The children giggle as they trample over branches and drooping brown vines. The wind responds with a sigh, picking up dirt and smearing it onto them as if attempting to convert their bright outfits to the drabness of their surroundings. Their attire, full of blues and reds and greens, stand out against the mounds of dirt and lifeless leaves. Dahlia picks up a twig and puts it in her hair, behind her ear. Parker picks up a leaf, laughing and counting every shade of brown, playing the game.
A bell rings, and swiftly they drop it all. They wipe the dirt off of each other’s clothing, take the twigs and leaves out of th
Written on: April 1
Through the Numbers Game
It’s a number funnel,
Good luck getting through.
We roll down the path
And are sucked by the trap.
Now the wall’s closing in
And barely anyone wins.
You’ve got what it takes
But you can’t beat the race.
So forget all that stuff
We’re not good enough.
But to be fair,
It’s not just you,
So crack a smile,
Somehow, we’ll all get through.
Written on: April 2
Not Enough, Not Today
It’s not enough to create a piece
that few will like and few will see
but I will always be proud of.
It’s not enough to get it published
so more will like and more will
She glances at the photo of them on the coffee table - two people, smiling, happy, in love. The photo was fading from years sitting by the sunlight, but the frame was shiny, without a speck of dust. With a sigh, she moves towards the front hall.
She sees him blocking the front door of their apartment, his tall, strong frame trapping her inside. She drops her bags, quickly pushing them behind her in a muddled heap. He frowns at her, crossing his arms. She watches his piercing eyes as he looks her up and down, noticing her shaking fingers and her too-broad smile. She twirls her ponytail and looks away, at their attempt at a garden out the wind
(2) 一
(3) Her head shakes sadly, (4) Shikata ga nai (仕方が無い)
“We drove to Hatchobori, my son in my arms,
the car grew dark, I jumped into the sun,
there was no light, but the light glint of glass,
his skull a mess, my hands slick and wet.”
They say they saw a (5) pika (ピカ),
and then--Boom!-- they heard a (6) don (ドン).
The towers screeched, shattered, became chips of china,
then all fell silent in fear and desperation.
二
(7) He sighs at his nails, still black, still a (8) kiseki (奇跡)
“The river brought relief, cold pierced my scorch
Eyes open, I see your face.
Eyes closed, I can’t escape
the thoughts of you, follow me home.
You want to leave, leave me alone.
Every memory has your touch.
To block it out is not enough.
Who am I without you here?
I can’t remember, that’s my fear.
No one sees my colors quite the way you do.
Nothing can replace the eight years we’ve been through.
But somehow, I know, now there’s no coming back.
I've called out to you, received silent replies
And you do your part, never saying a goodbye.
Every day she sees a person walking by,
And more than anything she longs to say hi.
But before she can say a word or thought,
A voice inside her says “or maybe not”.
There's something stopping her, holding her back -
It's clear that confidence is what she lacks.
It wasn't always there, that doubtful voice.
She didn't knowingly create it, it wasn't a choice.
I know she was once outgoing and free,
And now she’s caged by insecurities.
It started years ago, when she was eleven or ten.
It isn't hard to remember, though it was way back when.
Her parents separated and left her in between.
From then on, as a family they’d n
Only until her feet can reach the floor,
A few short days while she is still young,
When in her eyes I can do no wrong,
And she thinks I’m the father she adores,
While in my heavy arms the light bird soars,
And her little hands still string me along,
Will I believe that my small girl belongs,
To me, my love, and not to that war.
But then - that’s it - we cannot live this lie.
Your tale, your truth, I refuse to stain,
Your devotion, respect, I will not buy,
I must break the peace, though I’ll hate your pain,
But right now she swims, before the lake dries,
Water will recede, my love will not wane.
I want to kick it, send it sprawling. I want to tip it over. I want to see it tumble, all the water spilling out. I want to break the little black wheels, already loose from years of play. I want to scratch off the paint, cross out his name. I don’t want to see his name.
I want to see him.
I want to see him smiling, sitting in the ugly, dirty wheelbarrow, begging me to push him down the street. I never thought I would ask for him to bother me that way, I always told him I was too busy. But then I’d do it anyway, and I’d have the most fun time. He could always brighten any day.
It hurts to think of it.
The door slammed with a resounding finality, and Tessa wished it would swing back the way it came, sweeping her parents back into the house. Instead, all she saw was her sister, staring at her with the clenched face of someone about to cry, or whine, or throw a tantrum.
“Um, can we talk?” Chloe whispered, hands in the pockets of her oversized hoodie. Her words creeped up Tessa’s arms like chills in the cold.
“Not right now. Let’s do some homework, then we’ll eat dinner together and chat, okay?” As Chloe nodded, clearly holding back several sentences, Tessa turned around, heading back tow
The children giggle as they trample over branches and drooping brown vines. The wind responds with a sigh, picking up dirt and smearing it onto them as if attempting to convert their bright outfits to the drabness of their surroundings. Their attire, full of blues and reds and greens, stand out against the mounds of dirt and lifeless leaves. Dahlia picks up a twig and puts it in her hair, behind her ear. Parker picks up a leaf, laughing and counting every shade of brown, playing the game.
A bell rings, and swiftly they drop it all. They wipe the dirt off of each other’s clothing, take the twigs and leaves out of th
She glances at the photo of them on the coffee table - two people, smiling, happy, in love. The photo was fading from years sitting by the sunlight, but the frame was shiny, without a speck of dust. With a sigh, she moves towards the front hall.
She sees him blocking the front door of their apartment, his tall, strong frame trapping her inside. She drops her bags, quickly pushing them behind her in a muddled heap. He frowns at her, crossing his arms. She watches his piercing eyes as he looks her up and down, noticing her shaking fingers and her too-broad smile. She twirls her ponytail and looks away, at their attempt at a garden out the wind
(2) 一
(3) Her head shakes sadly, (4) Shikata ga nai (仕方が無い)
“We drove to Hatchobori, my son in my arms,
the car grew dark, I jumped into the sun,
there was no light, but the light glint of glass,
his skull a mess, my hands slick and wet.”
They say they saw a (5) pika (ピカ),
and then--Boom!-- they heard a (6) don (ドン).
The towers screeched, shattered, became chips of china,
then all fell silent in fear and desperation.
二
(7) He sighs at his nails, still black, still a (8) kiseki (奇跡)
“The river brought relief, cold pierced my scorch
Eyes open, I see your face.
Eyes closed, I can’t escape
the thoughts of you, follow me home.
You want to leave, leave me alone.
Every memory has your touch.
To block it out is not enough.
Who am I without you here?
I can’t remember, that’s my fear.
No one sees my colors quite the way you do.
Nothing can replace the eight years we’ve been through.
But somehow, I know, now there’s no coming back.
I've called out to you, received silent replies
And you do your part, never saying a goodbye.
Every day she sees a person walking by,
And more than anything she longs to say hi.
But before she can say a word or thought,
A voice inside her says “or maybe not”.
There's something stopping her, holding her back -
It's clear that confidence is what she lacks.
It wasn't always there, that doubtful voice.
She didn't knowingly create it, it wasn't a choice.
I know she was once outgoing and free,
And now she’s caged by insecurities.
It started years ago, when she was eleven or ten.
It isn't hard to remember, though it was way back when.
Her parents separated and left her in between.
From then on, as a family they’d n
Only until her feet can reach the floor,
A few short days while she is still young,
When in her eyes I can do no wrong,
And she thinks I’m the father she adores,
While in my heavy arms the light bird soars,
And her little hands still string me along,
Will I believe that my small girl belongs,
To me, my love, and not to that war.
But then - that’s it - we cannot live this lie.
Your tale, your truth, I refuse to stain,
Your devotion, respect, I will not buy,
I must break the peace, though I’ll hate your pain,
But right now she swims, before the lake dries,
Water will recede, my love will not wane.
I want to kick it, send it sprawling. I want to tip it over. I want to see it tumble, all the water spilling out. I want to break the little black wheels, already loose from years of play. I want to scratch off the paint, cross out his name. I don’t want to see his name.
I want to see him.
I want to see him smiling, sitting in the ugly, dirty wheelbarrow, begging me to push him down the street. I never thought I would ask for him to bother me that way, I always told him I was too busy. But then I’d do it anyway, and I’d have the most fun time. He could always brighten any day.
It hurts to think of it.
The door slammed with a resounding finality, and Tessa wished it would swing back the way it came, sweeping her parents back into the house. Instead, all she saw was her sister, staring at her with the clenched face of someone about to cry, or whine, or throw a tantrum.
“Um, can we talk?” Chloe whispered, hands in the pockets of her oversized hoodie. Her words creeped up Tessa’s arms like chills in the cold.
“Not right now. Let’s do some homework, then we’ll eat dinner together and chat, okay?” As Chloe nodded, clearly holding back several sentences, Tessa turned around, heading back tow
We dreamed of success;
now we simply aim to survive.
We struggled towards popularity;
now we are all the same, our "cliques" dictated.
We reached for the stars, but were always grounded.
Now our touchstones - lost.
Our families - gone.
Our identities... taken.
I say "we" for it reminds me that I once had a place.
A place that would always be mine,
though I was soon to leave.
And a new destination,
that I will never discover.
What I would give to go back to the heaven we called prison.
Now our scores - worthless.
Our visions - ignored.
Our values... fading.
I cannot let our dreams be completely forgotten.
We've become sheep, led by the
tWR's Color Haiku Contest! by doughboycafe, journal
tWR's Color Haiku Contest!
After a proseworthy November, it's time to give one to the poets.
Welcome! to theWrittenRevolution (https://www.deviantart.com/thewrittenrevolution) 's
Color Haiku Contest
Just about everyone knows what a haiku is these days, but just incase; a Haiku is a traditional Japanese form poem that, in English, typically has syllable constraints on each line. The most popular form is a 5-7-5, meaning the first line has five syllables, the second seven, the last five again.
These are the basics, but there's more to haiku's than that. This article by MSJames (https://www.deviantart.com/msjames) explains a little more in depth:
First off, the 5-7-5 syllable structure most often cited as being the sole ‘structural rule’