Tag Archives: poetry

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 bons 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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Writing Prompt Experiment

Good afternoon Netizens, bloggers, followers, and non-followers!

So, as I look at my inbox, I’ve come to realize that I am approaching 50 followers! Not much by some standards, but that is pretty big if you ask me, since I started this little endeavour without any real thought as to who would end up following it. So, as a sort of celebration I have decided to do a little something.

Here is what I ask of you: Whether you have followed my blog for a year, or just for a day, or not all at, I open up a prompting challenge. Simply prompt me in the comments with a word, a scenario, a picture, a bit of music, an emotion. ANYTHING! With what you give me I will then write something, a story or a poem, from 50-200 words, inspired by what you have given me and post it in reply to your prompting comment.

I will leave this prompting open for TWO WEEKS and a day, so it will close FRIDAY APRIL 4, 2014 and 11.59.59 PM. I will then take those prompts, and within 14 days respond to them. If I get more prompts then I can complete in those days, I will continue to write until I have filled all those which come in before that April 4th deadline. I may get none, or I may get a bunch, we’ll just have to see. This is also to get people engaged, thinking in their own creative way, about what inspires them.

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Mid-week non-maddess

Despite taking a day to recover from my Monday ordeal (well, not really an ordeal, more like a lengthy minor inconvenience), I don’t have much to offer today, save for a  picture and a poem. Also, I have to share that I will be sequestering myself away for the next week to week and a half, in order to finish the final round of revisions on my thesis. Yes, it’s true, I can see the light getting brighter. It’s my hope that once this round of revisions are complete, I will be moving forward to the defence and submission phases, which would mean that by the end of April, if all goes well, I will have a formal MA behind my name.

City Night- 2012 M. Negrych

City Night- 2012 M. Negrych

It is a starlit sky

To which I recount my deepest woes.

Distant and infinite,

It renders my problems to specks of Dust.

The arms which here do not embrace me,

Are filled with the light of galaxies.

Compared to the vast vacuum,

I am but a breath of time.

Night gives way to dawn,

The fire which warms the earth.

Like dew left on the grass,

My body evaporated as it always has.

M.

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Pre-Spring Haiku

HAIKU FOR A PRE-SPRING AFTERNOON

Spring brings its warm winds;

Water trickles downwards still.

Foundation, fuck you.

(Inspired by an afternoon of wet-dry vacuuming, toting  15-20 gallons of water up stairs at a time, frantically drying towels, and inventively making dams from half-soaked towels)

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Resurgence

I spend the majority of my time caught between research and writing; if a piece lacks footnotes and citations, I begin to feel guilty for working on it when I have so much other work to do. I am driven, but I also have a tendency to prolong my work. I can begin weeks or months before the deadline, and I still find myself in a critical panic before submission, no matter how much time I invested in a project. As such, indulging in my desire to write for my own pleasure (Something which I first began as a child, caught in the awkward world of elementary and high school drama, where no one really has any idea of who they are, or who they want to be), comes at the cost of guilt, unless I have absolutely nothing on my plate. As a graduate student, working as a TA for multiple courses and instructors, this is a rare occasion. Still, I manage to squirrel away minutes here and there, hoping that the right muse will strike me; it is difficult when you end up being struck by Clio when you were hoping for Calliope or Erato, and vice versa.

Well, I have been saving up bits of my creative writing. snippets of incomplete stories, unedited poems, and so on. I just haven’t had the time to set them up for an audience.  I am going to post a few through-out the next couple of days, hoping that they are at least somewhat enjoyable for people other than myself. The internet is an amazing thing, really, allowing this kind of presentation, to reach a wider audience.

Enough with my rambling on, it seems somewhat melancholic in reflection.

Sunset Sky- M. Negrych 2013

Sunset Sky- M. Negrych 2013

The Fear of Truth
These fleeting pleasantries which we exchange,
Fraught with deep disquiet need, 
Cannot be lost on gusts of air between their utterance and their reception. 
Dark reprieve and emotional waterfalls, 
Trapped within the churning void of night, 
They drip heat from their lips. 
Can it be said that these words are empty,
When they are like the force of stone? 
Stronger than the pull of gravity,
These words are covers for the truth which begs to be hidden to save us all from exposure.
 
M

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A short poetry exploration in 5 unconnected verses

After attending a poetry reading last night, I could not help but compose a few short verses. Aside from the nights’ frivolity, and the improv which occurred for no reason other than the muse struck and the company was good, there was a seriousness to the craft which I observed last night, a seriousness which I have not seen in poetry for quite some time. For me poetry has always been a spur of the moment engagement; it was never planned, and when it was forced it always seemed to fall short. My hand is only amateur, but that’s were everyone must begin.

To shake the sweet bonds of starlight’s embrace;

Holding fast to the vestiges of time.

the phantom warmth dissipates.

How can morning come at such  a price?

The misty Sunday morning

Spurns the breath from out my lungs.

Even when observes from warmth

Its cold beauty haunts the eyes.

You are the Orphic rhapsody

Modified, from joy to despair.

You are the brightest star,

Lighting the path to Elysium.

The light of dawn reflects brightly

Upon the silence Archer in the field.

To be his quarry , a true ambition;

For no hand is as skilled as his.

Though the day closes

I feel not the press of time.

My dreams will be reward enough,

Locked in tender Morpheus’ embrace.

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