For this post I thought I’d talk a bit about what I have learned this past year from doing this blog. At the beginning, I really thought that creative writing, particularly poetry could become a passion of mine. Writing poems was something that I started doing very casually about a year ago as a means of getting over being in a depressed mood or any issues that I might have been having at the time. As this year went by though, I found myself needing to write less and less. Some of the blog posts would just feel forced and some of the material was not as genuine as I hoped it would be.

For me, my high school opinions/problems were much more conducive to writing poetry than my college problems. In high school, I was much more emotional and brooding than I am now. I would sit and think about love and the meaning of life, but now all my time is taken up by intense work and intense relaxation; There’s really not much middle ground between the two. My mind is preoccupied with more concrete things now that do not yield for very poetic material. I would probably have quite a hard time writing a heartfelt poem about economic theory or the dental formulas of primates, but that’s just me.

So in the end, maybe I’ll return to being a passionate writer one day, but for now my focus is in the real world (not the metaphorical one). It makes me kind of sad that my creative side is either hibernating or dead, but also happy at the same time. With thoughts directed towards more productive things like work, I find myself much more inclined to succeed than in the past. I guess at some point we all have to grow up and focus on the real world sometimes. Thanks for reading this year!

This week, I’d like to talk a bit about a creative writing club that I have been involved with lately. It is called Words club. I found out about this club through a live music event held in the Findlay Commons that was a joint performance effort by both Words club and and Songwriters club. The event was very interesting. People from Songwriters club collaborated with writers from Words club to make some really cool music and put on some very creative performances.

Words club in particular is quite a cool idea. Every week the club assigns a prompt that each member can write about in any way they choose. Some people write short stories, others write songs and poetry. At the beginning of each meeting, everyone reads what they have written and we discuss it as a group. Members give good feedback about pieces, helping each writer improve every week. After that, we sometimes will do collaborative writing or group freestyle poetry/rapping. The people there come from all different writing backgrounds so its really interesting to hear different genres of writing about the same topics.

This club has definitely helped me grow as a writer and I would recommend anyone interested in writing to attend a meeting or go to an event. They do different live performances at venues most weeks. I plan on trying to read some of my stuff live at some point in the next few weeks. I think doing things like this can greatly improve one’s writing and speaking abilities which are definitely things that everyone could improve upon.

rowin backwords up river

Rockin the boat cold shivers oar slivers in my hand

Sand rubbing against the bottom, run aground

Heart breakin sound, were sinking lost but never found

One way out

One way south

Down stream in this dream held together by the seams of silk

Sipping mothers milk it spills falls to the floor with the pills

A poor mans ectasy, Saturday night specialty, Emcapsulatin words that we doubt

Bring her about, scout out the layout, forget the pay out, forsake the way that

We passed as passers by pass out pamphlets that we burn out, can’t we beat the turn out, shout the way to burn outs who lost the hope to turn around throw them a rope

Let me cope with no hope of ever leavin this boat, where I’m stranded dis-banded,

My thoughts candid but a little glitter of a shimmer from a lonely lifeless sinner,

Guides me back to the homely priceless miss hitter

I am not a poet and I know it for sure

I will not use words to wage war

I’d rather bore your brain with incomprehensible lore

That seems to pour from my weak wits

Ignoring the fits of a witless audience

Incomprehensible embodiment of roads we went

Down

Send this down, down, down,

To the depths of reason

Committing treason to your logic

Mock this project

That I don’t understand

Don’t reprimand

Try not to pry too deeply into why

I do what I do

Just do what you do

And we’re through

Through to the other side

Laws we refuse to abide by

Guide us wide of the goal that we tried

To accomplish, Vanquish, Conquer

Concurrently sure that we were right

Enemies laid down without a fight

Or a fight or flight reflex

Confidence of rejects reflects the message of mutiny all along

Words like song

Worlds lost and gone forever

With whatever light still shines to guide the way

As we jump into the fray

Throwing reason away

The fight ends today.

So I still couldn’t really think of anything to write about this week, so I decided to just write a poem about writer’s block itself. Still definitely not my best work, but I think it reflects the mood I’ve been in lately. Not being able to think of anything to write about is really frustrating to me, but only when I try to write stuff. Go figure. So anyway, here it is.

Writers block shocks me to the bone

Unable to hone in on the creativity

Thoughts centered on reality

Cordially accepting life’s fallacies

Apathy causing misery

Chained up mind seeking liberty

Free it!

Let loose the words onto the world

Sure to shake brains and make legs quake

Leaving pondering minds in my wake

I snap back to attack the page

Let out caged rage

Engage with the problem

Repay the piper

Let me be insightful

Without inciting a frightful riot

Writing to ease the burning sensation inside it

It being me

Me being free

Liberating a brain from excruciating pain

Insane to the core

Life becomes a chore and a bore

Just let me sore above the dismal shore

And keep creating

Without repeating and sounding conceited

But its tough to do

Emotions fighting logic

My brain in a coup

But creativity is winning

Conquering all, a new beginning

I don’t know much about human psychology (yet) but I do know that, for me, poetry can be therapeutic. I talked a bit about this last week while discussing the reasons that I write. This week, I want to go into a bit more detail and maybe speculate a bit about why this is true for me and many others.

There’s something comforting about spilling thoughts onto paper. Something about taking information that festers in your mind and letting it fester somewhere else for a while. Even though the transfer of thoughts to paper and “getting them out of your head” is metaphorical (the thoughts don’t just leave after) it also seems to be true. It’s kind of like taking out the trash. The garbage that you throw into the landfill doesn’t disappear, it just goes somewhere else. I’m not sure why, but writing feelings down, for me anyway, makes them go away for a while. This is why I often write about bad things in the world.

Writing can also have the opposite effect however. It is kind of strange, but I notice that writing things can also help solidify them in my mind. If I write about a certain thing or idea that I want to think more about, writing can also help me do that. If, for example, I write a poem about world piece, ideas flow through my head about different ways that it could be accomplished, and I remember those things later. Exactly the opposite effect that writing about bad things does for me.

So, whether you are writing about something to help forget it, or to help remember it, writing in general can help. The brain is pretty good at healing itself in various ways and I truly believe that writing can help it to do this.

I’m not really feeling like writing a poem this week. I haven’t really be into writing much lately; my focus has been elsewhere. Probably none of you could tell, but my poems last week were definitely not up to par and I don’t want to put anything else out there right now that is half-hearted. This week I just want to talk about some things more along the lines of creativity in general and the creative process.

I have to be in a very particular mood to want to write creatively. Im not sure if any of you guys ever feel like this, but for me, the right mood is a must. The particular state of mind is quite hard to describe though. It’s almost like a calm yet slightly sad state. I have to be chilled out enough to be able to sit down in one place (which doesn’t happen much) but yet my mind must be active enough to think of ideas and words that sound good together. Most of my poems are a bit dark, which is a reflection of this particular mood. Whether the theme of the poem is love, creativity, war, or writing itself, the same dark tone usually seems to prevail. If I’m totally happy and satisfied, I really don’t want to write; I’d rather hang out with friends or go out somewhere.

So anyway, continuing on with my personal process of writing… Assuming the mood is right, words just seem to spill out quite quickly. It really only takes me about 30 minutes to write a 250- 300 word rhyming poem. I’m not huge on revising my work or making it look pretty. There are definitely many ways on which my writing could be improved, but I honestly don’t care to try them. I write for myself (and kind of for this blog, but the blog is usually an afterthought) and that’s it. Once the therapeutic process of writing ends for me, my devotion to the particular piece is over. I’m really not trying to create art or impress people with what I have done. Writing is just an easy way for me to feel better if I am in a bad mood.

So, in the end, I have no true devotion to poetry as an art form. It just serves as a nice informal therapy and can be a good cure for the mind. I’m not sure about the next few posts, but I’m leaning in the direction of a more “blog style” blog from here on out. Maybe less poetry and more of an artistic commentary type thing, but, who knows?

Im not big on titling the things I write if you couldn’t tell from the earlier posts. I think titles can give false pretenses of what the reader should expect from the poem. Just noting that.

Masterful flaws feed impassable gaps in reason

Leaves fall and rot with changing seasons

Heading no warning leaning toward breathing in silence

Weeding out fallacies can be tiresome, tedious work.

It can hurt, lurking doubts perk ears toward lies

Concrete facts persist behind closed doors

Under floors of more untruth, uncouth in nature

Sitting on paper doesn’t make lies truth.

Inferior fires burn reality on pyres of fallacy

Doubting the premises, missing dillemas

If the pills fake don’t take it

Forsake it

If it’s true embrace it and face it

Despite the pain it may cause.

The say the truth hurts

But lingering lies burn holes

Greater in numbers

#2

Abide by the rules

Filling me, grilling me for answers

Strarstuck prancers dancing with demons

Feeding evil, reading lines left unsaid

For the undead rhyme with ped-fed crimes

To the sun brother, miss the moon mother

Wrinkling sounds wrap around, serenity

Passing the torch, eating crumbs from a bigger truth

A better situation, completing lines, fear facing

Embracing the end, my friend

We’ve go time to kill

Lines to spill

Onto paper waiting to be vaporized

In time, be fine, in a prime to guide brides

To misfit matches, missing byzantine dreams

Fear festers, a deep creep infesting and testing our hearts,

It starts with the spine tingling parts,

And takes over, a dark shadow comes closer,

Start to shake, look for an embrace, hope it does take away your life today.

But it’s fake, it’s nothing but a break from the norm,

Please, your just sitting in a dorm,

Chill out, let it spill out,

Be happy, its not sappy

Just let hope replace the fear, for we have nothing to fear but fear itself right?

Wrong.

There’s still death, running out of breath, plunging toward the abundant dark,

An eternity of apathy, an ocean of disparity, no air and no light to see,

If you believe that sort of thing.

But maybe deaths cool

Maybe in God’s kingdom youll rule

Or maybe your just an impressionable tool

Religion is strangling you dangling a false dream that might seem like heaven until the dream ends, its pretend, and you wake up to the nothingness that awaits us all.

Or maybe your going to hell.

Wouldn’t that be swell?

Burning in hell fires without attire, naked with your sins, quaking knees, shaking fiends all together forever.

Hmm. What’s to be afraid of?

I don’t believe it.

I don’t see it.

In a world where logic rules and fantasy is ruled out,

I must believe that my life is not some God’s project,

And if it is he should want to protect me and not forget me.

So in the end, we come back to the fear of fear being the only true fear,

So hear this and don’t be afraid, it’s okay, just make some lemonade out of the lemons that God gave, and be happy for the fact that we are here together, forget forever, live for the now because the now is all we have somehow.

I’ve been writing poems for about a year now and this is my first attempt at writing a slam style piece. It’s a bit confusing when read on paper, but sounds pretty cool out loud.

Simple words spill silently overflowin violently,

Wrinkling time defiantly, cant stop for the life of me, pullin life in sight of me,

Livin life in spite of me, dreamin dreams that fight with me,

Pullin me towards the life that we, hoped that we could live for free,

Craining my neck to see the shame and pain that we,

Live life avoiding, the hope to cope with the void that we,

Are trapped in, encapsulated illustrated on the perforated walls,

Echoing calls, against the moaning squalls, zoning towards alcohol honing in on the glass ball that is our love,

Our glove against the fires of high above,

That seem to wanna burn the scene of this peace dove,

But love can conquer horror

My words just seem to bore her,

So ill Shut up and just let the world adore her,

No, don’t let this go

If the flow of words, nouns verbs can be observed then write till every last nerve puts up the fight or flight reflex,

Ignore the vocal defects

PROTECT the mental wreckage

PERFECT the central message,

Its her, always has been, always will be

The reason I am me and not some other guy,

Not Some dope smoking hoe roping animal,

Choking on false words hoping to be accepted by the herd

TELL ME I AM Different, that I don’t fit, that what they think is legit is a misfit for me.

Im not one of you, I am her and she is me and only in her can I be free.

The world is ours, but also theirs, their stares will never ever disappear.

I wish that you were here.

I wish that I had the courage to say what should’ve been said long ago

On and on we go,

Separated to the point where all I wanna know,

Is what should I do?

What should I say?

My words fail me now and its not okay.

Rhymes fail me now

Time trails off somehow

And its nothing

Its not me

It’s not her.

But ill snap back, like a fat cat in a rat trap wakin up from a nap to come back and rest a weary soul searing for a purpose, nervous that he wont get a firm fit, but a loose grip on reality, loosing footing in zero gravity, hopin to hold on, the old arms cant do harm in a world where theyre too weak to disarm the demons.

Did that make sense?

Nope probly not

But the only way to find out

Is to give it a shot

And I did and I wont stop

Till I pop out and stay out

Don’t wake me now, this dreams still going

And I hope It keeps flowing,

Cause I need to keep growing

And keep showing,

Why I can’t let love die

Don’t be surprised

if I keep tellin this story till I DIE