last seen on Saturday night with 21 year old Timothy Jones.

Creative Writing Revision

Poetry and I still aren't buddies, but I'm trying to improve. I posted the original a few months ago, but here it is: http://pourleschats.blogspot.com/2010/09/creative-writing-post-3.html

Evacuation

The TV show vanished with a bang,
A bottle of purple nail polish slipped out of my hand
As a split-second flash of lightening put the sun to shame.

My bare feet pounded the hardwood floor in search of the front yard.
Black, fluffy ash already rained in the streets,
The bitter smell of smoke overtook the dry desert air.

We might have hours, we might have only minutes.
We ran to the car and peeled out the of the garage
We turned right back; the flames were already climbing the hill.

Spectators clogged the streets.
Helicopters dumped water from the nearby lake,
Yet fire retardant turned the neighborhood a vibrant orange.

My parents grabbed the pets while I snatched the photo albums.
Cars were full of belongings, but nobody wanted to leave.
Garden houses were the only weapons.

The fire leaped the roads, like a lion chasing its prey.
News crews bolted through the yards.
I jumped in the backseat with a handful of clothes and a meowing cat.

The orange glow on the black hills grew smaller in the rear view mirror.
And the night stood still until finally
The sunrise became the only orange glow.

Creative Writing Post #8

#6-list poem of a place


Ohio

It's summer, and the corn is knee high by the fourth of July
while the Amish children are running barefoot through the fields.
It's fall, and the trees are on fire with dying leaves
while everyone dons their scarlet & grey apparel.
It's winter and three feet of snow is gently falling from heaven
while the heaviest coat still leaves you wishing for dairy bars & humid days at Lake Erie.
It's spring and the sleepy grass stretches its blades above the melting snow
while the inevitable road construction delays traffic again.

Creative Writing Post #7

The Many Lives of Cheese

1 1. I can’t eat cheese anymore. Cheese is the carcass of milk. At least I read that in a book once, and now I’m totally grossed out.

2. 2. *Sniff, sniff* ….cheese? Is that you? *sniff, sniff, sniff* Oh cheese, I want the cheese so bad I need the cheese where is the cheese I can’t find you cheese! Where are you you’re my best friend I need that cheese *sniff, sniff, * cheese cheese cheese I finally found you! *SNAP*

3. 3. Um, cheese has like, a billion grams of saturated fat. How in the world am I supposed to fit into my skin tight size zero dress if I eat cheese! It’s like, so bad for you! Isn’t it from a cow or something? Yeah, I think I’m a vegetarian. And I don’t eat things with fat. I will be in that size zero dress and I will be Prom queen! Gosh Ashley, quit trying to sabotage me!

4. 4. The only thing that matter to me about cheese is putting on my cheesehead hat and rooting for my Green Bay Packers!

5. 5. Ah, oui! Le fromage! Oh j’adore le fromage! Oui, oui, oui ! Chaque matin, je prends une baguette avec un peu de Brie. La France a le meilleur fromage dans le monde! Le fromage est très bon avec un verre de vin aussi. Je vive pour le fromage !

6. 6. Ahhh, man ! Who cut the cheese ? Gross, dude !

7. 7. Cheese is my comfort food. I could eat all day everyday! Cheddar, swiss, parmesan, colby jack, all kinds of cheese. Cheese is the key to my heart. Pizza, lasagna, macaroni and cheese, nachos, cream cheese. CHEESE!

Creative Writing Post #6

How to Become a Writer

You will hate writing from the beginning. Absolutely hate it. Your eyes will nearly overflow with tears when you hear the word "essay" slip from the mouth of your high school English teacher. You will whine and moan and throw a fit and write it at midnight, but pull out an A as usual. Your classmates may resent you for it. But you still hate writing. You'll hate it so much that you major in Nutrition once you get to college. You'll soon realize you'd write a thousand and one essays for your high school English teacher if it meant you didn't have to write another lab report. Sometimes you have to go to the dark side to realize you were in the light all along.

Suck it up and accept your destiny. In a whim of spontaneity, switch your major to English. At least you have time to finally take French classes again. Just don't major in French or suddenly you'll find yourself trying to pay your own tuition. Start wearing more scarves and skinny jeans. Don't be afraid to carry coffee to class, either. It can only help. But be prepared to regret everything when you find yourself trapped in a room by the professor with the tight plaid pants and swoopy hair. Take a deep breath...you were never here for the British Lit anyway. Leave that for the thick rimmed glasses and frizzy hair. You just want to write. Get a gig writing for the school newspaper so you can convince your parents you have some kind of future in writing. Damage control like this will frequently come in handy when people give you the "ick" and "have fun being poor" looks after you tell them what you're studying.

Whenever your writing is shared in class, always remind everyone that you wrote it late at night when you were exhausted so everyone knows you can write even better. Whenever you receive compliments, shrug them off like you think your awesome alliteration is no biggie when you really you're squealing with delight on the inside. Always stay calm, cool, and collected.

Most importantly, stick with creative nonfiction. Now no one has to know that you still have no idea what Shakespeare was talking about. Don't let the professor in the plaid pants fool you...thoroughly understanding Chaucer's deep down love of misogyny will get you nowhere but tenured in approximately 7-10 years. No thanks. Someday they'll be reading your works.

Creative Writing Post #5

Question #4

Cars

Quickly weaving between the other cars,
Turn on the stereo and let the tunes fly.
Warm sunshine cascades through the sunroof.
The cars in front suddenly slam on their brakes,
Crash.