Creative Writing, 125 (Cinquain)

Create a poem for this picture:

Young girl.

Keep still thy tongue.

Cover thy hair and face.

Shield thy mind from the unknown and

believe.


Cinquains follow a syllable count of 2-4-6-8-2. There are many variations, this is the original form created by Adelaide Crapsey.

Creative Writing, 125 (Ghazal)

Hot upon cool, large encompassing small. Written on my palm are memories of our love. Hearts composing notes to our duet. Hollow melodies, an elegy to our love. That stubborn curl before my brow, no longer to be secured by our love. Our hearts once sick with passion, the fever has broken. Cooled; as our love. Fingers splayed across the sheets, searching. Searching for you and our misplaced love.

.حار على بارد، كبير يحمي الصغيرة  .مكتوبة على كفي هي ذكريات حبنا .قلوب يؤلف الموسيقى لدويتو لدينا  .الانغام جوفاء، وهي مرثاة لحبنا  ,أن حليقة العنيد قبل جبين بلدي .لم يعد ليتم تأمينها بواسطة حبنا  ,قلوبنا بمجرد مريضة بالعاطفة  .كسرت الحمى. تبريده، كما حبنا  .أصابع مفلطحة عبر صحائف، والبحث  .بالبحث عن كنت وغير محله حبنا

The Arabic is probably horrible, but I liked the imagery as ghazals are derived from Arabic verse.

Creative Writing, 125 (Refrain Poetry)

Heavy heat.

Sunburnt skin.

Sweat soaked.

Relax Pilgrim,

learn from the River.

Sun glaring.

Chapped lips.

Hazy head.

Relax Pilgrim,

learn from the River.

Rushing waters.

Sore muscles.

Weathered smile.

Relax Pilgrim,

learn from the River.

Creative Writing, 125 (Colour Poem)

None can escape you.

Unforgiving, you consume.

There’s no light for you.


Black.

Creative Writing, 125 (Hooters Creative Non-Fiction)

It was a chilly day, overcast and grey. Yet there he was, waiting outside with a cigarette between his lips. His hair was slightly disheveled. Body swaying to an unheard beat, the hint of a crooked smile on his face. I pulled the silver pick up truck over to the curb and rolled down the window.

“‘Aaaaaaaaay!” he exclaimed, his glazed eyes crinkling from a goofy grin, “Are you here to pick up some asshole at Hooters?”

I fight back my grin as I affirm his question with a nod. He takes a final drag from his cigarette then lazily lets it drop from his fingertips to be crushed underfoot. An awkward shuffle around the hood and he was climbing into the cab.

“Lunch was quite the affair. Did you know they have 15 different types of wings? And beer. Lot’s of nice, delicious, cheap beer.” An awkward pause, the radio filling the air with background noise. “I met a guy in there. We chatted for a while. Turns out, he is about to go to jail for murdering a guy or something.”

I raised my eyebrows but kept my eyes on the road. He didn’t need me to have a conversation, he’d reached that point where he didn’t want any input, merely speaking to be heard.

“I thought he was pretty nice, though. Real stand up fellow. Seemed to be really into the game on tv. You’d think he’d be paying more attention to the girls with where he was going soon.” He seemed to be rambling now. “He offered to give me his pool table! Said he wanted to make sure it went to a good home before he went to the clink. Real nice guy.”

He must have glanced over to see my worried expression.

“Don’t worry, I’m not stupid! I didn't give him my address or anything. I did get his number though, hard to turn down a free pool table. Gotta check with my girlfriend first, though. Don’t want the old lady getting upset with me.” He winks and tweaks his nose, as if we were sharing a secret.

We reach our destination, his car was still out of commission but his “old lady” had arrived to pick him up. The knowledge seems to sober him, his goofy mood having been replaced with a sheepish one, but the feeling was still light.

He stands a little straighter, attempts to tidy his hair, smacks his cheeks a bit with a mumble under his breath. He shakes my hand and gives my shoulder a light slap, “Thanks for the ride, kid! I’m off to sell a pool table to a woman!”