Happiness eroded -

Like bright water colors

Washed away from a painting

By the tears

Of a million gray clouds

That have crept up silently

Leaving only trace pencil marks

On a once vivid canvas

at noontime,

we meet beneath the trees

and i sob over the earth's rotation.

i want it to stop trembling, i cry.

he reminds me:

want nothing.

life never works the way we want it to.

it's a need, i reply. i need to feel steady. i can't stand on unstable soil. the grit is so kneaded into my skin that i am afraid i'll never come clean.

he answers:

will the pressure underground keep you upright? will it keep you pure? a headstone is not a home. the world doesn't owe you anything

yet.

he tells me:

the sun will bow to you one day

when you deserve its light.

until then,

you are a slave to the sky.

how can i serve it?

stay humble

and beg for rain.

there's nothing a mother loves more

than the chance to feed her starving children.

and if i'm not hungry?

do you feel full?

are you satisfied?

can you look me in the eyes and tell me you don't feel counterfeit?

tell me you don't feel like you're suffocating,

tell me you don't feel like you're stuck sleeping in a coma you can't shake

while the rest of the world leaves you behind in its wake.

tell me

you don't feel like people like us were built to break, and this city was designed to tear us apart

muscle by muscle,

headline by headline in the news and every body we lose to the trenches.

do you see the effect?

this is the chaos we're creating.

if you can proclaim with a straight face that this life doesn't leave you aching,

then i'll apologize for shining light into your eyes,

but i need to know if you're listening.

do you hear me in your chest?

ears ringing, louder, louder—

are you prepared to confess?

heart beating, faster, faster, faster—

are you ready to live in the light?

yes.

I stumbled down the flight of stairs

Suspended in the air like a bird.

Then there was darkness.

I opened my eyes, face down,

My face wet with blood,

"You" hovered over me,

Ready to take me with you.

“I pray to God, let me live!” I shouted.

“I want to live! Lord have mercy!”

I kept shouting this over and over again

Desperately wanting to live

To be given another chance

Just when I felt your arm pulling me

Back into darkness,

I heard the loveliest voice a person could ever hear.

“Honey, are you alright?”

Baby......

Teach me again

About love

For I've lost the rhythm

Somewhere...... in the wind

Darling......

Show me again

A little passion

So I could remember

What it's like to be shivered

In the blues of intimacy

Honey......

Will you write me again

Another romance

For I yearn to touch

Those beautiful words of emotion

You see......

I've been strayed away

Too far from your reach

But now.....

I want to go home

Back into your arms

And to claim back my heartbeat

-Jessa

The most obvious thing that researchers have observed writers do after they’ve chosen a topic, considered the audience, and planned is write, or some would say draft, what is likely to be the first of many copies of their work. Here is where writers juggle a lot of balls because they are trying to stay focused on their topic, audience, and basic organization. If they have a written plan, they are likely going and back and forth to stay on task or revise it as needed. As we all know, the writing often takes control of the writer. The writer might have every intention of writing science fiction but realizes that romance is dominating. If it’s creative writing, the writer might have to stay alert to literary devices, such as imagery or flashbacks. The better the first draft, the less work there is in revision.

There are as many styles as there are writers for getting that first draft done. Some writers are very detailed oriented and may spend time later on elaboration. Some writers see the big picture and double back to fill in the details. Some writers labor over every sentence or misspelled word while others address such matters later. The main thing is to know that while it’s worth knowing how others approach writing and incorporating those aspects that work for you, the truth is that a writer’s style is an extension of his/her personality, and there’s no use trying to write in a way that does not speak to you.

The final thing I’d like to mention, especially to inexperienced writers, is that when writing, a question is always being asked or answered. If a writer gets stuck, he/she can always read what he/she has written and ask a (who, what, when, where, why, how, etc.) question to push the writing along. While it is quite mechanical, it keeps the writer moving back and forth from the general to the specific with some degree of ease, which is a valuable writing skill. Refinement can take place during revision, editing, and proofreading, which we will discuss later.

#littlewhitenote

jcv2016

I can smell summer in your hair 

Organic 

Like soil newly unearthed 

By the rains 

Your skin 

Humid 

Slick from playing in the clouds too long

That sank too low 

Pushed by the breeze 

Off the coast 

Were you alone?

Your eyes 

Still flicker with a firefly's dance 

Did I ever have a chance 

To compete with Summer's romance 

I'll share you 

I'll share you with the sun 

And kiss your skin 

I'll share you with the ocean 

To soothe your heart again

And I'll wrap around your body 

With the wind 

River of romance

washing the 

capital of France

where Hemingway

weaved absynthe

dreams and

Toulouse made

tall ladies prance. 

River of grace

storm clouds

may gather 

but for art's sake

halt your advance

before you wipe

the enigmatic smile

off Lisa's face.