Tag: Writing201

After The Hiatus

Some days I just felt my life was like a black wall, so plain and boring. This day was not one of those days: the days I would go out and go on with my ‘black wall’ life- I always found it boring, so boring; those were the days I was too lazy to write. Today I woke up with an urge, a desire, to write something, anything. I lay in bed thinking, reflecting, trying to immerse myself in old memories, asking for help from my subconscious. The voice in my head kept reminding me of the Literature essay I had not yet completed. I tried so hard to silence it, push it into nothingness. I tried to feel. I had not felt in a while. It felt foreign.

“Focus”, I told myself. Several pictures played in my head, I could not pick one. I tried to, to feel. I didn’t. What exactly did I want to feel? Emotion. To immerse myself in the memories, I had to feel the emotion, at least that’s what the Writing Workshop had taught me. I had to picture how I felt in that particular event I wanted to write on. I felt, but it was fleeting. As the several pictures danced in my head, Mr Brain sent different signals: joy, pain, sadness, embarrassment. It was a flood.

I could not take it anymore. As much as I tried to focus on one, another would come and distract it. It was like all the memories were fighting for my attention, but this time I did not like it. Frustrated, I got out, no, dragged myself, out of bed and trudged, rather unenthusiastically, to the bathroom. I was going to be late for school.

The cold drops of water raced down my naked body as I stood in the shower. I had grown to love cold showers, even in the dry season when it was really cold in the mornings. I guess it was just that chilly feeling which made me think of the cold days during my holidays in London. I would always remark about how I loved the weather, compared to the hot climate we had here in the tropics. My cousin would laugh and wish I was there to witness the really bad winter days, then I would not love the weather so much anymore. I missed her, my cousin. She had been there, in most of my childhood memories. Now I hardly saw her, well because she lived in another continent. I had always admired her, I still do. I squirted some body wash on my sponge and began to scrub my body in perfected motions. The scent reminded me of her, lavender, her lavender perfume that I used sometimes without her consent. That smell still lingered in my memory, I missed her so much.

I stared at the puddle of water that had formed at my feet and watched the drops of water fall into it, making it ripple. It made me remember jumping in puddles, which had formed when it rained, while walking home from school as a little girl. I always got my socks dirty and my mom would scold me for that. After the scolding, I would still do the same thing the next day, not caring. I missed that feeling, wanting to live in the moment, not caring about what people would think. I was careful of my actions now, too careful, overthinking things.

As I turned off the shower and grabbed my towel, it hit me. How I despised stressful school life, the frustration of not being able to feel, how I loved cold showers, how I missed my cousin so much, how I hated how I changed from being a carefree child to this overly sensitive teenager, these were all things I had felt this morning, things I could write about. All that time, I thought I couldn’t feel, but I had felt more than I wanted to.

I’m sorry for leaving for so long.

Sugar cookie kisses,

A Note To Joy

A Note To Joy

For the last assignment of Writing 201: Poetry — Pleasure. Sonnet. Apostrophe. It was an interesting course and I am grateful for all the friends I made along the way ☺. So here’s my poem.

 I am extremely glad, o Joy
Indeed, I am very elated
For when I thought my life was wasted,
You came and brought me joy.
O Joy, I thank the Lord for
Bringing you into my life
After all the hardship and strife,
When I thought there was nothing more.
A favour I require from you,
That you visit the person reading this
And fill their life with joy and bliss,
With good success and fortune.
So that we might all have warm fuzzies
And a joy that never ceases.

Photo: Ian Cuthbert


The White Season

The White Season

Day 9 Writing 201 : Poetry Cold. Concrete Poetry. Anaphora/Epistrophe.

The white season never experienced we.
The mean screen, our only view to glee.
The tropics were never that fortunate.
The white winds never to come on any date.
We watch as they
Go on their way
Looking bigger
In clothes for winter.
All on the mean electric screen we see,
All warm in their houses with chimneys,
All in turtle necks and pudding they ate,
All these maybe were not our fate.
We watch as they
Drink hot chocolate
And forever wonder
How they feel in winter.
We are not sad but we are extremely happy.
We are not sad for we live in the tropics.
We wear not heavy clothes adding to our weight.
We accept that winter will never be our fate.

Photo : Free Images

That Sweet Blackcurrant Taste

Okay so I don’t know if this is an elegy but here is my poem for today.

As the sweet flavour filled my mouth
And danced on my tongue
And slid down my throat,
It was like – it was something special.
It was my happiness
And my sadness,
My joy and my tribulation,
My downfall and my redemption.
I will never taste that sweet taste again,
That sweet blackcurrant taste,
Not in my diabetic state.

For Writing 201: Poetry – Day 8 Flavour. Elegy. Enumeratio.


The Giants

The Giants

I stood here all day
Watching the mysterious giants
Pass by. Some moving as fast
as they possibly could.
Others not so enthusiastically.
But none noticed me,
Like I was invisible.

Sometimes the giants
Didn’t move themselves.
They had some sort of transporters
Which were in different shapes and sizes.
Some shiny and new, others old and rickety.
But none noticed me,
Like I was invisible.

The giants were in different sizes
And in groups. Some big ones
And some little ones which developed
To replace the big ones.
They all looked different.
But none noticed me,
Like I was invisible.

Sometimes these giants fought
Right in front of me they fought.
Sometimes shouting aggressive sounds,
Sometimes engaging in full – on combat.
Other giants either watched or stopped the fight.
But none noticed me,
Like I was invisible.

At night some giants
Would stay in their resting pods
While others would come out
And socialise with other giants
Making friendly sounds.
But none noticed me,
Like I was invisible.

I am lonely, dejected.
I will forever remain here
Because I cannot move
I will remain alone,
With no one to talk to.
But none noticed me,
Like I was invisible.

Ow! One of those giants just hit me
I’m in pain, it looks like the giant is angry.


The lady shrieked
She had hit her foot on a stupid rock
She went on her way cursing the day rocks were made.
At last someone had noticed the little rock
It was not invisible after all.

For Writing 201: Poetry – Day 7 Neighbourhood. Ballad. Assonance.
Photo cred : Free Images

My Pale Love (A Boy’s POV)

I got random words and phrases from my school Literature text Songs of Ourselves and put them together to form this.

Her face was pale,
And pale her face was.
Dry, bald and sere.
Yet she struck my eye,
Yet I am burned,
By her rejection
Of my love.
My mouth does not speak it,
Nor my eyes show it.

Oh her eyes!
They take me to foreign lands.
Under her murmuring breath,
I cannot help thinking
About her wet and moonlit skin.

I must pine
For I will never find a friend more true.
Now I have destroyed our friendship.
But her beautiful face
I will forever remember.
With wrinkles around her nose
But in her eyes,

For Writing 201 : Poetry – Day 6 Face. Found Poetry. Chiasmus.


Dina, Young, A Blossoming Flower

Dina, Young, A Blossoming Flower

I couldn’t post yesterday because I was a bit down but here is my poem. For Writing 201: Poetry – Day 5. Map. Ode. Metaphor.

Dina, young, a blossoming flower,
With dreams, aspirations
She thought nothing could conquer.
Gold medals, silver lay over her bed,
For she was an achiever.

Dina, young, a blossoming flower,
Grew and changed,
The young caterpillar
Had now become a butterfly.
Smart and beautiful by the hour.

Dina, young, a blossoming flower,
Was flunking,
No more an achiever,
Her parents worried but she
Didn’t want to talk about the matter.

Dina, young, a blossoming flower,
At her young age,
Was facing trauma.
Her father, that beast,
Had deflowered her.

Dina, young, a blossoming flower,
Was depressed, but one day,
Summoning courage, she told her teacher.
Ms. Fodder believed and
Dina’s father was taken away from Dina.

Dina, now a mature, blossomed flower,
Is successful.
The young achiever,
Realised her dreams, for she was
Courageous and told Ms. Fodder.

Photo: Free Images