A re-direct note!

Hello, as you can tell my blogger site has been slightly neglected. It's because I'm really enjoying the ways of tumblr and am more recognised there now with great followers - it's a lot more fun! Haha,

So, if you would still like to see my work, I am going to re-direct you to:

http://www.misshapenskies.tumblr.com/

and I'll see you there!

Much love,
Hannah

A note about tumblr

Just to let you,

I've joined tumblr (you're probably thinking: NOOOOOOOO!)

Aha, yes I've joined tumblr, only because I'm collaborating with certain people and it's a lot easier to find young poets/writers on there for some reason o.O not sure why.

However, never fret - I will still be posting here often, and any poems that appear on tumblr will also appear on here.

The link to my site is: www.misshapenskies.tumblr.com

:)

Oh and before I disappear, a shout out to Ian Pindar!
I managed to get in contact with Ian, and his advice was very useful >.<

http://www.ianpindar.blogspot.co.uk/

^ Take a look if you're not busy

~misshapenskies

Currently falling into writers block.

I'm not in a great state at the moment.

This might be a good time to get really bored.

But I can't.

A-Levels soon.

It's time to think positively, otherwise I'm going to be staring failure in the face in August.

Early morning mutterings

A very old one now for you.
I wrote this when I was turning 14 and went on a creative writing course in Arvon, Devon.
Consequently, I stayed in Ted Hughes and Sylvia Plath's old house where they brought up their children :)
It was a fantastic experience and was where I met Caroline Bird (who has inspired me to write poetry properly ever since)

So, wherever you are Caroline - this is for you.


Early morning mutterings


Have you ever kneeled down
And watched the world grow up?
At dawn I saw a delicate feather
Plucked from the oceans above us
I gazed at it
Pirouetting through the breeze
Prancing like a praying mantis
Twirling harmoniously
It was awake,
Simply dancing
The feather walking
The spiral staircase of the air
It lands.

If you shut your eyes to the city
You'll hear it kiss the ground.

~misshapenskies 

Adoration

Just a quick one for you today. It's not finished and I wrote it in about twenty minutes

OH and its pretty bad :/ it's definitely not one of my favourites.
Probably because I wasn't happy whilst writing it.
Ah well, see what you think


Adoration.


Elaborate, would you please on your chosen point
its funny how you think you can win me over.
Hilarious, how I used to fit the joint
in the gap, in the space
between your arms
and when I became lost (so lost)
in your charms.

Don’t pity me on my surely useless debate
its funny how you think I don’t remember.
Hilarious, how I used to say great (?)
We relate, we can stay
In this bottomless pit
and when I spit out my words (my words)
you still seem to think my opinions’ absurd.

Stop reminding me, surely I feel enough guilt.
Its funny how you think I forgave you
Hilarious, how leaning on the stilt,
we shared, and we cared
about our lives and each other.
But it’s nice now, I guess having you as my brother (?)

You told me if you could see them today.
It’s funny how you’ve already drifted
Hilarious, how you’ve gone astray.
We were, we adored
each other you said.
Then why are these thoughts of you still hassling my head?

A question of heads or tails

*PLEASE NOTE* - I got rid of the last stanza, I didn't like it and felt it was innapropriate to what I wanted to deliver in this poem.
Hannah - 27/3/2012

This is my first poem that is deliberately meant to be funny. I mean it's ok if it's not funny >.< but I wanted to give it a shot. If I decide I'm not too sure with this as a poem, I've decided I'm going to develop it into song lyrics :'P haha.

Oh, and this poem may not be my favourite, but I've decided to
dedicate it to 5 lovely people:
1). Alex Hart: because he inspired me to write this, and talked to me about charity the other day. However, I don't think the poem is really about charity. Anyway this is mainly dedicated to Alex because he inspires me I guess x') haha. Also, he likes my poetry ;D which is always good!

2). Sophie Walker: because without her this poem wouldn't be complete. She suddenly sprang to mind when we both needed to pee at London Marleybone X'D (you'll understand when you read). I miss the days when we used to do silly things like that together. :) We have a lot of great memories together although we barely talk/see each other anymore which is such a shame. We were such a quirky pair. In fact, just to prove my adoration for this person to you all, I drew/painted/sketched/took weird artistics pictures of her for my GCSE Art. She's only seen a few of my drawings and paintings of her (the good ones) - thank goodness :'P

3). Benjamin Baruch: because firstly he also writes a blog(http://www.procrastinationoverproductivity.blogspot.com/) and secondly he has recently been talking to me about developing some lyrics with him. If he's interested in this, I will help him possibly develop it into a song version. Haha perhaps skipping out the bit about mine and Sophie's bladder. That might be an idea. But yes Ben is pretty awesome, if you see this and you don't know of Ben or do but haven't seen his blog yet - DO IT NOW I DEMAND THAT YOU DO. Only because he's hilarious and just brilliant.

4). Connor McDougal (I hope I've spelt your last name right, I always get it wrong): Chin up Connor :) this'll probably make you smile. Also Connor writes poetry too, and song-y stuff! But I don't think he posts it online D': which is a shame. He also doesn't think he's amazing at it, when he is - which annoys me :P. Connor has been friends with me since good old year 7. So he knew me when I was some weird little kid obsessed with (my god my brain has gone dead - I'm getting old if it means I can't rememeber what I was obsessed with in year 7 - I bet it was some form of book series)

Theres also one other person, I'm not going to mention who they are, let's just call them Number 5 - I think Number 5 should know who they are if they see this.

Thank you, Number 5 for (somehow) making me want to write properly again as well as more often. I admire you. You've helped a lot.

I should really stop blabbering.


Without any further a-huey here is A question of heads or tails


A question of heads or tails


Four two pennies and a pence
What am I to do with this short change?
Its not like its strange to find
Four two pennies and a pence,
In your left coat pocket;
With tissues from two weeks ago,
Or tickets from the Chiltern Line,
To London Marleybone; on your own,
from when you went to see any old show.

Four two pennies and a pence
9p can't get you far these days
Copper coins on the dreary tramp's trays
'99p! Just 99p! A badge for your charity!' Said he.
Just four two pennies and a pence

Four two pennies and a pence,
I guess I could go down to the arcade,
Pushing pennies and win a lollipop,
Watching the down-pour of chinking coins drop.
A bronze array dated 1917 to 2008
Decapitated Lizzie's shimmer under the date.
But what am I to do?
With a tub of too many pennies and pence.

(Thats when I lost all my copper
I should've known those machines are a damn con.
Now all my brown beauties have gone
So now I'm back to-)

Four two pennies and a pence,
I can't even get the bus home with this!
Maybe I could buy a peice of paper,
A blank cavast and list -
Attempt to think of all the things I could buy
With four two pennies and a pence

Four two pennies and a pence?
Hmm,
I can only think of charity shops
And even now they're selling items
Worth glistening silver
I could pay the street musician
Listen until the melody stops.
Give thanks for his contribution
To the drizzle
He sings as the tears well up
Is he going home tonight?
Maybe I might...
Home tonight.
But he has a home,
So who is he to wail and moan?
Does he really want my
Four two pennies and a pence?

Four two pennies and a pence,
Maybe I'll contribute to the tramps' tray
Perhaps I'll help him buy lunch today
But what will he say?
'Thank you mam
I tip my hat to you
But what am I to do?
Is this bunch of coins of any value?'

~misshapenskies

This is me - a haiku

                Through words I can create
                             Just about anything now
                 Delve into my mind.. <3 

I should be working but instead I'm going to bombard you with what I'm up to in regards to life in general at the moment. I need to blog, then I need to do my essay. CRUMBS!

Yes, it's true I should be working. But right now I want to write something down here.

I've been attending a boarding school for the last 8 months, but now I've made the decision to come home and be what's called a 'day girl' again.

I think, I need to learn to become independant and appreciate my work and what I can achieve in school. At the end of the day, I want to go to university, I want to study English Literature and Creative Writing and I need a lot of determination to get to that stage.

But at the moment, for me finding motivation is proving difficult. I sit down to do my work sometimes though and I make lists of what I will get done. Sure, sometimes not all of it gets finished but I always try my best. Often, what I do is put stuff on the list that I have already done x) which is a bit sneaky I know but it helps you get into the mindset of achieving goals.

And that's what I wanted to talk about really, achieving goals :) (just gone back to this after I finished my post, I haven't really talked that much about achieving goals, I went off on a tangent a bit in the last three paragraphs.. I think haha)

Goals can be as little as making sure you go to bed at a reasonable hour (which I have got better at!) or something huge like writing a proper novel (I don't like young people who say 'Oh I've written 14 novels in the space of a year!' - this is not how to write, writing takes: time, skill and craft. You have to give up some of the things you love and you really have to concetrate. You have to be determined to do it little by little and you actually have to have a good solid idea which characters which you feel you can develop. OK - I'm going to stop otherwise I'm going to rant on about the skills of writing, and nobody wants that >.< - I guess what I am trying to say is - Hey, everyone is different)

I'm doing A-Levels, and currently I'm aiming for A, B, B. The subject that I feel I'm struggling with the most at the moment is History. But why is it that I find it so hard? I can't blame it on anyone except myself. I find the workload difficult, and my liking for the topics we are doing is very small (We're doing 'The Changing Role of Women in Britain 1860-1930' which is basically the suffragettes, 'Civil Rights in the USA' and 'The Vietnam and Korean War') the only one I think I enjoyed was Civil Rights in the USA but even that one I found hard. My folder won't even CLOSE properly anymore, that is how much work I have.

I'm also doing English coursework which is literally the bane of my life. I enjoy parts of it, it's just at the moment I am struggling with ONE PAGE of commentary on a peice of creative writing I've done. I did put it up here, but I took it down for many reasons. One, although I know not many people see this site, I don't want people plagiarising. And two, I decided I wasn't keen on posting school work on here, its not really MY proper work. The task was to interpret Sebastian Faulks' writing from the novel Birdsong. I'm also doing some coursework on a play called Journey's End by R.C. Sherriff which I'm finding significantly easier. It wasn't the creative writing that I found hard in the other task, it's just the commentary. Doing commentary on you're own work is really strange, I can't think of anything similar to it.. I guess it's like going to see a movie in the cinema that you're in and watching yourself perform? Which I guess would be a little weird.

So what else is going on in my life? Well, not much to be honest with you. I've recently had a break-up but it's not something that has been particularly bothering me or on my mind which I guess is good :). We're still talking as friends, which is what I've always wanted, so I guess that's why I don't feel any remorse or sadness over it. Its also nearly the Easter holidays, which means REVISION. SOLID REVISION. I have 4 exams coming up this May and two of them are History *facepalm* so I'll be busy with that. But I plan to meet up with an old friend and make rainbow cake, which consequently I HAVE NEVER EATEN. Which is crazy, really crazy. As well as this, I plan to try and get a job. Well I say try, I NEED to get a job, I swear I have lost the concept of money. I have £7.59 on my debit card, apart from that I am pretty much penniless *crumbs*. So, that's something that I plan to do. Moreover, my Dad has planned to go on holiday to Wales and has asked me to come with him and my brother :) which should be lovely. Hopefully I'll get enough time to relax and to revise. Perhaps I'll see if I can get some poetry done there, I've heard that its a nice are so maybe it'll inspire me to get writing :) we'll see

That's all for now folks,

~misshapenskies

An Avian Apparition

I'm not really sure what I think of this. This is something that I can't really describe, this poem will probably never make any complete sense, and I will never fully understand what happened myself. This is a description, in some form or another of a dream I had last night. I didn't just want to forget it and I had a feeling it would remain in my mind for quite some time. I thought, it's time I wrote more about my dreams, and this one was particularly fanatical. I'm not sure if I like what I've written, because I really want to illustrate what happened properly. But this is a shot, at what was a very peculiar dream. Let me know what you think?

An Avian Apparition

Seven minutes to fall to lucid sleep
To lucid sleep I fell
And in my dreams I became a dancer
A dancer and I shall tell,
Tell of how I fell into the arms
The arms of one who seemed to be
To be something extra-ordinary

Demanding, he bent me backwards
Backwards I should bend
Should fall into his gripping grasp
His gripping grasp, I could not pretend
Pretend to ignore my inward beating
Beating inside and blooming for his presence,
And I could not deny
The desire I felt in this lucid sleep.

The peakers searched myself
Searched my inner self and he seemed to slip
To slip right through me, I couldn't seem to concentrate
To concentrate on his words
His words were blind, instead I was hypnotised
Hypnotised by his percievance
His percievance was distracting
Distracting enough for him to see
and so he layed his hands upon me
Upon me as I began to feel
That the dream was becoming real.
He plucked my fingers and the roaring pain
The roaring pain I felt aflame
Aflame my fingers he ate and thrived
But suddenly I felt alive
He munched and moaned in pleasure he groaned
He groaned and licked
the gore dripping, dripping down his lips
I observed my fetid fingertips
My fingertips which were no longer graceful.

'Be graceful' he uttered and he grabbed my ears
My ears with his avengeful claws
He smothered me with his powerful jaws
His powerful jaws which were also lips
His lips stained with my fingertips
My fingertips attached to my hands
My hands bloodied, in his hands grand
His hands grand which heled mine
Our bodies start to entertwine

Is this even man at all?
Is he swallowing me up, will he haul
Haul me into deepest alleys where only the ravens rest?
The ravens rest in sinister places.
Sinister, I question him,
He answers with lust
He answers with sin
With sin he grips me harder than before
Than before the dance and before the fall
Before the fall I was free
Has this man, this raven, captured me?

Suddenly the face starts to change
To change and starts to re-arrange
To re-arrange into something new
A girl, who stuns me,
Who stuns me too.

Her russet dress flows and wraps around her
Around her I see bells and sounds of laughter
Her eyes, her eyes are pure and white
White, she is full of mystical light
Mystical light which I want to touch
To touch her but it seems too much
She strokes my hair and whispers
Whispers that 'my fingers were delicious'
Delicious fingers, I can see
This girl is neither he or she
He or she, confused as I am
Is a fiend, and so
I ran.


~misshapenskies

The Honeycreeper

OH HELLO THERE PEOPLE OF THE WORLD. >.<'
 I've decided it's time that I posted a bit more fiction on here, not just poetry. I think poetry and I need to take a break for a while and I need to let my creative juices flow ... into terms of short stories and little nippets of writing. It'll be fun :D. But I have this great little book called the Writers Block which I'm going to use to help me. However, something I just wrote recently called The Honeycreeper I wrote after looking at a picture and my brain had a <lightbulb!> moment which was just wonderful. Thus resulting in this.. Unfortunately I can't find the picture. But, it was of a women holding a bouquet of roses whilst peeking through a curtain on a train. It triggered this piece of writing, and I don't really know where it came from. I'd like to know what people think of the main character at the moment, who will currently remain nameless.. Perhaps I could do some character develop.. But anyway, I would like to hear some opinions on what kind of person you think he is. That'd be great :) just to get some feedback (SOMEDAY!?!). Also, if people like it I may develop it into a short story if I think it could potentially go somewhere.. (*starts humming somewhere over the rainbow, then realises that there are people in the room.. Oh crumbs.)

ANYWAY. Enough of my chitter chatter, here is The Honeycreeper. Just to let you know, I am thinking of editing it - so this isn't final yet :) WATCH THIS SPACE o.O <3

The Honeycreeper
My hardback lay open with a strip of red tissue on the petite yellow bird. It was the Hawaiian honeycreeper with a plump frame illustrated in my book of remarkable birds. Its distinct bent beak and sunny glow gave it an independent air, although it is known for being a lonesome creature. I felt the honey bird’s solitude, especially today when I was due to set off. Its beady black eyes had a certain glow though, showing a definite character. The air was hushed and tranquil, and I had no personal bother. Autumn leaves tumbled to and fro, frolicking by my feet and I brushed some debris off my jacket, fastening the loose buttons. The train was definitely late now, by eight minutes I could see as I pulled out my pocket watch. Now this, I had stolen from my father aged nine, the daft man never noticed. As I was contemplating memories of my father, I saw in the distance the russet glimmer of the train transcending towards me. It wasn’t exactly a popular station after the accident and rumours of haunting but I know that’s all a load of nonsense. But being the only man here I did feel an uncertainty of the place, furthermore I kept my luggage close. I smoothed the page of the honey creeper, closing it on its bookmark, assuring myself that I would continue my discoveries on the train. I had been delving into my interest of orthinology for the past eighteen months though and it has proved to have been of great relief to me. I couldn’t believe my daughter Arianna’s suggestion of a simple break to the beach to cure depression, that’s laughable. Sand gets in your socks, sand gets in your sandwiches! I can’t stand the beaches here; it’s wet, windy and wretched. Either that or there will be little brats running rancid all over the place, dribbling ice cream down you, or losing their trunks in the sea. Now, I want to be somewhere silent and I don’t think I’ve found anywhere truly quiet for many years. Everywhere is so built up nowadays, I remember sweet Daisy and I used to frolic in our gardens, and what brought us most satisfaction is the fact that we felt alone and that we could play our games in secret. Only the flowers or foliage knew our tricks and we held comfort in knowing we had our own private world, down at the end of the garden. Just as I was contemplating the memory of Daisy and I, the train arrived at the platform. I gathered up my possessions and fumbling, felt for my ticket in my pocket. When I looked up again I saw a young lady alone, peeking out of a red velvet curtain in her carriage.  She truly startled me; her eyes were of an enquiring dark black and her raised eyebrow suggested she was inspecting me. Her cropped blonde bob accentuated the frame of her face and her cheekbones and from her darker roots I could tell that it had been dyed. She appeared to be wearing a bulbous jacket, with a feathery hood. And in her arms she held an array of cherry roses that were tinted yellow. They were dainty roses, the type that only lasted a few days. Who had given them to her? They weren’t your regular flowers, not the striking red roses you’d expect from an admirer. The lady had her nose stuck in them, and she closed her eyes as if she was enjoying the aroma. Something about her captured me, and when I began to examine her more I could see that in fact she was not alone at all.  A young girl perhaps the age of eight tapped her shoulder and begged the lady for a rose bud. She didn’t seem bothered by the pestering child at all, and handed one over to her, fastening it in her breast pocket. The girl smiled with glee, running out of the train with what appeared to be her father, speaking in a rushed French voice. I got on board the train and decided that it may be worthwhile to sit with the lady with the roses. I tapped on the carriage door, and the lady opened it up for me, gesturing that I should sit down opposite to her. I peered at her for a while, smiling, watching her tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ears. Then she plucked at the petals, watching the loose ones collapse to the carpet.

 ~misshapenskies

The falling gentleman

This is a poem I wrote a while back. I tried to picture what it would be like steadily growing elderly and looking back on life. I don't know why but I did it in a style of an older man, and I picked a theme of Autumn to try and tie into it..

See what you think and please leave a comment :)

 The falling gentleman

Autumn mists are cracked like your voice
Tired of growing
Tired of ageing
You want to capture
Spring, for new life and wonders

Yet you only have mushrooms
Spotted mushrooms
With crumpled folds of skin steadily
Shrivelling

But how melancholy,
For each time it bends closer to the
ground it lets out a pityful cry
A cry that could almost be
human
'Each day I am closer to my passing'

Warped roots wrap
around your scuffed hoary soles
As you take a rusty breath and
sigh you see a
slice of your spirit

That five year old boy
Seized by the Spring
The infant believed he
would incessantly frolic
through the many blades
of grass..

Each one succulent...
Now it's sour.

You took her there
She was Summer.
Although..

You had changed.
The oak's army twirled around your
lifeless,
limp body, suffocating.

They want you,
they drained your inner being
your colour like the crippled mushroom
Occasionally,

You can sense the beauty seeping through
you can feel the warmth again
Of Summer

You're stuck though.
Squelching...
Knowing that each
And every day
you’re closer
to your passing.

The Seventh Spring

I wrote this when I was on my Creative Writing Course in London (http://www.debatechamber.com/) and my tutor, Megan - told me to write about a tree in Spring in the form of a (poorly crafted :P sorry) SONNET.

SONNETS ARE HARD. I'm not even kidding, I'm not too keen on anything structured, it reminds me too much of Maths (which, consequently got a C in for my GCSE *cheers*)

However, I have successfully (I think?) written a sonnet about "A tree in springtime"
Yes, Megan told me to write about a tree, and for someone who writes about any old rubbish I took this up and then found myself strangely uninspired. I mean come on, a tree! But then I thought about this tree that used to be outside my primary school (so for anyone abroad thats ages 4-10 .. I think) and at this time I was about 6 or 7. Now I was a dilly-daydreamer as a child. I can't sit still for more than five minutes (honest) I used to fiddle with my hair, and I even remember once fiddling with the hair of a girl IN FRONT OF ME, and told her I wanted it, because I thought she had 'princess' hair. *facepalm* ANYWAY, in this classroom there was a really nice view of a cherry blossom tree outside, and each season you could see the changes on the tree you always knew it was springtime when the pink blossom appeared :)

So I began thinking and remembering my silly primary school days, and I created this.. Enjoy!


The Seventh Spring
You, the growing child are starting to bloom
Sweet kisses of Spring and wrapped in the breeze
Twigs twirling up with the joy of the moon
Oozing with sap, gently rising with ease

So softly you brush and groom your splendour
Blossom brushing the awakening eyes
Then the warm times all creatures remember
The winter and the places where it lies

I sit by your regal trunk for a while
Admiring the flesh on this rich setting,
Place my palm on you and begin to smile
Beside this small foilage your are king

Its time to wake up from this dozy dream
Spring is awake and alive is the stream


Yes I know it's not brilliant and it is working progress, but give me a comment and let me know what you think?

Much love,

~misshapenskies

I'M SORRY! Update!

Hey >.< Sorry I've been away for a while.

Life has been incredibly confusing at the moment and I just went through a break up which is never nice. Sad times :( Oh well, one door closes another one opens - isn't that what they say?

Anyway, the person I broke up with - we were making a site together and I thought I was going to abandon misshapenskies.. But now that the relationship is over I guess we can't do that anymore..

It was a lovely nine months but I feel like a burden has been lifted from my shoulders now and actually I'm a lot happier.. All good things come to an end <3 and we still plan on being friends :) We are very close, and I hope we will be for a long time.

But enough about that, poetry is more important. <- true fact.

I recently went on a Creative Writing Course in London :)

(http://www.debatechamber.co.uk/)

And it was brilliant :) I learnt a lot and studied for two days with 5 lovely, like-minded (quirky) people who all shared their poetry and prose.

I have got some writing and general scribbles from over the weekend so I will post them up on here!

I'm hoping to try and get myself noticed a little bit more >.< haha .. nooot sure how I'm going to do that

Anyway, so we practiced lots of different genres of poetry including:

1. Beat Poetry
2. Confessional Poetry
3. Sonnets
4. Haiku's
5. and that lovely one called Free Verse ;D (the one I mainly use)

We also looked at the difference between short story and novel openings and then practiced some of them. I may put that up here, but I'm not confident about the quality of it :( so ... maybe? Maybe not? Je ne c'est pas. I can't speak French my dears.

Anyway, I will add any poems/fiction from http://www.completeoriginalcontent.tumblr.com/ (feel free to check it out, all the stuff on there - not talking about mine - is very good, microfiction, fiction, bit of poetry and ramblings here and there and I'm sure they would appreciate you having a look!) which is the site that I was on for a little while and will put them back here. :) I think it may be better that way
There are a few things I want to put up here so ... I'll get on it right away :)

~ misshapenskies

Untitled poem

This is awful, but I thought I should post it anyway, as I haven't posted in a long time. Sorry :( just very ill at the moment and currently feeling very uninspired :( sorry

*

There’s nothing I can do
No, nothing quite at all
To make you understand
The reason for my fall
Lets take a drop of whispers
Of weathered melodies
And slice them up together
With distant memories

Lets take a finger and scratch it
Scratch the fear away
After all it doesn’t matter
It’s gone by yesterday
I have something to tell you
There’s something on my mind
Yet your sitting here, my witness
With the problems I can’t find

Why is that I struggle?
To find the words to gasp
Whilst all the time I’m hiding
Behind the harshest masks
I have something to tell you
But you’ll never offer ears
So instead I’ll guess I’ll drown you
In hiccups and in tears

Why is it that I whimper
When there’s nothing wrong at all?
Or maybe that’s the reason
A reason for the fall
There’s a something deep inside of throat
A croaking
Yet it’s quite remote
You had a time when nothing seemed
Pleasant, spectacular
You departed in dreams

Why is it that I see in you what I used to see in me?
The way you simply turn away
When your eyes decline to see
There’s someone trapped inside of you
Please let me set them free

I know this isn’t poetry
This isn’t even work
This is simply just a expression
Of how much I am hurt
Sometimes I feel I’ve glass shards
In the corners of my eyes
And that every time I nearly succeed
I’m losing due to lies

Why is that there’s others
I wish that I could hold
Why is it that I’m losing (them)
My story seems foretold
Great things I wished to happen
Back when I was too young
Yet now I feel so different
I’ve been bitter, I’ve been stung

Why is it that I’m petty?
This writing isn’t mine
In fact I’d never write this script
These words don’t intertwine
It’s not the thoughts I like to think
It’s not the words I use
I’ve lost my portrait,
I need inspiration, I need a muse

Why is there nothing left for me to bring me back to I
I guess you’re getting tiresome now
(Let’s call this verse Goodbye.)
I’ve released something into words I wouldn’t normally speak
Just listen close
Just open, please.
I’m drowning, and I’m weak.

~ misshapenskies

I've been in France!

Sorry I haven't posted for a few days, I've been in Amiens - France. But expect (within the next day or so) posts about what I did there :)

New posts coming soon

~ misshapenskies

(1) What comes to mind..

I thought I'd share with you something I wrote just now, whilst just thinking. Sometimes, just 5 minutes of quiet reflection can really help your writing.

This is currently untitled :)

Redcanna by Georgia O'Keefe

A hallucinogenic palette,
this scene of the warbled sun
intertwined with ribbons.
 
A brush of femininity
warbled creases
Seem to overlap
Creating a stifling wasteland 

~misshapenskies

Comitatu

A friend of mine bought me a book a while ago called The Writers Block which is literally a little block book with ideas and one word prompts for writers suffering from writers block. This poem that I wrote was a product of my "sudden decline of work D:" and although it's not perfect, and needs a lot of work - I thought I would upload it anyway - IT'S SOMETHING.

Here is Comitatu:



Comitatu

My imagination is currently at the station. 
I’m sat down on benches,
Hands stuck to gum
I gaze at the tracks
Smile, breath and sit back
Examining the grooves
and the patterns of my thumb

Individualistic tendencies
I’m constantly thinking of conspiracies
Knitting up ideas in a cardboard box
Then I look down and see the stitches
Drop, and it’s hard
to keep out of my mind
But when I open the lock
I can’t seem to find, the reason
As to why
I can’t seem to write

I’m losing inspiration
Still here at the station
Then suddenly I see a train fly by
Its shot like a catapult
Running, racing, catch it
STOP!
is it my fault if I can’t see it?

All the ideas are at the next junction
My mind is jammed
It simply won’t function

This picture belongs to Google Images

Surgery

This poem I wrote a few weeks ago, as a way of relief - I've suffered from depression before and luckily I have poetry as a way of dealing with it. Luckily I've been fine recently :) but sometimes the memories of my "black" year come crawling back (as my doctor used to call it). This peice of poetry is about finding the answers, curiousity, and self-loathing which I'm sure any of you reading this HAVE been through at some point. We all have something about ourselves that we don't like or wish wasn't there. For me, discovering myself and improving my self-esteem has been a long and tirersome upheavel - and I'm still not confident (probably never will be). I called it 'Surgery' because I feel as though although I don't want surgery sometimes I want to perform MENTAL surgery on my attitudes towards my body and personality. I'm not sure if anyone else feels like this, but sometimes I feel like I'm five different people! Anyway, if you would like to know anything else about the poem, send me a message or comment :) Here is SurgerySurgery
A droplet at the axis of your nose
pirouetting, you stretch out your tongue ready to catch it
the salty certainty infects your lips
your seasoned lips taint your brain
your brain selects your recollections
and flourishes the height of regret.

You’re arms take you on a journey
and your fiddlers wipe your seasoned lips that try and touch
your elbows - still bruised
your elbows tell your arms to speak to your
Shoulders, which shrug at you
and tell you to mention it to the collarbone
collarbone says it’s simply there for show...
You plead for the comfort of your neck...
 Except it’s chocking on salty certainty.

So you look down to your hands,
the crafters.
 Then you remember what the fiddlers did,
the marvel that they perform
But the horror that they caused you?
So turn them aside in disgust!
You ask your wrists.
Who do I seek?
And the wrists say it’s time to lock onto to your thighs
your thighs say they’re not organized
then you fall to your knees
you say please!
Please, help me where do I go from here?
Why am I being chased?
The knees say they’d help but the legs know the full story

The legs just stand there in all their glory
And say don’t run, just confront and you’ll learn that the
Droplets of sorrow will be gone by-
When?
I bawl and crawl and fall
to the floor
so I can pour her onto my .

She’s marked with stains.
 I’m tainted with names.
I can present the art of shame
 and who am I to blame?
After all,
I hacked my sodden core in half
and shared it with her.~misshapenskies

I do not own this picture - Google Images

Further Clarification

This was a poem I wrote about a year ago. There used to be a place where I would go when I just needed to sit and think - and this poem is about that. Feel free to comment :) criticism is what I need!

Further clarification

 Out I bound

To this occasional

 Loquacious spring wonderland

A garden so serene in the dawn of frost

Yet others would see as none

I see so much more

Than the Simple

Sepia of that sky

I will deny the primary colours

They are not the sky

The greens and blues

Begin to fuse

Creating something more

On my tongue, catching the warmth in my eyes

I taste the nature of my place

In the black shadow of my hair

This escape for my emotions

Thus is cardinal

And as I gaze through my

Sealed lids that picture only reality

I look at the dancing figure that is me

A spinning little filigree

Once my questions are answered

I’ll thank the sun that sets

In the west

Winking at my grin

Laughing with the soft wind

Then, as it gives me one last soft kiss

I’ll turn my back

To the old oak tree

 Gone,

 skipping back in my crisp white blouse

~ misshapenskies

I do not own the picture.

Decided to write a haiku!



MY HAIKU



I read a play a while ago called Haiku by Katherine Snodgrass and thought it was very detailed and interesting piece of work (a recommended read DEFINITELY). It's a truly wonderful play about the connections of female family members and the haiku's in it are great :)

Anyway, this is what I wrote (not even sure if it's a proper Haiku)


I’ve seen dogs lick tears
and the beggar man believe
On the bitter nights

What to learn how to write one?
^ follow this link, come on have a go ;)

Cloud Nine

This poem is one I wrote a while ago, I'm not sure what brought it on...
Anyway, critical comments are appreciated and I would love to hear what people think!
So without further ado, here is Cloud Nine

Cloud Nine

Haze

 stroke withdrawn cheeks

I wish to feel your depth,

suppleness of your nonentity in my

Clammed, sticky palms

Oh and how you look tonight

You knew it was an occasion to be remembered

To be hallowed

Heads will roll, to undergo

that essence of baptism

Once upon the hours of owls

 Held out a dove

And gave me a slice of

Cloud nine,

Which is what was, and now is mine.

Nightfall has a frayed black halo,

these echoes shall ring through horns

With remembrance, bound upon spite

In Twilight - I shall mourn.

First Sonnet

I wrote a sonnet for someone... It's not as easy as it looks trust me!

The reservoir
Back in the meadow seeking after him
Chasing bicycles down dreary lanes with
window panes and my feet on the brim of
 the sundown with my limbs rising weary.

Sitting we saw the altostratus clouds
like blankets that swept over the wise words
abruptly my worry seemed draped in shrouds
this atmosphere was convulsing with birds.

Swallows curled up in gratis ecstasy.
Our thumbs had a pulse with murmurations,
of what we hunted and needed to see.
You gave various clarifications.

For I see continual joy amid bliss
Look there, sweet eyelash – make your ceaseless wish.

This is very sweet, I found it on an article
the other day about optical illusions.

A welcome note



Well hello there *peeps out from behind corner*
I'm Hannah (but you can call me whatever ^_^ I don't mind), and I'm here to post some poetry and other little bits of writing that I occaisionally do.

Now, I'm not here to do blogs about nothing or gifs or whatknot! I'm here for a purpose - to share my writing with you <3 and hopefully you might like it
So I thought I would make this short and sweet seeing as it's my first one. But I just wanted to say I'll be posting art/photography on here as well!

~ misshapenskies
P.S. Have a look at my Google+ account if you want :)



^ Haha, that's what I look like -.-