E.S.say Creative Writing

Tuesday, 29 May 2018

Spring is Here

Spring is here...

By Erika Sage

Budding trees swaying

Flowers blooming in the grass

Spring is approaching..

The Falcon and the Rabbit

by Erika Sage

The rabbit came out of his home

Who was intelligent but cautious to roam

But a falcon circled round

And the rabbit was found

But instead the eagle gave him a phone!

Nature's Questioning

Erika Sage

You like to say that you like plants. But is that really true?

Do you like trees, growing up to be as tall as the sky itself?

Mosses? Covering the rocks like a warm blanket?

How about the venus flytrap?

Or a pitcher plant?

Or a lily pad?

Or even algae?

You may enjoy plants, but how about nature as a whole?

Do you enjoy hearing the birds chirping when you wake up?

How about the cool breeze blowing across your face on a particularly humid day?

Or the quiet pitter-patter of raindrops on your windowsill?

And the squirrel, climbing on trees while you’re taking a stroll in the park?

You might enjoy nature, so do you enjoy poetic works written about the subject?

Do you?

Well, let’s face it.

It’s only natural.

Aging Eyes

Bright eyes

Catch and release

Dance around

Fiddle with harmonies

Take my hand

Tell me a mystery

Guide my mind

Throughout our future history

Wild eyes

Breakneck rides

Stomp on dreams

Rip apart all the seams

Give me a power

Then you devour

Past smiles

Broken-down lies

Scared eyes

Cracked glass

Strained, empty grasp

Cold feet on the grass

Run your hand through your hair

Say you’ll always be there

Shifted aspirations

From subtle inspirations

Dim eyes

You think that you’re wiser

Tripping on nothing

A sadist deviser

Blurred lines

With an inconsistence

I keep forgetting

And you keep your distance

-Anonymous

The Green Mansion

By Olivia Nitti

There is no peace within these walls.

Don’t let the exterior deceive you.

Pretty with green eyes means nothing,

Not when you see its dimensions.

Through these walls,

You’ll find no light.

The floors are not sturdy, they’ll throw you off balance.

The windows look as glass, but feel one sided.

The locks turn just one way, so you’re sure to be trapped.

Don’t bother screaming.

You’ll only blend in.

With the rest of the terror, grieving, and sin.

You are not safe once you’ve entered this deceptive contraption.

The very minute you step through the door,

The very second your body is comfortably contained,

The hinges will turn. You’re overwhelmed with her suffer and pain.

One is only graced, if they avoid this cruel place.

So, I’m telling you now. Don’t take on this burden.

But take this chance to walk away, keep yourself safe.

After all this is a house, on a leash, with no way to chase.

Left foot. Right foot. Out of the of building with the blankets that smell of mildew and despair. Past the men with the big black boxes that make you hurt all over. Your feet walk faster as they turn and stare at you, even your feet know it is not good to be stared at long.

You are walking faster now. Running with frantic haste, tripping over rocks and crushing the grass, apologizing to them as you go.

You reach the beach. Sand, gritty and rough under your toes. Sharp rocks and slivers of wood, reaching out to you, wanting a taste of your flesh. They won’t get it.

You jump, spin and twirl, arms outstretched, breathing in the briny air. In front of you is the sea, waves crashing over each other, fighting to dominate, to survive.

Some of salty spray escapes onto your face. You lick the it off. Wind rushes over you. The sea reminds you of another sea, a different day.

The sea had decided to dance. The waves leaping in frenzy, sometimes coming on deck, asking you to join.

You were on the metal monster as it groaned and creaked, spewing forth thick, choking smoke.

You remember Mama pleading for you to come into the belly of the monster when the waves danced.

“Why do we have to go?” You asked Mama.

“It’s for a better life,” Mama responded.

Mama told you that they were leaving because of the war, that this new country would take them in. Mama said it would be hard. Mama said that people in the new country didn’t like people like you. Different. Autistic.

Mama had said that they were refugees. Mama thought nothing could go wrong, that being a refugee wasn’t something bad.

But Mama’s gone. They took her. The people who called you retarded, the ones who called Mama dirty immigrant, they took everyone.

Everyone except for you.

That day you pressed your face into the canvas of the infirmary, the smell of urine and slowly dying flesh surrounding you. Though you felt the tears running down your face and you could hear the anguished protests of your family, the canvas yielded no comfort, it’s rough fabric unforgiving.

The dismal rain falls upon sweet prairie grass. You hear them coming. They will take you back to the place of prodding, cold that will creep into your aching bones.

Saturday, 5 May 2018

The Inquisition

Crap,

I am falling,

Again?

So fall I will,

And?

Fall I do,

Because?

As long as the darkness,

Does not swallow me up↑

Then I can,

Fall?

as,

many,

times,

that,

I need to.