Thread: Creative Writing & Poetry Thread

Results 1 to 5 of 5
  1. #1 Creative Writing & Poetry Thread 
    Senior Member PSP Mad Hacker xLostCauzex's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jul 2008
    Posts
    592
    Well I've taken a glance at the Literature thread and I'm pretty sure we have some writers on this site. High School and College Students linger here, so why not regurgitate the stories you've written for school. From fiction short stories to poetry, all forms of literature is accepted. You can share a work that may not be yours but has impacted or influenced you. So write on!

    I present to thee, a short story I've written and shared for my Creative Writing Class.

    Tribulations Of Birth


    “Hold my hand” she said, and in that moment a marvelous ominous feeling came over the room, with a tear in his eye he told himself “not only is this a birth of a child but a birth of a father, the creation of a new life.” With hesitant hands, Emily hands her beautiful work of art to the hands of a stranger. “Samantha, that’s her name” Emily said in weary smile, while watching the nurse carry her daughter through those desolate halls. The doctor also leaves the room, leaving the couple in awkward silence. Joseph leaned over and kissed his wife on the cheek. “I can’t believe we made something beautiful, maybe we should make another one” he said jokingly. Abruptly the doctor rushed back through the doors with his head down like a child who was caught telling a lie.

    “Samantha might not make it” the doctor said trying to sound professional. This doctor, a man of 5’4 and balding seemed as if he has never had to deliver bad news. It seemed like he only took this job to feel the recognition of delivering a child even though, he himself would never be able marry and live life’s pleasures. “What’s wrong with my baby?” Emily responded in alarm. “I’m sorry but there is a 40 percent chance Samantha might not live, she’s having a hard time breathing.” In shock Emily reached for Joseph’s hand like a blind man reaching for the person beside them. Unknown at the time, but a father’s fury seemed to rise up from Joseph. “Don’t tell me that your sorry, tell me that she is going to be okay!” Joseph shouted with such vigor and anger that even himself was surprised. “I’ll do my best” was what the doctor whispered before he silently left the room.

    No longer could Emily take the stress, she passed out from fatigue. Joseph constantly smoked outside, nervous and shaking. He walked back into the hospital and grabbed himself a drink from the vending machine, he sat down. “Joseph Jones? Dr. Garrison would like to see you” yelled the nurse from across the room. Joseph looked like an insomniac, bags under his eyes and smelt heavily of cigarette smoke. He walked through those same desolate halls where Emily saw her baby taken away. He sat down in a quiet room, white walls and bright lights just like in the movies. His nervousness made him sweat and jittery. “We are scheduling an operation tomorrow for Samantha but she is struggling between life and death” he paused “Of course your insurance won’t be able to cover it all and I’m afraid that’s going to leave a big hole in your pocket.” Joseph froze in thought, his lips parted with a quiver as he spoke calmly “My daughter is priceless.”

    He brought his wife home with him from the hospital and put her to bed. She was tired and worn out from birth and the fear of losing her first child. He walked out of the room quietly and entered the room he and his wife made for his daughter. The walls were painted blue in hopes for a boy, but repainting would have to wait because the paint was still wet. He sat down on the carpet floor staring at the crib that was reserved for his hopes and dreams. While in the hospital, Samantha was fighting for her life edging between heaven and earth. The next morning Emily woke up sick in bed, her mother believed that she was sick of grief but Joseph believed it was because of the labor.

    He constantly took care of Emily in till his cell phone rang within the confines of his pockets. Struggling to grasp them between the keys he finally was able to grab a hold and picked up the call. “Hello?” responded Joseph, “Hi this is Nancy at Valley Hospital, Dr. Garrison would like to speak to you but I am afraid that you must speak to him in person” replied the nurse. Joseph hung up instantly after she finished her sentence, he felt jittery again. “Who was that” asked Emily in a hoarse tone, “It was the hospital” Joseph replied. A minute of awkward silence awaited but surprisingly Emily spoke with energy and said “Please promise me that she is okay”, “I promise” he whispered and walked towards the door. When he finally arrived at the hospital Dr. Garrison was waiting for him in his office. “She is currently having the operation right now, we wanted you to be here for the defining moment” he said. “Is she okay?” Joseph asked, “We will find out, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait in the waiting room” the doctor suggested.

    “This is a miracle!” said the surgeon, “She is going to live.” The surgeons slowly patched up Samantha and at the same time Joseph was looking outside, “The leaves are blowing in the wind” he told himself. It was autumn and it was natural for the leaves to blow in this time of year, but if you notice when the wind blows the leaves never know where they end up. “Poor leaves, poor me” whispered Joseph, “Mr. Jones!” yelled Dr. Garrison rushing through the waiting room doors. “Samantha has made it through the operation but it seems she had some brain damage in the process” warned the doctor. “She isn’t going to be as fast mentally as the other children but she will live and that is what counts” said Dr. Garrison with a smile on his face. Joseph was happy and didn’t care if his child was different, “When will I get to bring her home to her mother” Joseph replied. “Tomorrow morning, but remember to let her rest” said Dr. Garrison, “I will” replied Joseph in glee.

    He jumped into his car in the parking lot and began to scream with joy. He remembered the leaves outside the window, “Man, I guess eventually the wind will let me have my way” Joseph whispered. The car ride was unusually longer then normal, he couldn’t wait to tell his wife. He was about a dozen or more blocks to his house when he decided to pull over and his call his wife because he couldn’t contain the news to himself. The phone rang but no one picked up so he decided to call again. After 5 consecutive calls he rushed home going past the speed limit. Rushing through the halls of his house, he saw his wife lying lifeless in bed. “Emily, wake up!” he yelled, but she wouldn’t awake from her eternal slumber. Crying frantically he put his head against her arm and found a note clenched in her fist. It read simply “Always there”, he wiped his tears after reading those words and called the ambulance. Speechless he walked outside to see the leaves blowing in the wind.
    Last edited by xLostCauzex; 09-07-2008 at 05:03 AM.



    Next Review: Soon....

    Quote Originally Posted by robby10ant View Post
    u would know tht lmfao...

    it doesnt seem like ne1 on here likes u very much
    Reply With Quote  
     

  2. #2  
    Senior Member PSP Mad Hacker
    Join Date
    Aug 2008
    Posts
    898
    Hey XLostcauzeX ^_^ I'll post what I am working on...

    I'm working on a novel called A World Apart. Its going to be a mix of horror, mystery, and there will be a lot of poems and deeper meaning to it. Its located in my home town, so if it ever gets published I guess you guys will know who I am. Just by then I should have some good money if it ever sells. The poem is the introduction to the book.

    This poem is copyrighted by my town's newspaper, my school, and myself. So if you claim it as your own you're going to have legal issues shoved up your ass...

    A World Apart
    I feel a world apart
    with darkness gripping at my heart
    which is pounding with its start
    this shock of feeling pain
    of which I have nothing at all to gain
    as I stand left in the rain
    and with a ringing sound
    with darkness swirling, turning, sinking down
    and with that I turn around
    and the flames of a hell
    that has a dreadful, awful, neglected smell
    and to my detest do swell
    and sinfully do I swear
    and shockingly, without a doubt, I dare
    to walk into that does scare
    that opening, that bad door
    and that world I was in horribly swore
    so that at dawn the blood did score

    Any responses? Or is it too grim? Oh well...the book is horribly gory and shocking. I'm currently working on the setting, the "monsters", and the background story to it and the main character.
    Last edited by MuffinlyBliss; 09-07-2008 at 04:59 AM.
    Reply With Quote  
     

  3. #3  
    Senior Member PSP Mad Hacker xLostCauzex's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jul 2008
    Posts
    592
    Just call me Lost,

    I like the idea for the poem, but the rhythm is off, i don't know if that was intentional or not but it felt awkward reading it. The Rhyme scheme sometimes felt overused but other then that it's a pretty good poem.



    Next Review: Soon....

    Quote Originally Posted by robby10ant View Post
    u would know tht lmfao...

    it doesnt seem like ne1 on here likes u very much
    Reply With Quote  
     

  4. #4  
    Senior Member PSP Mad Hacker
    Join Date
    Aug 2008
    Posts
    898
    Quote Originally Posted by xLostCauzex View Post
    Just call me Lost,

    I like the idea for the poem, but the rhythm is off, i don't know if that was intentional or not but it felt awkward reading it. The Rhyme scheme sometimes felt overused but other then that it's a pretty good poem.
    Its to symbolize how lost and confused the main character is. She is a pretty awkward character inside and out. And yes, the rhyme scheme is used a lot. The numbers 6-10-7 are constantly used if you didn't notice that. And thank you for the compliment ^_^

    My eyes are hurting right now...so I'll read the short story tomorrow if I get the chance. I have an issue with font size...everything is smaller to me then it actually is. Plus...its worse now that I'm tired...
    Reply With Quote  
     

  5. #5  
    Super Senior Member PSP Elite Hacker Pirate-M.Lifnen's Avatar
    Join Date
    Feb 2007
    Posts
    3,010
    I liked the idea for the poem, yeah, but the rhyme scheme was a bit much for me. It seems like when a poem is written with such a heavy rhyme scheme, it limits the poet into just words that rhyme with the previous. That can force the writer into writing lines that don't flow either.
    But it was dark, had good imagery.

    Lost: Good ending. I liked it.

    Sorry, not to be random, but when you said the doctor was 5'4", I think that makes the reader think too much as to how big or small that really is. If you were to say the doctor was the size of ...idk, I can't think of anything right now, but using an image rather than a measurement, especially for describing a character, is much more powerful.

    I liked the imagery, but I noticed a repetition of images that I wasn't sure went anywhere. The hands in the first paragraph, the desolate halls.
    Also, you described the hospital setting with darker words, even when the story was happy. I liked that.


    Okay, I don't have any recent fiction stories, but I did just write a personal narrative, so here's that:

    I sit alone in the rear car of the train jostling about to the rhythmic beating of the tracks beneath me. The itchy cloth of a repulsive, sparkly, black boa around my neck. My sultry, steamy, vest tight around my torso. Its many buttons straining to remain fastened with every breath. The threatening feelings of claustrophobia setting in. The sour taste of German gummy candies making me sweat, lightly wetting my brow and lip. I chew, and can barely manage to swallow the sour grapefruit candy. My throat swollen and dry. I rise, prepared to perform for the masses. I nod to the German police official in the darkened far corner eying me. Taking a swig from the stale lukewarm soda-water on hand, I covertly signal to my associates. I give them a second to prepare, double checking my European dollar store cheetah vest purchased less than an hour prior. They're ready. I'm ready. The crowd unwittingly awaits.

    Rolling my hips awkwardly with my first few steps, moving into the next train car, I begin. Swaying my midsection about, bringing it around town, a haphazard dance begins to form from my motions. Grabbing the scarf, I swing my arms and twist my pelvis, slowly pressing forward, down the length of the train car. Against their will, the riders of the train attempt in vein to look away. Mesmerized by my moves, it becomes clear, I am at this point, and forever on, highly respected by the German community. My provocative gestures grabbing the attention of all the ladies, and at least one gentleman. I look back, recalling some of the greatest moves from 90's boy band music videos--the popular music in Germany at the time. I rely on classics such as the lean and lay, the 3 point party time technique, and, the crowd's favorite, the dolphin's flipper. I make up maneuvers as ridiculous and bizarre as possible to add to my winning dance routine.

    Suddenly I lose it. Letting loose of one of the ends of the snake-like boa, causing it to nearly fall to the floor. I locate the other end of the scarf, laying flaccid upon my breast. Grabbing hold and flying my arm upwards with such a grand gesture as to whip the tail into the air, sending the tassels flailing wildly, as I regain the control of the beast. Both hands now firmly on the scarf, on opposing ends, I raise it over my head while simultaneously stepping one leg over the lap of my teacher. Skillfully positioning my backside within mere centimeters of the rider sitting in front of and directly across from my teacher. Along with the brand name, this passenger provided an accurate thread count of my jeans later as she exited the car. Tossing the scarf behind my teacher's neck, I began the gentle see-sawing motion with the scarf. Each ebb and flow of the scarf brings a new shade of red, darker every time, to my teachers face. Within seconds, she pushes me away, forcing me over her legs, and back a bit, into the rider sitting in front of my teacher. Moments earlier, that passenger sat in that seat, expecting to ride to her destination and get off without incident, as she has hundreds of times prior, but, luckily for her, today was different. Today was a day of train dancing. Somehow my teacher is able to resist the allure of the cheetah vest.

    Shocked, surprised, but not willing to let it ruin my routine, I move on. I proceed down what's left of the train car, twirling about, displaying disciplined skill and masterful technique. The looks of pure awe and desire, jealous of the beautiful ability before them. I ignore their jealous hatred, and dance on, improvising my routine. No longer caring to use the prop around my neck, I'm now letting it all hang out as I sway from side to side like a drunken single mother at a seedy bar. I spin, and turn around, heading back down the way which I came. The show nearly over. Fully confident that I've dazzled the passengers into a stupor. Midway back, near my teacher yet again, I jump slightly, spreading my legs while airborne, pointing my arms out. It becomes clear that I something much more than an amateur train car dancer. Something much more important, loved, and adored. I take up the width of the aisle, spreading my legs wide, I fall. Marvelously. That great gesture, made up on the spot, proved to be a highlight of the performance. Landing face up, arms extended towards the sky, making an offering to the heavens. I wait a healthy pause of ten seconds. Long enough embarrass oneself in such a position; bloodcurdlingly long. After my pause, I coolly rise up, as if I had been laying down in the aisle like I was supposed to be doing and calmly walk away, into the darkened rear car of the train. Shortly thereafter, the train stops, releasing the passengers from their trapped, jail-like seats. All passengers on the car decide they'll wait at that station for the next train home. Recalling the events loudly as the door begins to shut. The train takes off, and I'm never to be seen again.
    Last edited by Pirate-M.Lifnen; 09-07-2008 at 02:16 PM.
    Rules, rules, rules. WinRAR
    The most important thread you'll ever read..

    "The mods look like the gestapo; 'do as we say, not as we do.'"
    Reply With Quote  
     

Similar Threads

  1. need help writing a template for new site
    By admin in forum Site News and Announcements
    Replies: 4
    Last Post: 04-13-2010, 10:56 PM
  2. Replies: 0
    Last Post: 06-10-2009, 07:26 AM
  3. thinking of...writing
    By kuatous in forum PSP Software, Firmware & Plugins
    Replies: 12
    Last Post: 05-13-2009, 07:09 AM
  4. Writing code for PSP
    By Tersius in forum PSP Homebrew
    Replies: 7
    Last Post: 03-31-2008, 01:00 AM
  5. Portable Hdd With Writing Capability
    By gonzo416 in forum PSP Hardware & Repair
    Replies: 5
    Last Post: 03-20-2008, 04:11 AM
Posting Permissions
  • You may not post new threads
  • You may not post replies
  • You may not post attachments
  • You may not edit your posts
  •