Creative writing Saturday: One.

One.

She sits still, not moving,
Just trying to breathe.
Rocking backward and forward,
Inside that cold, damp rain.

As suddenly as a shadow,
Things fall back in queue.
Everything seems sunny –
but still slightly askew.

Three, two, one,
One moment has past.
Clouds cover the sky, she forgets,
The storm is forever forecast.

-Sary

Creative Writing Saturdays: Governmental Gore.

This was written for Saturdays Creative Writing but I had already posted something that day. Instead I decided to leave it here for when I don’t have time. I hope you enjoy! – If anyone still actually reads these. 


I was going to include a picture of something relevant here but then my computer decided to stumble across a website filled with malware hacks and freak me out so much so that I don’t think I have the heart left to even google.

Governmental Gore

Alien languages are all I speak.

Unreal realities are all I seek.

I’m fighting for the words,

Of extinction, cold and bleak.

Drowning but living; societies torturous nature.

Keep your lips shut because correction is blatant.

I am a human and dreams are my flaw.

Dictating my being, claiming emotional law.

Until then, I’ll sit here waiting,

Less my accent be voiced,

My emotions governmentally dissipated.

All self and dreams are gone.

-SaryWalrus

Creative Writing Saturdays: #11 I Love Nothing.

The cemetery is scenic, sparse of life.

It’s a melancholy feel that warms the heart.

The flowers are dead

but I will be too.

I feel nothing, but I will be nothing soon.

Creative Writing Saturdays: The Pawn.

Brown, uneven hair, which hung limp – unknowingly unwashed for weeks. His eyes, as it was most certainly a he as pronounced by his bulging pocket, weren’t too cold but merely grey. This boy of college age, the age of his prime, held no ego to match his average looks. No wallet filled with his average money, no watch of average gold, this average man was financially fine but held the presence of a mouse. Clumsily he pawed the wall to stumble to his feet and wipe the blood from his, now gushing, lip. This man limped out of the alley and straight home to find his mother horribly worried.

“It’s nothing, mum!” Sighed the man, holding a clump of wet tissues to his lip, obviously uncaring of his injuries.

“It is!” cried his mother placing a tray of uneven, pink cookies onto the table.

As his mother continued on in a tangent Tom thought back to the incident. He’d been on his way back from grabbing some groceries for his mum when something had hit him in the face. Thinking back on it he could have sworn it was a chest piece – a pawn with an engraved face. He remembers catching it in his hands and when something strange happened. The engraved face became filled with motion, the pawn winked at him. What the bloody hell.

Best wishes,
 -Sary

Creative Writing Saturdays: A Dream.

 I suppose it’s a little abstract. I like it a lot better than anything else I’ve written on Creative Writing Saturdays. Try and read it as if every line is a breath. Feedback is much appreciated.

I’m a wreck.

I dream of screaming and that’s all.

I’m a wreck.

I wanted something but that’s all gone.

I’m right here.

Listening to the sound of fluttering wings above my bed.

I’m always here.

Failing to dream of something

I

can

do.

Best wishes,
-Sary

Creative Writing Saturdays: A Life Style

 This is a far from perfect poem and the first instalment of Creative Writing Saturdays! I haven’t written poetry in so long. So let’s just sit back and enjoy my clichéd writing for a moment! I’m still discussing with myself whether it should be poetry that fits within the theme of this blog, but considering the broad theme is pretty much myself it shouldn’t be too difficult.

They know who you are looking on from above,

With your eighties hair, your six inch platforms,

Red lipstick, smudged across your face,

Resemblance to the Cure ablaze.

Stockings on stockings on stockings on wrists,

They look on in anger, never understanding your bliss.

They love you, they loathe you but not on your side,

Emotions seeping all over their stride.

Confliction, contradictions, comments and rage,

Never truthly read in a page,

You can live it and breath it,

but read it not.

Best wishes,
-Sary