Writer's Island #15 - This Season

The Writer's Island prompt for this week is "This Season". We are being asked to share something about what this season means to us. I thought about this for a while, because I really use these prompts for creative writing, never for "personal" posts, so I wasn't really sure how to approach this particular prompt. So, I just started writing. The following poem takes on a bit of a bittersweet turn at one point, but that was beyond my control. I love Christmas, it is my favorite time of year, and has been as far back as I can remember. But after my grandmother passed away (almost 7 years ago), it's never been the same. I still love this season, and still look forward to it with anticipation and joy, but the missing element is always there. I think most of us long for our childhood Christmases, and perhaps because I'm still in that inbetween stage, no longer a child, no kids of my own yet, I wallow a bit in nostalgia around this time. I realize poetry needs no explanation, and I normally don't provide any, but this piece screams for a bit of background. From the time I was 10 (when we moved to the U.S.) until my grandmother died, Christmas was spent at her house. When she died, my granfather sold the house, and moved in with my parents, where we now celebrate Christmas every year. As fate would have it, when I bought my condo I did not realize it, but to travel from my house to my parents' house, I drive by my grandparents' old home. I do this weekly, and never does it affect me as much as at Christmas time, when I look for, and don't see, the Christmas star my grandfather built, and would hang over the door every year. I dedicate the following to my grandmother, Odilia, may she rest in peace.

The Christmas Star

Above the door
The star of Bethlehem
Lit up for all to see
Inside the house
there always was
the fattest Christmas tree
A feast for dinner
excited talk
and spirits always high
And then we'd dance
and sing the carols
and watch the hours fly by
then he would come
good old Santa
and sit among our presents
and one by one
we'd open them
enjoy each other's presence
into the wee hours
of the morning
we'd celebrate the night
and looking back
I recall the warmth, the love
everything feels so right

Things changed
And grandma's home
now houses someone new
And I drive by
Don't see the star
And quietly wonder who
I want to eavesdrop
on Christmas Eve
learn how they celebrate
I want to share with them
my memories
of Christmases so great
Instead I smile
and keep on driving
because this season's about to start
We have new traditions
and in lieu of missing you,
I'll let the memories warm my heart.

Copyright 2007 - Karina

Merry Christmas everyone, may your memories fill you with joy, and your new traditions give you lots to look forward to.

Pensieve's Poetic License #2 - Cinquain

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Click the Button Above for more information about Pensieve's Poetic License.

This month's poetic form is a "cinquain" (and again, if you want to know what that means, click the button above). Of course, if I had read the instructions carefully (or perhaps at all), I would have remembered that there is also a theme, and this month's theme is "celebration".

Before I read the "theme", I wrote this:

Snowstorm
Cold, white
Blowing, blinding, accumulating
Quiet settles upon the world
Nor’Easter


Not really fitting in with the theme of celebration, is it? So...I guess that means I have to write another one:

Countdown
Loud, festive
reminiscing, anticipating, beginning
prelude to a new beginning
Finale

I'm pretty sure I broke the rules on both of these, but...eh...close enough! ;-)

Writer's Island #'s 13 and 14

UPDATED (check bottom of post).

I missed Writer's Island last week. I have no excuses, I just blanked on it completely. It's the first one I've missed since the "Founding" of the Island, and I just couldn't let it go. It's the OCD in me, I had to at least recognize it...so I'm incorporating both prompts into my entry today.

Last week's prompt was "The Promise", and this week's is "The Moment".

Broken

Too late now,
one decision
and it falls apart
we all have moments
choices
life defining events
you chose her
over me
the words you speak now
have no impact
apologies
explanations
pleading
it's too late

Did you think
telling me it didn't mean a thing
would make it any better?

You took a vow
promised me forever
and in an instant
you broke us

And you have the nerve to tell me
it didn't mean a thing?

It meant everything.

Copyright 2007 - Karina

Update: In response to one of the comments this poem received, I was inspired to write up a post about my feelings on "unfaithfulness". If you're interested, please head over to my "other" blog: Candid Karina, and join in the discussion.

Writer's Island #12 - The Letter

This week's prompt over at Writer's Island is "the letter". I'm at work right now, and I'm thinking of this great poem I wrote in high school about a letter. I can remember some of it, but not enough of it to reproduce it from memory. However, because I'm thinking of that poem, I'm blocked to write anything else...so I'll dig that up tonight and post it.

In the meantime, I'll tell you about a letter I wrote this weekend instead. My brother went on a religious retreat this weekend. At 24, he's in a place in his life where he's been feeling lost and this retreat came at the right time for him. We're not a highly religious family in the going to church every Sunday sense, but we are of strong faith. My brother had wandered away from his faith, and was looking for his way back. Anyway, I digress. Part of what happens on this retreat is you receive letters from loved ones. So, on Friday, I spent some time composing a letter to my little brother. The brother I prayed for when I was 9 years old, because I no longer wanted to be an only child. The brother I treated like my little doll as a baby, dressing him up and carrying him around the house. The brother I read to, played with, entertained. The brother I brought to school with me to show off to my friends. The brother I would have long talks with when he was a teenager, trying to keep him from straying too far from our parents' ideals. The brother I've traveled with. The brother who is now growing into an exceptional young man, who I'm so proud of. And I reminded him of all this in that letter. He tells me he didn't make it past the first paragraph before there were tears in his eyes, and I didn't mean to make him cry, but I wanted him to know just how much it's meant to me to have him as a brother all these years. What a gift it was to me to be able to take the time to write this letter, to reflect on our relationship. As he becomes more of an adult, our relationship is changing into one of equals as opposed to a big sister, little brother thing. We are friends on a different level now. But he will always be my baby brother. And for that, I am grateful.

Be sure to visit Writer's Island for more castaways!

Writer's Island #11 - The Dream

I almost forgot about Writer's Island this week, so it's funny that upon visiting the site this morning, I should find out that the theme is "the Dream". Funny because I had quite the dream last night. It was probably more of a nightmare than a dream, but it was quite vivid and realistic. See, in real life, I have an irrational fear of "edges" or "precipices", and and it transpired into my dream last night.


Cremnophobia

I find myself
on a precipice
looking down
looking up
with nowhere to go

I must approach the edge
in order to proceed
to escape
but paralysis sets in

I can't move
I can't focus
I can't breathe

Knowing I will die here
If I don't move forward
I prepare myself
I inch forward
and I panic
palms sweaty
breath in hiccups
hyperventilating I scream

Frozen in place,
Dizzy, terrified
Wanting to jump
Get it over with
Too afraid to attempt
The descent

Pushing myself
Against the wall behind me
Drawing strength from its solidity
But the edge, so near
All alone up here
So quiet…so still…
I catch my breath with a sigh
The alarm, the bed, my pillow

It was only a dream.

Copyright 2007 - Karina

Be sure to visit Writer's Island for other castaways' work.

Pensieve's Poetic License #1 - Thanksgiving Limerick

What is Pensieve's Poetic License? A monthly meme designed to encourage EVERYONE to exercise their poetry gene. Everyone is born with one; sometimes you just need "permission" (or a kick in the behind) to use it.

Please click the button above for more information. This month's theme is "Thanksgiving", the form: Limericks.

To get us going, Robin (Pensieve) gave us the following and asked us to provide the last line...here's my contribution to the last line:

The pilgrims, they started it all.
A feast fit for kings in the Fall.
Thankful were they,
Eating turkey all day
Who knew it would lead to a brawl?

AND, here's my Limerick for the month:

A day to give thanks it is said
With stuffing and turkey we're fed
We eat our share
But we truly care
Much more for the store sales ahead

This was so much fun...thanks Robin for creating this meme! I'm looking forward to next month's theme of Celebration in the form of a cinquian (which is what exactly you ask? Visit Pensieve and find out!)

Writer's Island #10 - Friendship

This week's prompt for Writer's Island is Friendship. There were so many directions I could have gone with this prompt. Just the word friendship evokes so many thoughts and feelings within. Feelings of love and support, as well as feelings of loss and betrayal rise to the surface at the simple uttering of the word...friendship...so many meanings this word contains.

Today, concern for a friend envelops me, and brings me to this:

Silent Prayer for a Friend

Life in limbo
as you wait
as I wait
to hear the words
I can't let you see
how I worry
so deeply
for you
so I smile
and convince
you and I
that we've nothing to fear
while in privacy, I pray
that they'll say
you're okay
I can't imagine it'll go any other way.

Copyright 2007 - Karina

UPDATE: I just got off the phone with my friend, and she's been given a clean bill of health from her doctor. Amen.

Writer's Island #9 - Unforgettable

This week over at Writer's Island we are remembering those things we can never forget. The prompt is "Unforgettable".

I'm taking a somber turn with this one. I wrote this poem in February of 1996, after I lost a friend to a drunk driver. He was the sort of person you just never forget, but less forgetable is the pain I felt upon losing him. He's been on my mind for some reason lately, so it felt fitting for this prompt.

Not Leo


The world turned
everything changed in a single instant
it only took 5 seconds,
5 words
"He was killed last night"
that bitter taste lingers
I never had my chance to say goodbye
I lose control
unable to see through tears
unable to feel...numbed
unable to hear past those words
over and over again in my mind
"he was killed last night"
At first, "How" and then "when"
followed quickly by "where, why and...
Not Leo"
words tattoed forever in my mind
etched in pain in my memory
"yes, Leo, he was killed last night"
Now, when it rains I cry
when the sun shines, I wonder why
friendship borne, only to die
nobody ever really knows why
and I still cry
forever asking why
why Leo?
Why did he have to die?
And the words,
those fucking words
over and over
again and again
"Leo...he was killed last night
he was killed last night
he was killed..."

Copyright 2007 - Karina

Be sure to visit Writer's Island for other castaways, who will hopefully have much lighter fare for you.

Sunday Scribblings #7 - Money

This week's Sunday Scribblings Prompt is "Money". Ah..Money...as I'm in the middle of both NaNoWriMo and NaBloPoMo (on my other blog), I'll keep this one short and sweet:

The root of all evil
the seed of all hope
the end
the beginning
a slippery slope

we spend it
we save it
we hoard it
we share it
without it we crave it
but with it
we bear it

what is it about it
that makes us so crazy
how is it without it
the world becomes hazy

This thing we call money
some paper, some ink
it all seems so funny
and yet in the blink
of an eye
you'd grab it
don't lie.

Copyright 2007 - Karina

NaBloPoMo

I'm doing NaBloPoMo over at my other blog Candid Karina. I'm also doing NaNoWriMo. Therefore, I'm not going to comit to doing NaBloPoMo over here...however, I'm going to try to post something creative in here daily. I may not do it, but currently I only post here once a week...so even if I manage to post a few more times a week over here, it'll be something. I will post snippets of my NaNoWriMo novel in here periodically, and then some other poems or prose which might come along. I will also continue to do "Writer's Island".

That said....a little Haiku for the month of November.

Write a post a day
and a novel in a month
this is November.

Writer's Island #8 - Haunted

The prompt for Writer's Island this week is "Haunted", just in time for Halloween. My entry is not so much Halloween themed, still, here it is:

Faded Memory

No longer able to recall
Your face
without some effort
your smile
without some struggle
your voice
without some thought

It takes focus now
To see
That twinkle
In your eyes
that mischief
in your grin
that vigor
in your stance

I must stop and concentrate
To recollect
The way you’d hold
My hand
The way you’d say
My name
They way you’d kiss
My lips

But somewhere in the recesses
of my mind
the power of your love remains
It haunts me
At the most inopportune of moments

Copyright 2007 - Karina

Writer's Island #7 - The stranger

This week's "Writer's Island" prompt is "The Stranger". I realize some of you may be wondering whatever happened to my continuation of the story I started a few weeks ago, but for some reason that's been put on hold. Don't ask me, ask my muse...


In the meantime, here's my contribution for today's prompt. I'm not entirely sure I'm done with this one yet, there might still be some tweaks to it, it doesn't feel quite finished...Constructive criticism appreciated.

Rock Star

I stare mesmerized
Hypnotized
By his voice, his lips, his eyes

His confident swagger
His presence on stage

In his element
He commands attention

And I can’t take my eyes off him

Falling in love from afar
With a rock star
A stranger behind a guitar

His knowing smile
His furtive grin

Confident in his power
He knows he has the crowd

And I can’t look away from him

I can’t lie
So familiar am I
With everything about this guy

His middle name I know
His birth date I’ve memorized

From a stranger to a lover
He’s transformed himself

And I have never even met him

Copyright 2007 - Karina




Be sure to visit Writer's Island for other participants!

Writer's Island #6 - Message in a Bottle

The prompt for this week's Writers Island is as follows: You have each found a “Message In A Bottle”. Please share with the rest of us what mystery was revealed to you, or what urgent dispatch, or deep secret you discovered, or what solemn ‘last words’ you may have read — and tell us what you did after reading this communication from a time past.

I wasn't really sure where to go with this, and I'm still in the experimenting stages with Haiku, so I figured I'd use this prompt for a bit more practice in that genre:

Washing up on shore
something sparkly and round
what could this thing be

slowly I walk up
pick it up and examine
nothing here to see

Just an old bottle
a discarded artifact
but wait what is this

Look inside and find
Old rolled up parchment paper
Holding secret words

Anxiously I read
"If you are reading this note
Then I have yet hope"

"Send help quickly please
I am alone and adrift
I want to go home"

Looking around me
Not quite sure what to do next
I write a response

"No help to be found
I too am alone out here
Missing home as well"

Alas, we wait...

Copyright 2007 - Karina

See other Writer's Island enries here.

Writer's Island #5 - Renewal

Welcome Islanders! Today's prompt finally directed me as to which path my story should take. There are still many questions to be answered, and it's quite possible that this tale is taking on a life of it's own, as the best stories seem to do. I'm happily jumping aboard and allowing myself to go along for the ride. I hope you'll join me.

For the following to make sense, you may want to read parts 1 and 2 first.

"My Name is"

"The Key"

Done? And now...Renewal:

“Click”.

Hearing that sound always made me smile. It was still amazing to me how something as simple as turning a key in a lock could open up a whole new world. Of course it wasn’t quite that simple, it wasn’t just any key, and it most certainly wasn’t just any lock, any door. I pushed open the door and stepped into a hallway much too long to be contained within the space of a closet in the backroom of a bookstore. I grabbed and switched on the flashlight resting on a shelf by the door, and closed the door behind me, locking it with the key.

“Click”.

Suddenly, the sounds of the city were extinguished, and I was left with a silence so profound, it took my breath away for a second. It was always like this, the moment of re-entry always left me a bit awestruck, feeling heavier instantly, my shoulders tensed, my mind a bit numb. Regaining my composure, I started down the hallway. As I walked, the path widened, the walls opened up, and within moments, the light from the windows and the fluorescent bulbs ahead erased the need for the flashlight. I shut it off, and placed it on a table. Taking a deep breath, I stepped into the well lit conference room.

“Ah, there she is, you’re a bit late today” Alfonse said getting up to greet me.
“I’m sorry, I got caught up” I smiled to myself, thinking of my breakfast encounter.
“No worries, no worries,” Alfonse said smiling and taking my hand and leading me to the big conference table in the middle of the room “we were just getting settled.”
As I approached the table, everyone stood “Good Morning Madam President” echoed throughout the room.
“Good morning everyone, please be seated”. I said taking my own seat at the head of the table. From here, I had a perfect view out of the main window in the room; a view that looked out above the remains of a city once bustling with activity, but now mostly dormant. A cloud of grey mist hung over the skeletons of buildings once filled with the noise of office equipment, telephones ringing, and people exchanging their morning pleasantries. It was silent now, a ghost town, and signs of the mass desertion were still visible in things such as the abandoned cars in the middle of the streets, and the store fronts with their “OPEN” signs flapping in the wind.

THIS was my world. This was where I belonged. Not the sunny, cheerful coffee shop, or the dusty, antique bookstore full of character, but this, a conference room in a secured and air locked building, where I governed over a world so splintered and devoid of beauty that it hurt to look out the windows. Yet there was hope. We’d discovered the key, and long with the key, was the legend. If the legend was true, we could create a renewal of this world, and bring back its beauty and magic. So far, every prophecy had manifested itself; therefore we had to believe the legend of the key would as well.

And that is what I was doing on the other side of the door. Hoping to bridge a gap between the two worlds, in order to infuse color back into the land I loved so deeply. It wasn’t going to be easy, and the road to get even as far as we’d already gotten had been filled with obstacles and pitfalls. But we had located the door, passed through, established a connection, and I wasn’t giving up until I’d either succeeded or taken my last breath. And even then, I had them, my council, my advisors, my soldiers. They would never stop.

I looked around the table at their expectant faces. All waiting for me to deliver some good news, tell them anything that would give them enough hope to keep fighting another day. And today, for the first time in weeks, I had a glimmer of that hope to hand out.

“Well,” I said sitting back in my chair and smiling “It’s not much, but I’ve made contact”.
A collective sigh echoed throughout the room and Alfonse was the first to speak
“He spoke to you?”
“He did,” I smiled “and we have a breakfast date tomorrow morning”.
The smiles were grand, but cautious.
“And you really think he’s the one?” This time it was Percival who spoke.
“We’ve been over this” Alfonse said quickly “We can’t be sure, but he seems to be the best candidate so far”.
“And if it’s not him?” Margarita asked anxiously “We’re running out of time”
“We still have time Margarita” I said “If it isn’t him, we’ll keep searching”
“And if it is him?” Percival spoke again “Then what?”
“Then we wait…” Alfonse answered “We let the magic take its course, and we wait.”

Copyright 2007 - Karina

Please visit Writer's Island for other participants.

Writer's Island #4, The Journey

Welcome back fellow islanders. I must apologize if you came today hoping for the next installation of the story from last week. I have been sick this week and just didn't have the energy to delve into that story just yet. Instead of forcing something out that I would be unhappy with, I decided to take a break from it, and let this prompt lead me elsewhere.


As I was drifting off to sleep yesterday, in a Nyquil induced stupor, the following haikus began to form in my brain:


Life is a journey
Best taken with open eyes
So you don't miss it


The colors and sounds,
Aromas and textures too
All these surround you


Appreciate all
Live, love, and never regret
Take none for granted

And you will know then
That you have lived life as well
As you could have done


Okay, I know it's not great, but Haiku is a completely new form for me, so these are all just expirements in the format.


Check out other Islanders here.

Writer's Island #3 - The Key

PLEASE READ THIS FIRST...Something is happening with these writing prompts through both Writer's Island and Sunday Scribblings. Something wonderful and unexpected. My muse has awoken from a slumber so deep that I was afraid she might have left me all together. For that, I thank everyone involved with these "memes".

Today's Writer's Island entry is actually a continuation of the tale begun with this week's Sunday Scribbling Prompt. Please read that one first, if you will, so that this one makes sense in the beginning. I'm not quite sure where this tale is leading yet, so the mystery is as much for me, as it is for you. I hope you enjoy reading it even half as much as I'm enjoying writing it.

And now...The Key:

Well, now that we’d gotten that out of the way, what was I supposed to say next? I laughed, he laughed.

“I have to tell you,” he said smiling as we moved away from the door “I’ve been working up the nerve to do what you just did for days now”.

“I didn’t know I was going to do it until I’d already spoken”, I laughed.

“Well, I’m glad you did” then he looked at his watch “but I’m going to be late for work if I don’t leave now”. He smiled again “So, if I sit at your table tomorrow?”

“I’ll be sure to grab a good one” I said with a grin.

“Great, see you then”. And he was gone. And I was left with a stupid ear to ear grin on my face. Did that really just happen?

Shaking my head to bring myself back to reality I turned to walk away. I had so much to do today, I didn’t really have time for daydreaming. He might have been cute, and who knew what tomorrow’s coffee date would bring, but I had more pressing matters to attend to.

Upon reaching my building, I unlocked the front door, turned on the lights, and switched the sign on the door to Open. I owned and ran a used book store only a few doors down from the coffee shop. Business wasn’t what you’d call “booming”, but the little shop did well enough so that I could focus my energies on my real job. It wasn’t so much that I didn’t love selling books, because I did. It was that this store provided me with the perfect cover to do all I needed to do, without anyone suspecting what I was up to.

My life was a complicated one, but there was never a day that I didn’t feel grateful for the very complications that made it such an interesting life to lead. About thirty minutes after I’d opened up the shop, Jolene arrived. Jolene was my sole employee, and probably one of my favorite people in the world. She was 73 years old, and probably the spunkiest little old lady you’ll ever meet. But don’t let anyone call her an old lady to her face, because she’d set you right. She was 73 years young, and “getting younger by the minute”, she’d joke. “Child, pretty soon I’ll be in diapers again and if that isn’t reverting back to your youth, well then, I don’t know what is” she had told me once. Jolene pretty much ran my little shop while I was attending to my more clandestine affairs. She did it with a smile on her face and a knowing twinkle in her eye, because she knew the truth. I’d had to trust someone when I’d first arrived in town and opened up the shop, and upon meeting Jo, I knew she’d be the one to entrust with my secrets.

Once she arrived, and we exchanged our morning pleasantries, I made my way into the backroom. Closing the door behind me, I sat at my desk, and took out the key. There was a lot to do today, and I needed to get started right away. I took a deep breath, exhaled, and stood up. “Okay, let’s get to work”. I said walking toward the closet in the corner. I put the key in the lock and turned, waiting for the magical sound of the lock turning, a sound I knew would start my day in earnest.

“Click”…

Copyright 2007 - Karina

Please be sure to visit Writer's Island for more participants.

Sunday Scribblings #5 - Hi my name is...

I didn't participate last week....just couldn't get my muse to show up for the "collector's" edition.

But I'm back. This week I present my first short story for Sunday Scribbings.

Same time, same place?

Every morning for the last two weeks we've been having coffee together, and I don't even know his name. As I watch him over the book I pretend to read, I wonder if he too is aware of our routine. It started innocently enough, I came into the coffee house for my morning jolt of caffeine, sat at my usual table, and cracked open my book. Sitting there enjoying the early autumn breeze, mixed with last sunrays of summer, I watched him walk in and order. "Large, black, two sugars please". His voice, strong, confident, brought my eyes away from Harry and Hermoine just long enough to notice the chiseled cheekbones, the bright blue eyes. Handsome. He sat at a table directly across from mine, dug out his newspaper, and sat back to read. Our eyes met for a second, and he smiled. I smiled back. Then went back to my book.

The next day, almost having forgotten our brief encounter, I heard it again. "Large, black, two sugars please." And there he was. Handsome. Again he sat across from me, again he smiled.

Almost two weeks later now, and we continue this charade. Pretending not to notice the other one noticing. I read, a different book now, he persuses the local news. I close my book, place it in my purse, and stand to leave. He folds his paper, nods at me, and walks out the door.

Each day, the smile lasts a little bit longer. Each time, we walk out the door a little bit closer in time. We do a dance, we toe the line.

"Large, black, two sugars please". I hear again. He sits, he smiles, I smile.

My coffee done, I close my book, look up. Folding his paper he stands. We reach the door together, he holds it open. I laugh. "Hi, my name is Destiny", extending my hand. He takes it. "Justice".

Copyright 2007 - Karina

View more Sunday Scribblings here.

Writer's Island #2 - The Gift

I didn't participate in Sunday Scribblings this week, the prompt was "collections". I just couldn't find the muse this time.

This week prompt for Writer's Island is "The Gift".

I'm on vacation this week, so I decided that I wanted to keep it short, and so, when I thought short, I thought, well...I'll do a haiku. I've never written a haiku before, so you all get to partake of my first effort ever. It isn't the greatest, but it's my frst, so I'm giving myself a break.

Enjoy:

Knowing one is loved
Surrounded by family
Is truly a gift

Copyright 2007 - Karina

Please visit Writer's Island for other participants' links.

Writer's Island #1 - My Imaginary Life

Just the two of me...

I live a lie most days
although I tell the truth
What you see is what you get
and yet

I'm not who I seem to be
the inner me, the outer me
a contradiction
a mystery

I am the person that you know
I wear my heart out on my sleeve
I share my passions
I bare my soul
but you don't see

my imaginary life
the one I keep all to myself
the tales I spin
the songs I sing
the life I live within

an imagination like mine
never takes a break
never stops creating
so daily I fantasize
i'm in disguise

moving along at a normal pace
inside my head I run a race
i'm two in one
a dual existance
and we dance

Copyright 2007 - Karina

Thank you to Writer's Island for the prompt. I'm writing more now thanks to these prompts then I have in a long time. I'm grateful!

For more, please visit Writer's Island.

Sunday Scribblings #4 - Writing

I see this as a work in progress, I can see so many more stanzas in my mind's eye, and am looking forward to flushing it out much more. In the meantime, I wanted to have it up for this week's Sunday Scribblings:

On Writing

Infinite words in the universe
numerous languages to choose
topics as vast as the oceans
where shall I direct my muse?

what am I writing today
a poem, a story, a simple haiku
or is it the novel in progress
a song, another book review?

Am I staying above the surface
or digging into my soul
is it merely a creative moment
or am I reaching the ulitimate goal

whatever direction I take
whatever my form of delivery
in writing, I'm breathing, I'm living
I'm creating a piece of my history


Copyright 2007 - Karina

Click here for more Sunday Scribblings

Sunday Scribblings #3 - The End

The Sunday Scribblings Prompt for this week is "The End" I actually wrote this a few weeks ago, but just found it tonight again, and it fit perfectly, so I thought I would share it here.

Two Worlds

He watches in the background
Taking in the action
But never taking part
He absorbs the details
Stores them for later review
And never participates

There is a certain beauty
In the way his eyes scan the crowd
Focus momentarily on this thing
Or that
There is a special mystery
Hidden within that reserve
As if he knows something
The rest of us are oblivious to

He smiles periodically
When something strikes his fancy
And frowns almost instantly
As if he remembers himself
And now and again, he grins
And almost winks in my direction
As if he knows I watch him
Watch us

We play a game of sorts
Pretending not to see
That I’m as aware of him
As he appears to be of me
I follow his gaze
To different focus areas
And watch through his eyes
The world I inhabit daily

The train reaches the station, the doors open
I step inside
He takes the random dollar bills and pocket change
From inside his guitar case, places his guitar inside and closes it
He stands to leave, looks straight at me
And bows.
The show is over.

Copyright 2007 - Karina

View other Sunday Scribblings here.

Sunday Scribblings - #2 - I get that sinking feeling

Went out last night, had an um...interesting time. About to start dating again, in my early 30's, and the options are limited. We're going with humor today for Sunday Scribblings. I present to you:

"Maybe I'm not ready"

A night out on the town with the girls
an adventure.
"You're about to start dating again" they say
we'll head out "to get a feel"
of what is out there for me

No expectations, no plans
not really searching to meet "the one"
just an experiment

"We'll have some fun,
Flirt shamelessly" they laugh
And see what the world has to offer
me this time.

And we head out

A few drinks later,
some mind numbing conversations,
and let's not forget
the creepy brazillian guy...
and I get that sinking feeling
that I will be single forever.

Copyright 2007 - Karina

Sunday Scribblings - #1 - Dear Diary

I've done some Sunday Scribblings entries in my other blog Candid Karina, but this is my first on this new creative writing blog, so I'm going to take it as if I'm starting now, and try to become a weekly member of this Meme, but ONLY enter "fictional, creative" entries. This week's Theme is Dear Diary, so here goes:

Dear Diary,

One more day without him
and I made it through okay
I cried a little, when the sun went down
but I made it one more day

I had to stop and catch my breath
when I remembered he was gone
but I plowed on through, I held on tight
and another day is done.

It gets easier as days go by
but it seems harder in some way
it's as if when it becomes easier for me
He's slowly drifting further away

Dear Diary,

I don't want him to be part of my past
I don't want his memory to fade
But I know if I don't carry on, preservere
Than what impact will he have made?

He came into my life to teach
To influence, to show me the way
And if I don't use the lessons I learned
Then I've wasted another day.

So today, dear diary, I made it through
Another day without him, and I survived
Tomorrow, I'll do it again some way
I'll keep on living, to keep his dream alive.

Copyright 2007 - Karina

To see other Sunday Scribblings click here.

The Dance

So graceful, elegant
Fluid and sinuous
A beauty unmatched in nature
Such splendor, magnificence
A vision of brilliance
They dance, entrance
Pure passion in action
With fervor, devotion
They’re romance in motion
A love story told
In paces and strides
His ebb to her flow
When the music ceases,
And the dance has ended
They part.
A dream suspended.

(c) Copyright 2007 Karina

A bit of my inspiration below:

Waiting

(c) Copyright 2007 Karina