Aimee Rivas

Andrea Malouf

English 2250-501

July 11, 2019

Imaginative Writing: Poetry

The Morning-

It's the warmth of yellow light that signals the morning

The sudden consciousness that comes with no warning

My bones roll and I stretch with a sigh

My blanket spills as I shuffle on by.

I rush the routine:

brushing my teeth, gnashing down cereal, swapping my clothes-

all the same

meeting the mandatory day is part of my scene,

and I walk away from where my pillows and dreams remain

It's Snowing on Mount Fuji-

It's tempting to write,

"It's Snowing on Mount Fuji;"

but laughs will ensue.

Solar System Crown Cinquain-

The Sun

A star of light.

Mercury

Cold and whipped by the wind.

Venus

The lovely twin.

Earth

Home town.

Mars

We're found!

Jupiter

Chaotic storms. Danger!

Saturn

It's bleak, stranger.

Uranus

Don't laugh at the name, please.

Neptune

Song of the sea.

And Pluto

The one who is lonely.

Love-

Let me tell you a little something about love

Of course, I'm no expert or even trained-

Visually, it's like something from up above

Emotionally, it's water down the drain

Friend Ship-
I rock back and

Forth on the ship called

Friend.

Feelings of dread and

Happiness now bend.

I clutch the railings and

Laugh out sweat into the

Air.

My eyes drop to the ocean

In the hopes that they

Care.

I'm wondering, waiting when our

Wavy ride will dock.

At the same time

I'm passing,

Staring at the clock.

The sails catch wind on

The ship called

Friend.

Now the air is

Lighter.

More me time to spend.

There's friends there that

Catch my eyes

They smile evermore.

I smile and the ship

Helps me wave

Now I know we'll get back safely to the shore.

Fiction-

I believe in the fiction,

a new found addiction,

To writing and seeing an idea unfold.

To being wrapped up in a Tower, seeing swashbuckling Spain,

Or living a War on the World!

Name the price,

but it's my advice,

to keep your stories to your core.

Because if scripts leak,

and word begins to speak,

Then it's not fiction anymore.

Values (1)-

The mind is open to creativity,

Constantly inventing the

New possibilities.

Pushing the envelope,

The grain, the ceiling.

A-

Absolutely amazing and wonderful

I have to give myself some credit here

My life has hard-wired me on a scale of happiness and fear

Even so, one thing is clear; my interests, my heart, I am

Everything.

Edgar Allan Poe-

There was a grave man who was acquainted with the midnight.

Crafting stories of "Pendulums" and "Morgues" shut his throat tight.

He driveled with a fever over the mind he fell in.

He was woeful, but sinned with the letters "To Helen."

A Byronic lover, a psychopath to the romantic,

He started sensing some looks and stirred into a panic-

We can surmise he's anticipating a most grand death

He steals his Tell-Tale heart and hides it away in the books.

His own heart finally rests as he draws his last breath.