Take away the stars
Little About Me
Hello everyone,
My name is Sophia.
I am currently a spanish student in Costa Rica and I have been writing poetry of my own style since I was about 12. It is a passion of mine and I love the gift that is connected to it!
Hope to have fun doing this!
Prompt 1
I am just a creature made of clay
Because fire isn’t made to play,
I am the soul who’s always at peace
Because in my territory violence cease,
I am the human full of light
Because in my life sadness has no right,
I am a faithful friend
Because cheating means the end,
I am here for you all,
If ever in life you fall,
I am far away from loan
Because all I own is my own,
I am feeling tiredness
Because my day was full of stress,
But I am not going to fall down
Because I still have my crown
Baba Yaga
if you think you know fear
you should come visit me here
i am not death &
i am not tall
(neither am i small)
when i enter your room
& pour salt in your wounds
i can show you a dream that will leave you alarmed
(i am not sleep; do not ask for me upon a shooting star)
when i hold you in my arms
i am softer than your mother’s cries
do not try to keep me near
i am nothing like the glory of the light
when you cross my way, remember this:
the witch comes at night
if you wish to stay alive,
give her something else to keep and bite
Stone: Hour 1
Stone
With death, after snaps at the heels
of what went before;
a line of demarcation
drives me forward;
and what I am now is both old and new in one.
These days, I am scattered as soil;
broken as weathered stone.
I am searching in nature,
for something that fits
the new shape of my heart.
I was once a winter fire;
a soft, slow rain in spring.
The flat heat of a generous summer sun;
a silvered autumn web.
Now I am as stone.
I am the broken walls of the old byres
Shadowed in memories of task and toil.
I am dark windows lit by a faint moon.
I am the gathered stories of this family home.
I am a boulder, heavy and still
On the river bed;
No tide will move me on.
I am the pulse of my own seasons now.
Owned by these fields, this untilled soil;
a caretaker, caught on the cusp of memory.
I am our days and my own in one.
Hour 1
Good morning
Good morning
Sunflowers blooming
greeting everyone
Sit down and shut up
No need to go anywhere
Sticky mind crawling
Everywhere looking
For food.
Without touching
our hands draw
what’s in our hearts
Writing poems
Get out of your way
stop trying so hard
find your authentic
Self
Miscellaneous- Anticipate
There's a feeling it is overwhelming...taking over my senses. Fills me with gusto and zest. Fills me with uncontainable anticipation. Edge of wonder kind of feeling.. ready to embrace everything that is hurled at me. An endless desire that sleeps within resurrecting itself from its resting place. To awaken my beasts hybernating in my mind's trap. The Cages are undone and my imagination escapes making a run for it. in search of that which piques interest and drives my hunger within. This is the moment my heart takes over. I feel everything around me deeply... My senses attuned for my muse to make her appearance. The grand one -the divine goddess before whom I kneel. Upon whose altar I surrender every desire and sin. Let ink take control and flow where ever it needs to. No questions asked She communicates through ink. She reciprocates with inspiration. The one who shows me how to live vicariously through words. A form of expression takes birth within me. A revolution begins at the tip of my fingers.
-Janice Raquela Mendonca
I Can Always Come Back and Title this Later (Hour 1)
Thoughts in the morning, slowly gathering
like a collective pool of water, absorbing descending rivulets
of the past night’s rainstorm, filling, growing,
transcending into vapor by midday–
I am the sunshine’s waxing heat wave
rolling over violated sidewalks.
Fingers reach to stroke calligraphic symbols,
a clicking chant of plastic keys stamping
vernacular collaborations, aching incantations
desperate to invoke the truth beyond incestual
emotional blends that, in their most faithful realization,
are beyond what words can describe–
I am the dancing branch tips of a great
slumbering tree awakened by the pushing wind.
Mental estuary churning, the lowest fathoms
of the Void swallowing itself, immaterial and ethereal
initiating one another, troubled yet tranquil,
serpentine serenity effortlessly flowing–
I am the ancient waters of creation set to
flood the world into a new form.
I am the swelling purple tissue of
a newly acquired bruise, a forced feeling
punctured beneath binding armor, worn to protect
but confined by its embrace, then self-penetrated
by a willing hand seeking escape.
I am the ebb and flow of philosophical hypocrisy,
guiding young voices to find rising sound
amidst the roaring resonation of a
technologically dependent culture, turning within
to supply the antidote to informational overdosing.
I am the slowing of time, drawn around
the parading chaos consuming itself
all around me. The refusal to surrender each moment,
the deep reflection uniting me with a grand discourse,
pulling me along the supreme plotline,
dividing me into every alternate ending,
and becoming an amalgamation of all possibilities.
Definition of me
I am what I am
And what you aren’t.
I need no gemstones to shine
And I could write my own song of ice and fire.
I am no caped hero,
But I have my own battles
Where good usually prevails.
What about you stranger?