Category Archives: World of Words

Waiting

A short original poem about waiting for something more.

Frosted powder glistens in May

A forever winter drags on,

Icy sheets blanket verdant fields,

While the bud waits for her sun.

Years have come and gone,

Fellow buds succumb by chill,

Still her roots remain

To dream of neverblooms.

Perhaps she’ll feel its warmth

One especially winter day,

Perhaps God will peak through the ice,

And call her forth from muddy earth.

But until that day

The bud tightens her petals,

Tries to imagine forgotten hues

And waits.

Guest Post: Ana Banana’s “Will the Real Writer Stand Up?”

Today I am featuring a fellow classmate I reblogged earlier, Ana Banana. In her post, Ana talks about the struggles of viewing herself as a writer and how blogging has helped her find her voice. Enjoy!

“Will the Real Writer Stand Up?”

I know this statement would not be appreciated by my teachers, but I really don’t consider myself a writer for many reasons. When I was younger, I wrote a few little books on Wattpad, before it became what it is today. I never could figure out how to put words to the scenes that I imagined, so I gave up on writing and found my happy place as a reader. Now as a young adult and a perfectionist, I struggle with considering myself qualified to be a writer. My memory, lately, has been horrible when recalling a simple word or concept I think of just minutes before. This makes it hard to get words down before I completely forget it. I also have what might be considered “imposter syndrome” where I don’t think what I have to say is what someone would want to hear, at least not in the same words.  

Surprisingly, in contrast with these thoughts, I have always imagined what I would say in interviews or biographies. I want to get my story out, but I really struggle to get it out in a palatable way. Having to create my blog has forced me to work on my writing outside of research papers and thinking of myself as a writer. One of the first books I read was the Laura Ingalls Wilder series and she wrote from her experiences in life, which is a concept I mirror in my writing. I think my story is unique because of my upbringing and now my current mindset and all of the roads that have led me here. I’m a young Black woman, which is a perspective that I think is already pretty interesting. Add on to that my semi strict Christian upbringing, my current semi liberal beliefs, and my weird obsessions and interests.

Beside my struggle to qualify myself, I am learning to be descriptive in my writing. As a reader, most of what makes reading fun is the different descriptions of the world, people, and interactions. I am also learning to find the balance between oversharing and being vulnerable, which I have always struggled with. I don’t like getting personal, but I brings authenticity and builds trust. The other side of this is that once I get started with personal details, I have a hard time stopping, which can make things awkward for the reader. Even though I am learning to consider myself maybe a baby writer, I think I will always be growing as writer, and I won’t truly ever be satisfied with my writing ability. I’ve made peace with this and I am enjoying displaying this growth process on my blog.

National Poetry Month: Pen and Page

Photo by Karolina Grabowska on Pexels.com

April marks the beginning of National Poetry Month. Though I don’t consider myself much of a poet, I’ve decided to honor the month by sharing yet another one of my writing assignments. Here’s an original Shakespearean Sonnet written for my World Literature Class last semester. Entitled “Pen and Page”, the poem is inspired by my own bittersweet relationship with writing. How would you characterize your relationship with writing?

“Pen and Page”

The pen moves not over the milky sheet

The page is blank and glistens white as snow,

A novel thought has yet the page to meet

Or marks of ink to dress its naked glow.

The pen has labored long throughout the night

Yet all its works lay crumpled in the waste,

For words that once were sweet do not seem right,

And bitterness now overpow’rs their taste.

Still pen and page recall those days of bliss,

When jot and tittle easily would flow,

But times of simple joys are long remiss

And pen and page their separate ways did go.

For now, both pen and page dream of amends,

For in the morning all will start again.

Eye in the Sky

– by Storm Elvin Thorgerson, from https://blog.mozaico.com/art-artists/.
This week my professor gave us the task of writing a quick creative exercept based on this captivating image. With themes of my earlier post in mind, I drafted this short poem in less than a minute with a slightly darker twist.
Still, maybe it speaks to you differently than it does to me.
What comes to your mind when you look at this picture?

Eye in the sky

Staring down at me

Through me

In my mind

What do you see?

A thing unholy

An unclothed thing dressed in a lie.

Can you see my eye

Staring back at you

Through you

In your mind?

I will not crouch behind

Your eye.

See my unclothed skin in your eye

See your reflection in my eye

And do not lie

And say you cannot see

The resemblance of you in me.

Phenomenal Woman by Maya Angelou

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,
It’s in the reach of my arms,
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It’s the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can’t touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them,
They say they still can’t see.
I say,
It’s in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed.
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing,
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It’s in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need for my care.
’Cause I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.