Three Little Birds (part I)

Blue light ate away through the thick curtains spilling onto her heavy eyes.  It continued to nibble at her eyelids till she sat bolt upright.  She signed and wrapped the duvet around her and trudged to the bathroom and stared at the mess that reflected back at her.  She washed away the smudged mascara from the night before and then brushed her teeth.  

When she slid downstairs she remembered "Oh... I have work tonight." she passed a silver little package in the corner on her way for the coffee and attempted to ignore it. 

Lights flickered outside the window.  Reds, pinks and yellows entered her eyes via the trembling kettle.  Rosa ignored them.  Her Black hair kept the chill of her neck.  she reached for the vodka as the kettle boiled and poured some in before adding the hot water staring it.  

She pressed play on the CD player and "three Little Birds" by Bob Marley began to shake the frosted windows.  

She put on her work cloths underneath a pair of baggy jeans, a t-shirt and a jumper.  She couldn't stand going to work but it was just to fill in time until she could get something better.  It wouldn't be too bad if they didn't feel the need to incorporate the theme of Christmas into the costume, as though she didn't have enough of it with shops screeching it's music out of every orifice with out having them further cheapen a tacky job.  

It was only 3 in the afternoon, she had an hour before she had to set off.  She returned downstairs to the package.  She noticed it topped with the same blue as the lower layers of her hair. She shuddered.  The tag attached to it read "From your loving boyfriend Alex xxx".  She felt nauseous.  He didn't give up, she changed the locks and he still found ways to get into her house, her home, the one place she was supposed to feel safe.  Holding her head with one hand she slid for to the floor while grabbing the present with the other before shattering its contents on the adjacent wall.  

She curled up and sobbed.  He had to give up eventually and then she would be free. Reporting him did no good, she got laughed out of the police station I mean a man of high social standing such as him wanting to be anywhere near her.  He was a lawyer, knew the ins and outs of the law.  It made it very hard for her to find anything evidence of what he was doing to her.  

They first met at her workplace.  One of his "friends" apparently payed for a dance.  Out of everyone he had to know her boss of course, had words so he could get more intimate encounter.  She was payed double of course for that, she couldn't tern down the work.  Her brother disappeared months ago leaving her drowning in dept. desperate times called for desperate measures and there is more than one way to sell your body.  More than once she was tempted to give in and to go along with his fantasies he could more than afford to help her but he just stepped the line to quickly sure she was desperate but not quite there yet she was going to beat him if it was the last thing she did.  

She had set the track to repeat and the lyrics pierced her self pity "this is my message to you, don't worry about a thing because every little thing is gonna be alright" her lips mouthed in time with the lyrics as she picked her self up and dragged her self to get another coffee.  She felt the music made a perfect little paradise in her mind fighting off the nauseating claques of Christmas with the warm sunny sounds of reggae.

When the track replayed a sixth time she took it of repeat and let the rest of the album flow through the speakers. 

Photographs.

I know I kind of disappeared but I'm still writing!
...................................................................

Finding an old camera stored away,

in a cracked, old leather case.

I blow the dust off its ancient shell

preparing to unearth its history.

 I open the box carefully,

as if I were handling explosives.

I cough and choke as a musky aroma fills the air.

The camera is an antique.  The film still in perfect place ready to take a sudden shot.

I imagine the pictures it has taken, the places it has been and the memories it has seen.

Such memories captured in a single image.

Happy memories.

Funny memories.

Never sad.  

Nobody takes pictures of sad moments.  Those memories stay in our mind, imprisoned forever.

But although most photographs are happy. They aren't real.

They could v'e just been painted by hand.

The perfect smile, prepared and presented.

Then the picture is taken and the smiles fade.

We become human again until the next time.

We keep photographs to remember special times, when our minds no longer can.

Or , to show our pride for our family, friends and achievements.

Each one, a relic that we many pass down through generations

to remind people of our existence.

Intrigued, I lift the camera out of the case and look around for inspiration.

Opposite myself stands a mirror.

My reflection slowly smiles back at me

as I aim and press the trigger.

In many years, I may look back at this piece of paper that portrays a simple image.

Something as simple as finding an dusty, old camera.

A click.

A flash.

A memory. 

“A photograph can be an instant of life captured for eternity that will never cease looking back at you.” 
―Brigitte Bardot

“Still photographs are the most powerful weapon in the world. People believe them, but photographs do lie, even without manipulation. They are only half-truths.” 
―Eddie Adams

Waiting for You

I had been sitting on the bench
for three hours
when you sat down
on the bench.
The air was tense.
Heavy with things not said,
so instead
we sat and watched a dog
siff the ground around
the bin and then
have a piss up the side.
Easier than to decide
how to say that I tried
to ring you twenty times
but just got your voicemail.
I had been sitting on the bench
next to you
for twenty minutes
before I noticed
that you were wearing my jumper.
The one with the stain
that remains
on the sleeve
refusing to leave
even after a 60 degree wash.
We had been sitting on the bench
for another hour
while all the time I scoured
my brain for the right words.
And then I could no longer wait
to tell you that I hate it
when you are three hours late
to meet me. 

Mary Sharples

Shapes...?

For the musicians of the Planet ;3

Capo: 3

Chord procession: Em, G, Am, C

EDIT: I've made a video, because I'm nice. If you watch it more than once - I'll set penguins on you. It's got a lot of mistakes (mainly me, or my voice) and it's only 360p because my webcam sucks. My hair also goes a bit mental half-way through, please ignore it or I will cry. ;____;
Also - if you share the link, I will personally destroy you. Good day.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MXzdT6T0i1g 

- - - - -

VERSE 1:

This is my square

It's not very round

It's got nice corners

I seem to have found

This is my square

Don't you think it's quite shapely?

I really do

I've been noticing lately

CHORUS:

Shapes! You make my world go round

Can't keep my feet on ground

Show my love through sound of music

x2

VERSE 2:

Square!

I've been tryna tell you

What'cha gonna do

If I leave you here...

Tonight!

I think it's gonna be alright

Circles gonna find me now

And take me away

CHORUS:

Shapes! You make my world go round

Can't keep my feet on ground

Show my love through sound of music

x2

A/N: This is all I have so far - and it's not finished. However, I seem to have hit an impasse, anyone with ideas for next verse please comment. ^_^

World Of Make Believe

Demanding people all around me
Who never can seem to agree
Conflicts here, arguments there
It all gets too much to bare
I want to leave, to escape
Why is everything so full of hate?

It's a long trek and I walk alone
My mind in the glorious world of its own
Thinking about far away lands, with purple skies and rain
The wind hits my face and its winter I blame
Then I wonder what I would feel if a tornado began to blow
And just like that I know what i'm doing when I get home!

Pulling out my pen and paper
All the hope and anger that was for later
As I leave the real world behind
I begin to lose track of time
I let the words flow from my mind to the paper
Given inspiration by the people and nature,

I make worlds of make believe!

Anger, hate, romance, fright
Oh, my God, what to write?
Two warriors against each other could being to argue?
Or a girl waiting for her date at the planned venue?
Maybe a superhero saving the world from an enemy?
Or a group of teens go into house haunted by an entity?


Pulling out my pen and paper
All the hope and anger that was for later
As I leave the real world behind
I begin to lose track of time
I let the words flow from my mind to the paper
Given inspiration by the people and nature,

I make worlds of make believe!


JK Rowling writes fantasy books, Harry Potter against Voldemort
James Patterson writes about crime fighting mortals who takes bad guys to court!
Roald Dahl writes children's books and short stories of wonder and mystery
Everything from books from now to way back in history
Comes from peoples imagination out of the blue
Then are sold as books by the very few.


Pulling out my pen and paper
All the hope and anger that was for later
As I leave the real world behind
I begin to lose track of time
I let the words flow from my mind to the paper
Given inspiration by the people and nature,

I make worlds of make believe!


I sit on my bed and scribble down combinations
Making characters and their conversations
deciding their destinies and final fights
their lowest times and their greatest heights

Stories need a place in life
How can we live without our make believe life?


Pulling out my pen and paper
All the hope and anger that was for later
As I leave the real world behind
I begin to lose track of time
I let the words flow from my mind to the paper
Given inspiration by the people and nature,

I make worlds of make believe!


As i leave the real world behind
I begin to lose track of time

I make worlds of make believe
I write worlds of make believe

To Phobos

I strip away the indolent cower
For fear did not create this tower;
Upon this rock it holds no power;

Over this wild being, restraint
Is not the palette, not the paint -
It will not mar, it will not taint,

Nor will it sacrifice the art
Inside the throbbing savage heart.
But it will be a burning part
Raging against eternal dark.

So bring the metal anvil through,
And let me smash the night in two,
Sheep herd, murmur quick adieus

To foul, troubled winters bleak.
For are storms quiet, are they meek?
Is not mad winter what men seek?

Is this what evolution primed
Year after year, time after time,
That man churn out falsetto mimes,
Whilst tired with his daily grind?

I will rise up, and say this much:
That disappointment cannot touch
Those men who shape their lives in such

Boundaries and chained confines
Which assets grasp and then refine
The future hope for the divine.

But neither can he feel the sun
Of bravery radiant upon
Green fields of dreams that he has spun
That only through action is won.

Undone

Uncoil the yarn, liberate the string,

Half of Kephisos dried up in the spring.  

Undo the cord, relinquish the rope,

Cut callidity from our dearest corpse.

Unravel the wool, tend to the thread -

We strip away our unforgotten dead.  

Random Meetings of a Gent and Lass

Maria was a lawyer,
A good one at that!
Famous around the world,
and she was going to meet President Barack,
For a court case hearing

David wanted to see his friend,
He hadn't seen since school.
To the US, he moved to a new job.
He remember when they were young and cool
But that was so long ago

The plane was on its way out
It's parts were old and worn
Yet the pilot had faith in the aging contraption
that he would fly, a last time, he sworn
Or god help him

Maria heard the announcer say,
that the plane wasn't setting off on time
And although she felt her rage boil
Its wasn't worth committing a crime
And she sat down on the only empty seat

David could feel a presents
Take seat beside him
He turned to see her jaw-dropping complication
But anxiety made her eyes seem dim
yet she was still very beautiful

Maria saw the guy next to her
turn and stare at her face
If she didn't see his goofy smile
she would have pulled out her mace
but found herself begin to talk

They spoke of everything
The reasons for the delay to life
David talked about his friend
While Maria told of her court case strife
Then the plane allowed them to board

Maria and David didn't want to part
So gave each other their phone, email and Skype
Then boarded the plane alone
Maria in 1st and David in standard alike
Wishing they could talk for a little longer

They never stopped talking after that
Weather it was text, calls or mail
One day they actually met again!
When traveling randomly to Australia by sail
And to the first holiday the couple had together <3

Echo System [part 1]

A/N: For my friend; because she bid me to write it.

Karolina - along with the plot we discussed, I also made your alter-ego character a badass. She doesn't smoke though... Also, I'm sorry that this is all I have so far, I'm looking to get the first chapter done over the weekend/next week. ^_^

___________________________

I'm sorry for the times
I killed your dreams
I'm sorry but I leave you here

- Here To Stay

Prologue

Next Stop, Atro City.

“Ms. Bak?”
Karolina's eyes shot open, and she instantly witnessed the silhouettes of two men stood above her. They had invaded the quite sanctity of her cell-like room, and already covered the window which was situated on the wall opposite the door.
“We need you to come with us.”
Trepidation ran through her entire body - what was the reason for all this secrecy. “Why?” Was all she answered.
“We’ll explain everything to you later, but we need your cooperation.” The tattooed man on the left was the one who answered her, he took a step towards her on the bed where she lay, but she recoiled away from him. She jumped from the furniture to back against the wall slowly, grabbing the torch from the bedside table instinctively. In all the movement, the sleeves on her shirt had ridden up her arm slightly, and the branded number on her wrist was easily visible, and the man who had been silent for the past few moments was the one who noticed it. He spoke a few words in a language she didn't understand, all the while pointing toward the scar.
“Enjoying the view?” Karolina retorted after a few moments of silence. She took a second to analyse the men who were keeping her temporarily captive. The man who usually spoke, on the left had both arms tattooed fiercely. Brilliantly drawn claw marks one one side, the snarling face of a wolf on the other. He also hailed a small, black haired mohawk and several piercings in his right eyebrow. The one on the right, however, only shared two similarities with his comrade - the smart grey waistcoats they wore, and the initials WOLF on the right side of their necks.
“Look, Ms. Bak. You can come ride in the car with us, or you can ride behind it. Your choice.” The tattooed monster answered in a disgruntled tone. Karolina weighed her odds; there was no way she could fight off even one of these men alone. A deep growling noise formed in the back of her throat, but only lasted a few seconds.
“There better be alcohol.” She murmured, glaring at the man who had spoken to her, then made her way forward and out of the room. Following the men while they walked, her dark eyes narrowing every time they glanced back at her.

Midnight Nightmare Train

It’s dark and it’s scary
 but don’t you feel lonely,
were screaming, were screaming
but come on in its cosy,

We’ll make room, enjoy the ride!
Do you know Mr. Jackal! Maybe Mr. Hyde?
Don’t you worry we’ll have a blast,
 well If you can run fast.

Mr. Reaper? Yes he’s here.
The pumpkin king? No my dear,
he’s rather busy this time of year
But don’t you worry, now don’t you fret,
good old Jack is here instead.

Try the fudge, or the punch,
it doesn’t look like you’ve had lunch,
Skin and bones, well that wont do,
What will the witches have to brew?

It’s dark, it’s scary
 but don’t you feel lonely,
were screaming, were screaming
but come on in its cosy.

Come join us on the last train down,
your going back to nightmare town,
Now don’t you run and don’t you fret
Or you will truly regret,
and feel many  kinds of pain upon;
 this midnight nightmare train.

(c) C.Devaney

Pixies and Agnes.

The sky was dark and the moon shone as the only radiance. I walked down the cobbled street with my little bag of sweets clutched tightly in my hand, as I pulled my cape tighter around me to guard my body from the cold. My parents would worry if I didn't get home soon so I picked up my pace as I made my way down the last part of the street and turned the corner. The little corner shop that was supposed to be there, wasn't. I must have taken the wrong street. I back tracked my path and found another cobbled street but this wasn't the right one either. I started to worry and I could feel tears starting to form in my eyes. I was lost and didn't know what to do. My dad had shown me a shortcut which ran through the forest behind our house. It was pretty dark and I had never been that way before on my own, but desperate times called for desperate measures. I soon found the forest and entered through a clump of trees. They were very tall trees so the only light the moon had provided was blacked out. The slight rustle of leaves from the wind and the occasional hoot of an owl was all I could hear. Pushing my way past the branches and bushes which clawed at me from all sides, I made my way further into the woods and tried to find a path to follow. Suddenly, I saw a flash of green ahead of me. It startled me and I fell backwards tripping over a root sticking up from the hard earth. I felt something else on the floor next to me, I quickly got up and rushed ahead in the direction of the flash of green.  I could hear noises behind me so I hurried on, deeper and deeper into the woods. 

That's when I saw the mysterious show. Lots of little childlike creatures were dancing around in circles, wearing miniature green outfits and pointy hats to match with their spiked ears sticking up underneath them.  Mesmerised, I advanced slightly, keeping myself hidden behind a big oak tree. The pixies were clutching tiny lamps which gave off a slight green glow and they were singing such a strange song:

She is indeed a wondrous witch with claws,

But this aspect of her, she rarely shows.

She lives down south in the cave in the Dave Hills,

And is the exact noise you hear when you scratch paper with your quills.

It is not your imagination playing on your innocent little mind,

It is in fact Black Agnes, just search carefully and clues you will find.

She possesses a taste for human flesh,

Especially you tiny ones, and turns you into mesh.

She’s made herself a comfortable home, which to you is known as Black Annis’ Bower;

But just remember, she was once a resident of the infamous London Tower.

We pixies are known to be her most loyal friends,

Anything we need, her share of fame or a little snack, she gladly lends.

So beware feisty children, remember to behave,

If not, she’ll have you as her slave.

 

I caught sight of a movement behind them where the tallest and widest tree in the forest stood. If I squinted, I could see it was stood in front of a sort of cave. It must have been my imagination but I was sure I saw part of the tree open and close like a door, as quick as a flash. As I stood watching the act in awe, I could sense something wasn't quite right. The tiny creatures seemed to be moving closer and closer towards me with every verse of their song.  Their queer voices became louder and louder and I noticed a dark shadow behind them which was also advancing. I wanted to run away but my cape had got stuck on a branch and the more I tugged the more it stayed knotted there. I was trapped. The Pixies were now right in front of me and they had made a gap in their formation  so that the black shadow could get a closer look at me. The shadow was a woman dressed all in black with a mad gleam in her eye and straggly black hair surrounding her head like a mane. Tied at her waist were several pieces of skin, which I believed had once belonged to other children my age. Instead of hands she had claws, similar to those of an eagle.  She lifted a crooked arm and in a quick movement the tree had vanished from in front of me. There was a sudden gust of wind which moved the trees so that the moon shone on her right claw as it was raised again and made its way in the direction of my neck.

*          *          *          *          *          *          *

(Co-written by me and Mich. She wrote the story and I wrote the song/poem)

NaNo WriMo

National Novel Writing Month

NaNo is an annual internet-based creative writing project which challenges participants to write 50,000 words of a new novel between November 1 and 30.

Writers wishing to participate first register on the project's website, where they can post profiles and information about their novels, including synopsis and excerpts. Word counts are validated on the site, with writers submitting a copy of their novel for automatic counting. Municipal leaders and regional forums help connect local writers with one another for holding writing events and to provide encouragement.

I just heard about this from some American friends - they go crazy over NaNo over there - and I thought I'd just pass over the information to you guys incase any of you wanted to join up and write. It's great because of the sheer number of people - you'll hopefully be able to get some really critique on your work if you submit any. ^^

If any of you post novels in NaNo - be sure to link us to them so we can read them as well! I'm hoping to submit a piece, but I may not have time. Also, I'm sure on the rules about collaborated pieces, although I don't think that they are allowed.

http://www.nanowrimo.org/

Arachnophobia

She despised the very existence of those foul creatures.

They were everywhere and she knew they were. They hid in every corner, behind every picture frame, in every cabinet, under every sofa and just watched. And she knew they were watching.

What creature or being would sit and hid just for the sake of it? No, they were watching her. Always watching.  Never doing anything. Just bidding their time till her guard was down.

She could feel their small beady eyes follow every limb as it moved, watched every muscle of her body as she twitched. She knew they were smiling their evil smiles that only the devil himself could have created, as she slept at night. Yet they did nothing, and not giving away a single part of their master plan that they had in store for her. That was the part she hated more than looking at them.

Then one day, they sprang into action. At first, she didn't notice. Not caring as she went around her daily routine. Cleaning her room, doing the odd jobs around the house that her parents asked her to do, played a game or two on her computer. Bit and bobs of fun around her business of the day.

The moment she wanted to go to sleep was the moment she noticed their change. Hanging around her room, sitting in their beds they expertly crafted while she wasn't around. Their tiny little squeals that sounded too much like laughter as she sunk into a clear corner. Away from the beasts that infested her room.

A big one began to move closer, causing her in voluntarily scream. She tried to make herself smaller as she pushed herself further into the corner. She cried for her brother, her Dad and as it laugh grew deeper as the creature grew bigger in front of her, she screamed for anything. The room grew smaller and the door felt like it was miles away as it continued to grow. Continued to laugh. Continued to fuel itself with her fear.  

After observing her for months and months tirelessly. This was their chance for revenge. Revenge for all their brothers, sisters, mothers, father, husbands, wives, sons and daughters she had killed. They knew they only had one shot to kill her with the thing she feared most. And this was their only chance.

She screamed as the giant creature dived at her, fangs dripping with venom that would kill her in seconds. Her life flashed before her eyes as she screamed her good bye to the world.

O.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

“Can you just please kill it!” She screamed as her Dad laughed at her. She still held a broom in her hands and refused to let her guard down while it was still residing in her room.

“But you’re screaming because of this little thing?” Her Dad laughed pointing at a small creature that sat as still as a rock.

“Yes! Now please just get rid of it!” She begged. Her Dad just laughed and captured it in a transparent tub and held a piece of cardboard underneath.

“Aww, put it’s so cute!” He said stepping closer to her.

“DAD!!” She screamed dropping the broom and running into the corner of her room.

"Okay, okay! Getting rid  of it." He said and let it scuttle out of the tub onto the window sill. "It's gone, Sweetheart." She let out the breath she didn't know she was holding.

"I hate spiders...." She growled.

Writing poems...

When we want to write a poem

it can be difficult to find

the right words.

We start with a blank page,

an empty canvas;

waiting for us to paint our story

upon it.

Some look for inspiration 

from the skies, the trees, 

the world outside.

Others write from the soul;

pouring out their feelings on paper.

Not all words have to be deep.

Our poems don't have to rhyme.

They could make no sense at all

as long as we let it out.

Because what use is a poem 

              

  if it is lost.

A poem should not mean.        But be.        -Archibald MacLeish

Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of of cheese.
		-G.K. Chesterton

The Donkey and Unicorn.

The baby unicorn who sat on the mushroom was probably the most magical unicorn there ever was. She was a bright white with a shiny blue mane and the most glittery horn anyone had ever seen.  She had a gift. The most amazing gift that any unicorn could have, the ability to sing. In every language possible too, English, French, Troll, Goblin....every single one. As she grew, her voice grew too. Soon enough, she was the youngest unicorn, at only 103 years old, to have such a magical talent, that could put to sleep even the most evil of creatures.  But for a silver lining, there has to be a cloud. Dora had a friend, but he wasn't really a friend, he envied Dora a lot, and his jealousy made him very mean. This, "friend" was called Robotron. Robotron wasn't a unicorn but just a little silly donkey.  One day Robotron and Dora were walking through a field when the donkey, being smaller than the unicorn, noticed a hole in the floor, just off the side of the path on which they were on.

 The donkey was fed up of Dora's singing so he said, pointing over to the other side of the path, "Hey look over there!" 

Of course, Dora did look and so did not see the hole in the floor. The unicorn fell through, and the donkey laughed. Robotron was about to trot away when he noticed that Dora's horn had caught on the side of the hole. It looked very painful. The unicorn shouted for help and started to cry. Robotron felt very guilty and so picked up a twig in his mouth and used it to pull his friend to safety. 

  "I'm sorry!" shouted the donkey as he hugged the unicorn, "I'm just a silly little donkey but you're a magical unicorn!". 

Dora looked sympathetically to her friend, hugged back and said, "It's ok. You're not just a silly little donkey. You're very special, don't forget that." 

The donkey and unicorn stayed friends for a very long time. 

Christopher Harding.

The name’s Christopher Harding

(Or Chris for short).

To begin with, he may seem a bit startling,

But some regard him as the friendly sort.

 

Yes, he’s ginger, and yes, he’s blind,

But he is young and tall

(though far from kind),

And loves to play football.

 

A master of taekwondo he is,

And also the King of guitar.

He once had a crush on Liz,

And even Melon – her car.

 

He always feels obliged to listen to his audio books

Every now and then.

Mainly to keep well away from old crooks,

And brood alone in his den.

 

Others think he is a funky dude,

Keeping hundred and fifty-six cats is only one reason;

And also because oranges are his favourite food,

And he’s forever going on about treason.

 

This forgetful young man,

Who is deeply in love with his pet donkey,

Comes from a long dead clan,

And sees this as extremely funny.

12/09/12
(Written in our first Creative Writing class. Character created by the planet125 crew (: )

In Hiding

The wind blew angry as the lone figure walked around the grave yard, armed with a rusty shovel and a dim, over sized, torch. He staggered past a large grave that had been withered by the weather over the years, making any fear touching it as it might disintegrate into dust. Behind it hid the person the figure was searching for, breathing in the crisp cold weather; she listened to the quiet thumping that came from the figures stagger. Soon it was silent.  She was scared, she wasn't ready for the fate this thing had in store for her. She needed to get away and she needed help, she needed to get away. She took a deep breath and decided that was her chance to run. And she took it without a second thought. All she knew was that she had to get away from that psychopath's before he was the last thing she saw on this planet.

Behind walls.

How can buildings stand so tall and proud

when they are home to a species of such evil?

Their architectural walls deceive those who 

pass by, totally unaware of the inhabitants inside.

An empty house could stand for many years

unnoticed and ignored.

Yet it could be holding an eternal secret

which may never be discovered,

as the walls eventually crumble

and become the dust of the earth.

Some may stand noble and attractive,

yet their owners may be swines.

Those that go unnoticed,

fitting in

with each other; 

a clone to the house next door.

The residents attempting 

to be perceived as 'normal'.

Lines of streets, clusters of villages.

Everyone locked away, hiding their secrets,

whilst they prepare to betray the outside world.

Dishonest people. 

They become two different portraits of the same

mind, on the opposite sides of a door.

A leaky roof, broken windows,

vintage wallpaper pealing off the damp walls

revealing memories and stories

which remain forgotten.

Humble people, scientists and writers

disappear with time 

as the walls which once held their secrets

collapse and dissolve before their

true stories can be discovered.

Marble, I perceive, covers a multitude of sins. 

― Aldous Huxley

Harry Potter, I hate you.

Harry Potter I hate you.
Your glasses are really unfashionable
and you always think you can save the world.
You can't.
Voldemort will win in the eighth book.

An Ode to an Oversized Paperclip

You rest on my desk
like  a very small space ship
on a mission to bring order
to the chaos of my life.
The smoothness of your cold curves
is only partially marred by
the regularly spaced indentations
of your outer edges.
My attention is caught by
your metallic complexion
which shimmers in the
stark fluorescent lights.
Your size makes you tower above
others of your kind
proud and confident
secure in the knowledge
that you alone can hold the most paper.
Oversized paperclip,
if only you could have the realisation
that you hold together my life
not just my documentation. 

The Girl Who Lived

It was now or never, it was up to us to save the world.
"Ar' yeh ready?" asked Hagrid.
"Yes." I replied.
We hopped onto our carousel horses, his was black, mine a beautiful magical unicorn. The horse and unicorn set off down the track, quickly picking up speed. I felt as if I was flying. We turned corners, went up hills and sped down them, until:
"NOT SO FAST!" shouted the talking shark.
I floated in the air in front of him, with my wand. We fought until I, of course, won and he floated lifeless in the air. Back on our pretty plastic horses, we carried on along the winding track. It was quite pleasant. Then we saw him. The dark wizard who we had to kill so that everyone could live happily again. Me and Hagrid had to kill He Who Must Not Be Named, or the world would die.
We got out our magical wands and sent spell after spell at each other. Hagrid vanished so it was now up to me to save the world. I dodged his spells and he dodged mine. We were both hovering in the air when I sent the ultimate spell in his direction. Lord Voldemort was dead. I HAD SAVED THE WORLD!
Unfortunately, it was all just a dream.

Listen to me monkey man..

If you choose to control me, mess with my mind

I won’t complain.

Just let me hear the music, let me feel again.

No one else can hear you, I’l lock the pain inside.

I’ll hide your secret safe away,

whilst you control my mind.

I’ll slip into the darkness

beneath the icy depths.

Behind your cloak of craziness,

I’ll breathe my final breath…

"We Stopped Checking For Monsters under the bed, 

because we realized they were inside us" - Stephen King.

Run, Wolf, Run.

See the ocean down and stars above you,
Through the rays of light that shine before my eyes;
You're gonna pick you up to fly away with you.
- Airplane

-    -    -

Run, run, run, Mr Wolf -
It's not dinner time yet.
Hide, hide, hide, Mr Wolf -
Just don't get upset.

Your growls and barks,
Will set off sparks -
So carefully does it, Wolf.

Rush, rush, rush, Mr Wolf - 
Those cows were not for eating.
Dash, dash, dash, Mr Wolf -
Yet those hocks you're still attacking.

The heat and sweat,
It makes you fret - 
So don't stop now, Wolf.

Duck, duck, duck, Mr Wolf -
Over the meadows you flew.
Fly, fly, fly, Mr Wolf -
Your ending is clear to construe.

Heart beat stops.
Grey fur drops.
Poor, wretched, Wolf.

catharsis

lapsing water

late at dark 

from the fire

whispers hark

i crawl across

a shallow marsh

deep through wild

under an arch 

i bury clothes

i shed my skin

i lose myself

and then give in

Creative Writing Blog

If you are a member of Planet 125 and you want to be part of our online writing community and demonstrate your weird and wonderful creative talents on our blog, just send your gmail email address to m.sharples@stmarysblackburn.ac.uk with your name and I'll send you an invitation to be an author of the blog. Mary

Revenant.

Eyes that stare at me,

Increase the pressure of the words that beat my dignity down. 

-  Thunder Clap.

_______

To all those with quandary,

And all those with none,

There's certain steps of regimen,

However unconventional.

If you have a virus,

That you want to release;

Tell it to the bigger cats,

For they help it cease.

If a friend did nearly stab you,

And anger clouds your mind;

Don't throw out your reason,

Remember you're not dead, this time.

If you are a cat amid cats,

And you try to be a lion;

Do not meow in front of them,

But do not roar either.

Also, while trying to be a lion,

If you take out a bird or two,

Don't tell your kitty friends;

"He who killed the birds - was you."

But, always think it through,

What can this mask produce?

For if a lion plants a seed,

The cat inside must bear that weed.

So for the conclusion;

Just eradicate this obsession,

It's only your illusion,

Which established this aggression.

Alternate cats aren't so vainglorious,

To just assume such obsess.

Perhaps you should re-adress,

Rather than trying to impress.

Being anonymous is a lifeline 

Being anonymous is shutting the world away.

Away from all the judging,

Away from all the labelling.

To pour your soul on a single document, 

To pour your heart on a single page.

Oh! Anonymous, we secretly understand. 

Even if it's something we cannot stand. 

To avoid, or to confront,

Is the constant battle within;

Reaching up to a point where it feels like a heavy burden,

A sin.

Get away!

My feet pound the pavement, one step at a time. My heart beating in rhythm. In fear. I have to get away. I can't let him hurt me anymore. I wipe the blood from my face, my mouth still filled with a familiar metallic taste. I can still feel his bare hands around my neck as I run through darkened alleyways. I am no longer scared of him, I just need to escape. I stumble in the blackness, my legs collapsing underneath my worn out body, cutting my hands on broken glass bottles left by yesterdays drunks. I have no idea where I am, but I don't care. As  long as I am as far away as possible from him. I touch my arms, feeling the bruises and scars. Each one telling its own story, each memory its own. As I gasp for breath I remember how he used to be. I was his princess, his one and only. My memories flash before me like an old movie, flickering against the night sky. How I wish he would pick me up, kiss my forehead and tell me everything was going to be okay. Then carry me home as if I were still a baby. 

What changed? My mother used to speak so highly of him, always reminding me how lucky we were to have him. Of course I didn't know then that she was hiding her own scars. I was angry at her, asking why she would stay with a man who hurt her. I know now. How difficult it is to leave someone you love, yet hate at the same time. Its like being trapped, knowing that if you escape you will be hunted down. 

My heart stops for a moment. A cold shiver crawls up my spine. I hear his voice call out to me in the silence. His voice sweet but I can see past this disguise he has used so many times before. I cover my bloody mouth with my equally damaged hands in an attempt to mask my terrified breathing. His footsteps thunder louder, closer to where I hide so pathetically. I desperately pray, hoping he will pass by. He stops. I can feel the heat of his thick legs near my face, wondering if he can see me. Without thinking I let out the silent breath I had been holding in just as he turned to walk away. We both freeze on the spot simultaneously. I wait.

Has he seen me?

I wrote this straight from my head. Not brilliant but I hope you like it. xx

Planet125: WEEK 3

 Welcome... 

(bet you all didn't see this coming, too much in awe of the Planet125 blog!)

Spot the post-it note!

I think the fact that I still haven't received my Hogwarts letter is finally sinking in... 

Farewell until we meet again! :-)