Other Forms of Creative Writing

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  • Rookie - 1st Stage John Brown (11/9/2013 2:49:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    Hello everyone (anyone) . It's my first post on this forum. I have lots of poems on the site, but wondered if it is acceptable to post a (very) short story here in the forum. Any advice would be welcome.

    Replies for this message:
    • Rookie - 1st Stage Robert Graber (4/15/2014 11:12:00 AM) Post reply

      Hi, John. Thanks very much indeed for commenting on Uncle Ikey's Last Words #26!

  • Rookie - 1st Stage Pedro Andres Rodriguez (11/6/2013 10:35:00 AM) Post reply

    New Dawn

    I dreamt of you last night, best one in ages. We walked along a country road in autumn holding hands, enjoying each other and the gift of life. On that day, we built a bridge, an unbreakable bond, that made us one. At the edge of a dry stream, with the morning sun beaming upon us, I pledged my love and everything I own; to hold you for a day. I woke with a gleaming smile knowing dreams are not the realm of happiness, that it lives in us waiting to emerge like a new dawn. You are my new dawn.

    Pedro Andres Rodriguez

  • Rookie - 1st Stage Calvin Curdle (11/2/2013 11:10:00 AM) Post reply

    I am working on a verse story which is not complete yet. What I want is some comments or advice to make it more appealing. So I am posting it here in a form of series. Enjoy.



    I knocked on the counter in threes
    Once, twice, thrice
    And turned
    Inward the bar was quiet
    Dark and lifeless.
    The benches were dead.
    I heard footsteps
    I turned.
    It was a boy about ten.
    Can I have a bottle please.

    We have closed.

    A friend is celebrating his birthday.
    I want to suprise him.

    The time is ten. We have closed.

    I am just one person.
    I am buying a bottle. It would not take long.

    My mother would be back soon.
    I will sleep with marks if she meet me selling.

    His expressions especially the face was begging
    But the bottle I also needed.

    I can't help you.

    He turned, living, but
    Grab! I had his arm in my hand.
    He looked. Suprise
    Spelt his eyes.
    I know what to do.
    Wait. What is your name?


    In hand bag,
    My hand ransacked
    And pulled
    A red note.
    I pressed the note into his hand
    I folded that hand.
    Please get me that bottle.
    Two forces battled in the boy
    I could feel it
    As his eyes stared.
    I kept looking into his eyes.


    Thank you.

    What do you want?

    One of the strongest you have got.

    Which one. They are many strongs.

    You choose for me.
    I saw him dissappear
    In the dark ahead.
    And as I stared I was lost to the present and found in the


    I was resting my body since lectures wrere over.
    The time struck 8: 30 pm. Feeling quite bored,
    I decided to see Frank. He stayed not on campus.
    It was a matter of foot works and not vehicle wheels.
    So I sneaked like a snake from my room and into
    The lighted town.
    By 30 min time I was on Frank's compound.
    Good evening.

    (Tenant {Woman})

    Please is Frank in?


    Thank you.
    The house I invaded and climbed upstairs.
    I knocked the door in quick threes.
    Once, I waited, waited, waited
    Twice, waited and waited
    Thrice I waited.
    If Frank must be asleep these should wake him up!
    Or, What is happening?
    Click, click, click
    How can I help you?

  • Rookie - 1st Stage Manohar Bhatia (8/31/2013 8:43:00 AM) Post reply

    I have a plan and manuscripts ready to start a poetry quotation quiz.Here sentences of past great poets/writers/authors are picked up from old books of say 100 years and put before the readers with one additional word anywhere in that sentence.Quizes of 7 or more quotations can be started with a 15 day period for solving the correct word of the poet as written in his book. Solutions with full sources of that quotation will be given on the 16th day.At present these competitions will be free, but later prizes can be offered. Ineed partners to run this exciting competitions, where some of the greatest thought provoking quotes will be on display.Please reply.

  • Rookie - 1st Stage Elena Sandu (8/13/2013 6:18:00 AM) Post reply | Read 3 replies

    I wish to know if anybody here have tried to connect poetry with other forms of art. I know it works pretty well with music painting and dance. To me a new form of creation are workshops. In the last two years I realized of how strong the power of words is, I am learning that poetry could be connected in so many ways to to communicate with many different arts. Until now I have tried to connect poetry with dance, theater music and nature. I can find poetry in about anything I see. But to help other people to find their own links with the poetry of own life and to develop a flow with it, is a total different thing than flowing my own pen.. With the help of wonderful friends have tried to facilitate a few workshops, some people were saying that poetry feels like healing. If you would read the wall may understand it. We have actually done that with people and each person felt pretty intense. A dove and crows I tried it as a sort of open conversation puppet story.It taught children how to say no and question if they feel to be treated unfair. I tried to connect people with the nature, one of my friends a great dancer searched for the color of her soul waltzing on fresh snow into the woods in winter, we danced with the river in autumn and tried to find and reproduce the growing, coming to life sounds in spring. Right now I am in preparation of a new workshop by which I suppose to be an alphabet of love. I think is is too cheesy and too sweet, clichee as most of my work, but my hope is that I will get the people to realize how little love they show to everything around them, even if they are brimming with. I believe poetry could become a way of life, it could be part of our daily pleasant routine. It is only a matter of intrerpretation and choice. Poetry might be shared thoughts shared imagery shared love shared motion. It can also be hate rage or revenge. A matter of choice, isn't it?

    Replies for this message:
    • Rookie - 1st Stage Calvin Curdle (11/2/2013 10:52:00 AM) Post reply

      You can try writing a verse novel (Poetry+Novel) .

    • Rookie - 1st Stage Renji Mao (9/20/2013 6:06:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

      I often relate poetry to music to theater. After all, that's what opera is, right?

    • Veteran Poet - 3rd Stage Khairul Ahsan (8/17/2013 1:19:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

      A very palatable food for thought. Workshops can be good vehicles to carry the inner beauty of poetry and spread it among the people at large. Yes, poetry is and can be a way of life, it could be part ... more

  • Rookie - 1st Stage Edgar Stevens (8/6/2013 3:51:00 AM) Post reply

    Poem Hunter Poetry Contest has officially started. You can enter with your favorite poem now or write a new one and submit it before August 31st,2013.

    Prize is $1,000 for the winner and $250 for the 2nd and 3rd place..

    You can write in any poetic style and on any subject.

    Entering the contest is free.

    Details: http://www.poemhunter.com/contest/

  • Rookie - 1st Stage Khush Joshi (4/5/2013 2:40:00 AM) Post reply

    i have good some novel and film story and also write song and poem. so i want publish my novel and film story. so help me
    thank you

  • Rookie - 1st Stage Denice Godinez (3/20/2013 1:07:00 AM) Post reply

    Not to long ago can u believe i was in coma for six month my life change when i woke up

  • Rookie - 1st Stage Alex Medina (2/27/2013 12:43:00 PM) Post reply

    Emotional Elegance

    I stood by the edge of the balcony, my fingers tapping at the railing. The glow of the sun lit my dark eyes, now rings of caramel around small, black pupils. The brisk air pervaded through my skin, leaving behind hundreds of tiny bumps. The dark, swaying green of the pines below hid the river from my sight.

    Slowly the sun began to bury itself under the earth, bright fires of pink and yellow scarred the western sky. The cloudless east looked cold and vacant. Where north and south should meet, the sky could not decide. The east and west pulled at it in opposite directions.

    The Earth had blanketed the sun, and darkness began to rule the land. The fallen sphere of pale gold had been replaced by one of pale silver; a rising face with gray scars. The moon had chased away the sun, its incandescence raining down dominance and power, only to be brought down by that of the sun in the next several hours.

    I sighed heavily. I dragged my fingers from the cold railing. A firm gale insisted I lay down to rest. It forced me into my room, and gravity plopped me down onto my plush bed. The shadows on the walls gently closed my eyelids, and weariness gifted me with peace. Sleep imprisoned me within its grace, holding me inside the memories of the sights I had just encountered.

    I dreamt about the river hidden beneath the pine forest, I dreamt about the contrasting sides of the sky, and I dreamt about the sky's exchange between the sun and moon. I dreamt about all those scenes; how aesthetic, enigmatic, and meaningful they were….

    None of it compared to the girl I stared at in class.

  • Rookie - 1st Stage Alex Medina (2/26/2013 9:37:00 AM) Post reply

    Love, Loss, and Liberty

    I opened my eyes, and bright yellow light poured into my sight before my surroundings came into focus. I lay in a glade, the sky raining down her sunlight. Soft grass beneath my back had been matted down, and scattered flowers painted a choir of colors against the green of grass. Dark blotches of red, blue, and purple blended with the surrounding sea of golden light. The stillness of the forest was unnerving. I heard not the buzzing of insects, the gentle whisper of the wind, nor the chattering cries of wildlife.

    I tried to sit up. Soreness threw me back down. I grunted in annoyance.

    “You should stay down, ” a girl’s voice said behind me. “You’ve been hurt badly.”

    I shift my head in the girl’s direction, looking to see who it was.

    “We meet again, ” she said. “Half the Fortress.”

    I looked away in contempt.

    “You seem different....”

    Despite my pain, I sat up. “So do you.”

    She knelt next to me. I averted her gaze.

    “How are you?” she asked. “Why are you alone?Where are the others?”

    “I’ve left them.”

    She frowned, confused. “Why?”

    “I chose to.”

    “What happened to you?”

    “I could ask the same of you.”

    She sighed. “Don’t be like that.”

    “How do expect me to act?” I growled. “I haven’t been the same since I met you! ”

    She looked hurt.

    “You never knew how much you hurt me, ” I said. “You never realized. Have you any idea what I’ve been through in the past three years?”

    “I’ve actually met some of the others, ” she admitted. “They told me of your hardships... I wanted to see you.”

    I stood up to leave, the pain causing me to nearly collapse.

    She caught me. “You need to rest.”

    Black dots swarmed my sight. Dizziness swept through my body. She gently laid me onto the ground. I realized I couldn’t breathe. I gasped and my vision focused again. Her head blocked the sun, but I could still see her beautiful face. I slowly blinked once, and I saw my hand upon her cheek. Her large brown eyes looked into my soul. I felt naked; I didn’t care. I liked it.

    I sighed tiredly. “Why did you have to leave me?”

    “You know I didn’t want to.” She spoke softly, almost whispering.

    My hand fell from her face and onto my heavy chest, right above my heart. “You know, sometimes I wished I wasn’t so ignorant, or foolish. Maybe then... things might have been different. Maybe then, we could have been together.”

    She took my hand, and held tightly.

    Glistening liquid filled her eyes, eventually building up into a droplet. The gleaming bead of sorrow sailed across her smooth cheek, leaving behind a path of memories. The droplet survived its trek, now making its way to her chin. A moment passed before it froze, then it dived into the air below. In an explosive crash, the boulder of liquid smashed into my tunic before diffusing into the cloth.

    I felt the cold wetness touch the skin above my dying heart; my pain lessened.

    “Some things never change.”

    Those were my last words....

[Hata Bildir]