Piece of my heart

Dreams never appeared so real
Whispers were never so much louder


Shadows of your breath chasing me down
Never made me feel away from you


Stripped naked by the truth of my experience
Felt so much closer being miles apart


Waves of your thoughts keep me warm
Make me feel I miss you more than the summer sun


Your presence is felt in the deepest of solitude
and doesn't get lost in the walk across the streets


wink or blink i am never sure
but i see your eyes flashing around


grip of your thoughts is much tighter
than the way you hold my hands


I could feel the smile ping pongs on your face
losing the count in the race


randomness of our destiny is knitting uncessantly
blinding me with its pace


Streaks of impatience gush out to give up their strength in no time
at the glimpse of your smile


Ill or well, your thoughts are so still
silence in the storm and solace in the noise


Is it just the words or feelings that popped out
Does ink got a heart of its own

Poem for my madingley fellas

They are all the same, they are all the same

I murmured to myself, they are all the same

Some say the sun shines, some say the moon

But all along they polish the gloom

Why is it the darkness ? why is it the death ?
They Always pick war and wreck

May be they are old, may be they are alone
It might just be they longed their home

They sing some times and some times they dance
Makes us feel they are in tons of trance

They wish good morning, good night they say
All through the day they make us sway

They climb across the mountains, crawl through the caves
Journeys which they do and also take us through



They are all the same, they are all the same
I murmured to myself, they are all the same



They dont know where to start and I bet if there's an end
Just reminds me of the letters we do send

some make you woo and some make you boo
They make sure something you say or do

You can give them treats or try to test their wits
you can't hold them long, they just do their feats

They dont drink coffee neither have a tea
They just drink the souls that are free

They dont have medicines they aren't doctors
Just make you feel and thats how they heal

They are not white, neither are they black
Don't have a race and dare not to stick a gender on their face



They are all the same, they are all the same
I murmured to myself, they are all the same


Fearless they are, fearless in their word
Never hesitant to shout how they feel about the world

They might take you high or they take you low
Reminds us our wings, nevertheless the strings

I rolled up the paper closed my eyes
wondering to see what filled up!

Why do they start and why do they stop
why dont they bury their timeless pens

They play with me and they play with you
As though they own our hearts more than we do

Feeling of oneness, feeling of bliss
You cannot be so sure, if its kiss or a hiss



They are all the same, they are all the same
I whispered to myself, WE are all the same

I was just wondering, what do people think is more effective/appealing for audiences, writing from the perspective of the main character or in the 3rd person? I am struggling with this in the direction of my novel and might let the protagonist take over the narrative at a logical point. Also is there a video function with this kind of blog? I find this kind of presentation only (text, not in real time) a little rarefied for this kind of group, like posting on a wall.

Pour encourager les autres...

Cockadoodledoo

Cockadoodledoo. Elvis is dead.

The sign outside Mary’s house reads: ‘Eggs for sale from very happy hens.’ A couple of years ago she rented part of a field from a farmer, installed coops and an electric fence, and began keeping chickens as a hobby so that she and her friends could enjoy ‘happy eggs’. Then she acquired her pride and joy, a magnificent cockerel called Elvis.

Ten years ago there were three farmyards in the middle of the village. Although many inhabitants commute to Cambridge, and two busy road cross in the village centre, the lowing of cows and bleating of sheep were audible from the High Street, reminding even ‘the newcomers in the new houses’ that they were in the country. But the farmers got old, their children had moved on, and the farmyards were built over.  Except for the cars, the village fell silent.

There was no need to announce Elvis’s arrival.  In the village shop, at the bus-stop, in the playground, people smiled and said how nice it was to hear a cockerel again. Then Mary got a letter from the council: there had been a complaint. Mary showed the inspector round: the cockerel was on agricultural land, not in a garden, and further away from houses than any of the old farmyards had been. She was told he was a nuisance and would have to go. Mary offered to have Elvis put down if the complainant insisted on it. The council agreed to report back. The village was pleased to learn that Mary heard no more.

Yesterday she went to feed the chickens and found Elvis dead and dismembered. This had not been a humane killing and Elvis had evidently put up a fight. Mary knows who killed her cockerel but, like him, she maintains a stony silence.

Welcome...

Dear anyone who manages to get here...

This is a space for you and your fellow creative writers to share your work and ideas and thoughts.
I don't need to lecture any of you on 'netiquette' - it's been my good fortune that all my students have been courteous to and supportive of each other - I know your mutual feedback will be constructive and helpful.
I can't promise to moderate the blog formally, as I just don't have enough hours in the day as it is, but I will look in from time to time to check you're all behaving yourselves and to see what you're up to and also to post my own blogs.
Well done Simon, for a start. May I suggest you post something soon so any other new bloggers don't feel so lonely? It doesn't have to be a formal piece of writing (although that would be good - a piece from our class would be perfect) - you could just say what you're writing about if you prefer.

So... a lot of you said you liked the opportunity to hear/read other people's work - you too are 'other people' so here's your forum.

Best wishes,
Sarah