Days Mourning Gown

That far left side, the abandoned road, empty it lies, as passers-by pull in from time to time.  The land beside it filled with new born, a gift, as death leaves the land to mourn the harsh months of past, and blesses the soil with fragile youth not yet tainted by the months to come. A casket heart on a silver chain encloses a photograph, the travelers leave their mark on it, with tire marks and dirt. A memory to keep with the heart; worn into the road. The night begins to dress itself in days mourning gown as it contemplates the day gone by and ponders what will come of the next year.

A short story in which I was asked to include a randomly chosen object, setting, season and time of day without specifically naming them. I was given the setting: hard-shoulder of the motorway, time of day: evening, object: locket and season: spring. I hope I was able to actively conveyed these themes through this short prose without leaving my own writing style behind.

Floral Decay

A room full of floral decay
That bittersweet smell of mixed perfumes
Lingers, and the waft of stale summer air
Waltzes down the aisle
That awkward time stuck between
A blistering summers day
And the ice frosted night
A note to congratulate the bride
And the groom
That couple that wont even last the night
Divorces are expensive I think
As the pen hits the paper

As part of a task I was given a random: object, setting and time of day. I got: a wedding in a church, a letter and the afternoon. I really don't know how this managed to take such a depressing (yet comical) turn as I was planning on something rather romantic.

On The Mantelshelf

The glistening ornaments shone in the misty sunlight, crystals, glasses of green and red- diamonds, the children giggled, wide eyes gazing into the empty cottage. Through fear the wind may catch the door, they creaked it open slowly and before shutting the latch behind them. Like boys in a candy store the girls marveled at the decorative creations, glazed eyed and open mouthed.Millie, being only 16 and still violently naive, stretched out a hand, leaning towards an old oak music box, before having it violently snatched away by Lou. "Do you want to wake her?" she hissed silently before resting the box back in its place.

Picking a random paragraph in a book of childrens stories I put pen to paper and chose to continue the story with just one more paragraph. Knowing nothing about the story (after having read only one paragraph) i chose to focus on the naive nature of the two girls and their child like facination with the ornaments on Miss Parsons mantelshelf.

I pray the flowers teach me how to blossom,
To open my mind with the morning dew,
Keep firm roots and let the path of the wind guide me

The Tale Of Mrs Appleton- child literature experimentation

A timid creature, of around fourteen years, although no one knows for sure, Mrs Appleton is an elderly hedgehog who lives at the bottom of Young Spring Woods in an old cottage tree stump, made of antique oak.
Loved by all the animals, Mrs Appleton is never short on visitors and a fresh pot of tea is always brewing on the chance that a passer-by might be in need.
The winters are harsh and hibernation is a curse for those who love a clean house but spring greets the animals with a warm smile and fresh flowers filling old jam-jars, along with a collection of new-born lambs and chicks, each coated in a thick home-made jumper knitted with the finest sheep's wool and by the most delicate hands.
Mrs Appleton may be old but her home is always thriving, giving the story-teller a host of new tales to tell.
One thing is certain, as certain as the leaves are green, Mrs Appleton is loved by all she meets.

Iv been dabbling in the art of child literature recently, taking inspiration from one of my favourite childhood authors Beatrix Potter, this short story explains the life of an elderly hedgehog called Mrs Appleton. The tale above is aimed at a child audience and although I know little about children I have always had a passion for their literature. The story below follows the same tale but is aimed at a more adult audience due to the extended vocabulary. The idea of an enchanted forest with live animals carrying human traits is a concept that can be enjoyed by all ages and I wanted to translate the story so that it could be.

The Tale Of Mrs Appleton (Adult version) 
A timid creature, of around fourteen years, although no one knows for sure; with fragile spines made of porcelain and eyes that glitter, with a distant youthful viritity. Her age shown only through the journey mapped around the fragile lines of her eyes.
An aesthete, a precocious raconteur with tales to fill a thousand hearts and a delicate smile; neither wifty nor naive, but eloquent, knowingly blessed by the land.
Her cottage filled with tea stained air, built up over years of passers-by and dust dancers, unsettled by the sunrise through the bark encrusted windows, peering over to the selcouth forest named Young Spring Woods.

Poetry- Spoken Word Poem

Who cares for a hum of rhythms and rhymes?
Just a song to be sung that no one wants to sing
Poetry
Pointless noises and motions swirling around the heads of believers and dreamers
While the outsiders stand confused and dazed
Wondering why they can't see inside the heads of these so called artists

That childish notion that saying it aloud will somehow make it better
That someone, somewhere will hear your cry
And rush with aided arms
They will hear the words you are screaming, bleating aloud
But no one cares to listen to the words, your shallow hushed tones
With little or no meaning to him nor her

No matter how much you bleat and cry somebody is always going to turn a blind eye
Because someone else will always scream louder
Cry a little harder
And ring their lyrics through the ears that you are so desperate to reach
But just because you are wrong, does that mean you are not right?
For in someone's ears your words ring true

And as the wind passes through your ears and you hear that birdsong one final time
May you scream at the top of your lungs
"Listen to my name! Do I not deserve to tell my truth?"
Will they cry with you
Or turn shallow heads in shame?
I do not know

But I say it is worth it
Your song to be sung by yourself alone may only reach one ear
But that is one more than the silent
Your voice matters
It matters more or less than another? no
Equal to all


Let your voice be heard
Poetry

(This poem was written to be spoken to aloud)
Some people are so closed minded, poetry to them is just a string of words chosen only to make english teachers have something to teach, but that is not the case. Language is a tool that we use in order to survive! it doesn't take a genius to string together a rhyme, but to understand it, to feel the words when you say them aloud, that takes passion and understanding.
The thought behind this poem was sparked by John Green's most recent VlogBrothers video, entitled "Poetry Makes Nothing Happen", probably one of my favorite VlogBrother videos to date. If you have not seen it already please do take a moment to check it out (link bellow) 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nDwTjPsG4b0

Soldiers Of The Sea

Laughter Fragile as a dream
Its temporary song be heard
As passers-by sing with the wind
The sorrow of the bird

Games may trace this summers edge
Be tainted by the fall
While the sea birds sing their waltzing song
And dance upon the wall

For how the sand turns with the tide
Forgotten by the seas
Rolling o're lambent waves
Sorrowful yet at ease

These tides may pull our heart strings tight
And tease at bibelot dreams
But in my soul our dream still sings
For your love gave me wings

Upon the shore his heart did lie
And buried on the land
Still to this day his song sings true
The melody of the sand

Inspired by the song Watercolours by English folk band Salt Water Thief  specifically the chorus "Because i'm made of watercoulors and I will die, it a brush in my hand you in my mind" 
the poem (to me) explores the life of a sailor who leaves his true love on the shore while he goes out to sea, she keeps up her hopes that he will return and they will live their dreams together, but sadly the story takes a turn for the worst and his life is taken by the sea leaving his childhood sweetheart alone. 
I wanted to expore rhyming patturns in this poem and although I didn't stick to a strict pattern, I enjoyed the challenge of the rhyme. 

28.12.60

Sheltered under the cloak
Of a book 
Physics probably
Not one to dabble in creativity 
He claims
With a violin perched at his side

My poetic acquaintance
With the pen at his lips 
Pressing glass eyes to paper words
"Meaningless drivel" 
He claims 
As he eagerly turns to the next page

Glass stars and crystal moons
Tiptoeing over time and space
Round his head and onto his page
Misunderstood 
He claims 
As he hides for another day 

I picked a random book from my school library and looked at the library card in the front, I chose a random name from the small list of people who had borrowed it and wrote a poem about the type of person who I imagined them to be. 
The boy had borrowed the poetry book on the 28th December 1960, I imagined him to be smart and have a passion for science but have a hidden creative flair that he tries to keep hidden from the world.