Tag Archives: poem

Poetry Tuesday: March 21st

As yet untitled. This is a variation on a theme, perhaps influences from reading a lot of paranormal fiction, and just maybe a touch of manga. The idea of the separation between life and death, between the known and the unknown, between normal and paranormal, natural and supernatural.

Untitled: Variation of Regret and Memory

Staggering the pyramid of broken promises,

Reshaping the dreams of previous lives,

like sand.

They slip between the sleeping and the waking realms,

Unsure if they even ever existed.

Dashed hopes cast off upon a mountain of regret,

Good intentions spoiled for the sake of one more moment,

Caught in that perfect imagining,

The fades as mist after dawn.

From the shore they watch the world,

Sorrow wailing, and they pine

For what they can no longer reach.

Curled fingers of desire and longing come up empty in their desperate bid,

To leech another moment of warmth from their remembered scenes of life.

Caught in a state between one moment and the next,

Skirting on the edge of memories of those still drawing breath.

Slowly, with each longing sigh,

They draw others from that shore to them,

Claiming them to repeat the past one more.

-Megan

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Poetry Tuesday: Bared Bones

Bared Bones

 

Grave bones dropping dust,

Crossed at the old master’s feet.

Creaking and bleating their lonely cries.

Left with unrest in their defeat.

 

Dry bone, marrow turned to stone,

Tossed at the blind king’s throne,

No One left at the hearth,

No Sons to take them home.

 

Cold bones, wrapped in parchment flesh,

Shuddering in the darkness, in suspense.

Not a memory of theirs remains.

Yet, still these ones draw breath.

 

Hot bones bathed in red,

Upon the soaked bloody ground, abandoned.

No tomb for them but where they fall,

In a field so far from home.

 

-Megan

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Poetry Tuesday: Day Dreary

DAY DREARY

Watching the sun rise over the tired city trees.

Hot steam bringing life to walking dead dreams,

used to follow the current, subdued.

Left to rot.

Arrive on time,

Day.

Turn and press the button,

Month.

The same bleeds out the difference,

Quells the imaginary possibility.

The adventure is pushed into he broom closet,

Locked tight and covered in cobwebs behind

A disused mop bucket.

Flavourless tuna salad lunch.

Monday  is every day, repeating over.

Friday is just a Monday in sheep’s clothing,

Closing an leaving illusory promises

To re-assessing the dreams of adventure.

But Saturday dawns, yawning with a fake

Beatitude of hardship, a covered reality of a different

Kind of work disguised as breaking.

It too is just as routine,

As the sun rising over still tired trees in a half sleeping city.

Waiting for something to break the cover on the safety

Glass alarm of freedom.

A Dangerous gambit to destroy the safely systematic, routine, boring.

Life.

-Megan

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Forming the Formless: A reflection on my difficulties and experiences in writing.

Like the gait of a newborn foal,

my rhymes roll out at an awkward pace.

Trapped somewhere between my mind and my lips,

they are lost in the cracks between spaces.

I lose time thinking about thinking,

Wondering if there is even an inkling of success in my endeavours.

Late nights spent forgetting the words to my own visions,

Tripping over the rhythm of the endless flow of thought,

Ultimately left fighting against the tide of my own doubt,

with words spilling out without form.

One idea becomes the next, becomes the next,

and continues to topple away from the beginning,

Until all that is left is the vexation of wondering where everything will end,

And in ending, if it will make sense or defy the trend of going nowhere.

I have always had a problem with endings; I don’t like them. They are too final, too anti-climatic, and too pessimistic in my view. Nothing is ever really finished, especially when it comes to writing or learning. You may have reached a conclusion in the plot line structure, but it does not mean that what you have is written in stone. Sometimes endings are too difficult to face, especially when you have invested yourself into a project. Yes, endings can be rewarding, but sometimes we just are not quite ready for them, and it leads us to tear everything back down, and to start again, until we become so caught up in the tearing down and the rebuilding that we forget what it was we set out to do in the beginning. Does this piece work here, or should I move it to another section? Is this really what I want to happen in this situation, or do I want to see how it would work out if I changed that part way back in the middle? Do these bits come together properly, or are they just mashed together for the sake of having them be like that? Where is the flow, and how do I keep it from hitting a wall? Does any of this make sense to anyone else? Inevitable, these are ideas and problems that writers, students, and academics face in everything they do. Fiction and non-fiction require the same attention to detail, require the same creative and personal investment of time, effort, and emotion, or they inevitable fail to satisfy.

Writing is something that I have been doing for a very long time, in a variety of ways; when I was 13 and in 8th grade I started writing what I called ‘a novel’. It was a lofty goal, even for a 13-year-old or, within reason, especially for a 13-year-old. The plot was contrived, the characters 2-dimensional, the names of characters and places cringe-worthy and inducing. Nevertheless, I ‘finished’ that great work, and set it aside, where I left it for years, for the most part. The closest that work ever got to ‘public viewing’ was when I shared it with a very close group of friends. Affectionately it came to be known as “Prologue”, and said friends may or may not still have their copies just waiting to be giggled over. From my own ‘novel’, I did what many young girls do and branches off into both poetry and fan-fiction (something that will be mentioned, but left alone; we’ve all dabbled, even if it was only in our heads to pass the time). I stuck with the poetry, and have amassed quite a collection, ranging from the naive and typical first attempts to some much more developed pieces, experimenting with style, scheme, and format. Poetry is still something that I return to when the inspiration strikes me, something that I once thought of pursuing professionally, but instead decided to keep as a hobby.

In High School, I branched out yet again, dabbling in short stories, plays, more poetry, historical fiction, fantasy, noir, horror and a variety of other ideas. Some of these pieces are still quite dear to me, and I return to them with new ideas on how to improve them, how to adapt and update them, and how to keep them alive. However, I have always suffered from the inability to finish; I become so attached to something that I am working on, and so invested in its worth, that I am unable to let it go because I still don’t see it as being complete, even if for all intents and purposes it has come to a conclusion. Every essay I submitted as an undergraduate, every project I worked on and showed, every paper I presented in conference, were all works-in-progress. Even now, having completed my first post-graduate degree, I still look back on essays and find ways to improve them, ways to make them flow more fluidly, to present the points more clearly, to bring out the importance of the evidence more succinctly. Likewise, I have started more stories than I can begin to count; I have notebooks filled with ideas, characters, plots, maps, and research, and often keep a fresh one on hand no matter where it is I find myself, because the most obscure or frivolous thing can set off an idea that has the potential to change everything.

This brings me to the meat of my future plans for this blog, now that I have completed another milestone on my life journey. While I am actively applying for PhD programs, determining what it is I will focus on, where it is I will do my work and continue my studies, and who I will look to in an advisory capacity, I hope to re-ignite my creative writing, while honing my academic skills. What this means for this blog is as follows: in the coming months I hope to revise some of my post short stories and creative pieces, and present them to a wider audience (this is where you come in). At the same time, I am going to put forward articles of a more scholarly nature (non-journal worthy due to the fact that they are short pieces rather than longer completed research), begin a series of exploratory research reflections on topics that interest me outside of my major academic focus (which is a rather narrow focus and relatively new when it comes to Western scholarship focus), and of course reviews whenever I feel that something I have read is either worth the attention of others or worthy of being avoided at all costs. I hope that this plan will help to keep this blog alive, to engage with my skills on a personal and professional footing, and to, hopefully, provide you with something insightful, thought-provoking, amusing, enchanting, or entertaining.

To keep with this, I have started working on a revision of a piece I created over 12 years ago. It will be a week or two before it is through a satisfactory revision, and at that time I will provide both the latest version, and the very first iteration of the piece. It is a bit of an absurdist social/environmental commentary, with what I hope is a darkly humorous twist. So, with that, I ask that you stay tuned for “Fuzzy Pants, Trench Coats, and Other Strange Things” (Title subject to change, though for now I will stick with the original title).

For those of you wondering exactly where I plan to take this all in the near future, here is a list of some ideas that i have been working on, or planning to work on, in the coming months:

  • Scott Pilgrim: A Love Story for our not-so-tragic Canadian Sensibilities.
  • An untitled piece of Silent Hill Revelations
  • A short story from the “Veil of Shadows” world
  • New Television: A reflection on the increasing interest in the macabre as prime-time entertainment instead of niche counter-culture movement.
  • Untitled improv creative writing session set to a random playlist.
  • Locke and Key: Imagination and the Other World of childhood.
  • A short story from the Trish universe, or a chapter from a larger work within that world.
  • Percy Jackson and Xena: re-inventing Greek Myth for new generations.
  • More poetry (both old and new)
  • Some lore pieces behind some of my larger story and world ideas.
  • Untitled piece on Miyazaki’s films (Spirited Away)
  • A short piece on classic Japanese films.
  • Serial Killers and their victims (there are a few that merit a bit more historical attention, without the spin of Hollywood attached), with shows like Criminal minds around we need to remember that these individuals are products of human existence and our ability to commit evil, not just of the society or culture they belong to.
  • Why Cordelia Chase is that mean high school girl we all secretly love.
  • The Undergraduate Essay: Tips and Tricks to avoid the pitfalls of a poor essay.

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Winter Reverie

Image

M. Negrych, 2012

Personally, I have always had a soft spot for Winter. The snow doesn’t bother me, the cold is refreshing, and even the darkness is comforting. Of course, that isn’t to say that I am exempt from the frustration the comes when Winter overstays its welcome. Where I live we have officially surpassed the record for snowfall- my backyard is so full of snow that I have no place left to put what I shovel off the deck and walkway. However, if it were not for the mini-blizzard occurring at the moment, I would be pulling on my warm clothes, leaving all my work behind, and building a snow-fort to rival any box and pillow Fort Kick Ass ever constructed.

It is going to make driving on the side streets difficult, but coming from the prairies in the middle of Canada, driving has always been a practice of extreme caution for me; I stand by the fact that even in our cities we have some of the worst drivers to ever sit behind a wheel, of all ages.

So while the wind blows the excessive snowfall around, making March into a new Winter Wonderland, I am going to warm my cup of coffee, pick up my books and highlighters, and get as much work done as possible. I am going to do this in hopes that, when the wind stops, I can bundle up and get my ass out in the snow and have some good old fashioned fun.

Winter Haiku;

Outside the flakes fall

My breath frosts over the air;

Wonderful Winter.

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