Tag Archives: poetic

Phantoms of the sea

We hear echoes in the dark like night

But it is daylight outside right now

We are in a mouldy damp place

Shadowed with stones around

Every footstep is like a heartbeat

Every movement a rustle like many leaves

Everything is black and wet

This is a home for us thieves

We are scurvy vagabonds

Fresh from the sea

This is our hiding place

It’s not nice, but it keeps us free

We do not wander in the daylight hours

We sit and wait till dark

Then once everyone is tucked in bed

A commandeered new ship we’ll embark

We keep this way forever

We are the pirate ghosts

Though some say we look fresh and alive

If I said I had flesh I’d boast

We’re not like what we used to be

What we are I really don’t know

But we don’t have mortal concerns and we have far to go

So maybe we will see you on the shores of some sea town

But it is likely if we see you, you will surely drown

What we are, I cannot tell

But we won’t be looked on at all

If you see us, by perchance

We will take you to Poseidon’s ball

Some may even call it Hell

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Filed under Poems P - R

The kelp dragons and the fairy coronation

In the land of the kelp dragons all mossy and green

The creatures are preparing a coronation for a new fairy queen

Her dress is green felt embroidered with ferns and her crown is gold apricots that won’t spoil or turn

She rides to the scene with an elegant mare, that’s decorated with blueberries, apples and pears

The dragons sit around protecting the queen

Nothing can harm them, they are too supreme

The fairies all gather around in the fen

As the dragons give their blessings to the queen and them

Before the dawn comes all have fun at the ball

The royal procession is fun time for all

Before the sunrises, the queen kisses goodbye, to all the kelp dragons and tries not to cry

Because she won’t ever see them again, as they only come to fairies if its coronation time again

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Filed under Poems J - L, Short Story Series

Writer losing her mojo

We all have heard the saying that “writers write as simple as that” and it is really is as simple as that, but most don’t actually do it as regularly as they should or at least believe they should.  For me, I do not write as much as I believe I should because in the last few years I have lost my mojo, I forgot what it meant for me to write and I have done a lot of soul searching in the past year to find out where the passion has gone.

I did something rare for me – I re-read a book, usually I don’t re-read books unless I put them into a reference category but this particular book I re-read and saw it with fresh eyes and read things I didn’t remember were in the book in the first place.  The name of the book was “Big Magic” written by Elizabeth Gilbert.  When I read this book I asked myself a question; “Why do I think I have lost my love for writing”?  It was a simple answer really upon reflection and I would never have gotten this answer if it wasn’t for this book.  My writing became too focused on financial panic, the urge to write as much as I can so I can earn a living because I needed to break out of debts, but instead, this kind of pressure halted everything about my creative mind and I found I couldn’t do anything other than dramatic self-pitying poetry on mass, the stories and the playtime died, literally.

For the word, nothing has been published except for the things that are published on this blog simply because I didn’t want to approach a publisher with such depressing poetical themes, because I still hold to the idea that I am primarily a fantasy and horror story writer, not a poet!  I am also an essayist I suppose, because I like writing and hoarding information I have learned about my favourite subjects, but I am not sure how to become a paid essay writer and I am not really going to approach that as a career until I learn more about it. 

Anyway – getting back to the main subject of this post.  I forgot how to play – yes, even in real life, I have forgotten how to play and to laugh because of my severe depression, breakdown and financial worries.  I became so down in the dumps about my life that I had two years of being carefully guarded by Paul my fiancé because I couldn’t be left alone for fear I’d commit suicide, seriously.  One point it got so bad, Paul had to go out somewhere without me and he needed to ask a neighbour to sit in with me.  To say I am over that now, would be wrong, the slightest thing brings it back, but I am not as bad as I used to be, the self-harming has stopped a little bit and I am more predictable these days; but ultimately, the depression is still there and I am trying hard to find out how to play again, how to feel happy again and how to enjoy life.  I don’t enjoy anything anymore and it is getting increasingly difficult since the doctor is now looking into what they believe to be a very serious neurological problem, either MS or motor neurone disease, but like always there is a long waiting list here in the UK and I won’t really know what’s going on with me for several months apparently.

So, how does one go about trying to find out how to be happy again and learn to play again?  It turns out according to the book “Big Magic” and a couple of other books I have read recently that it is something most adults get out of practise of, that once you start trying to become playful and do things which are generally playful (even if you don’t feel happy doing it or feel that it is playful) you will eventually trick your mind to becoming playful and you will build up a type of momentum.  Once the momentum is built up, you will start to feel a change – well I hope so.

I thought hard about how I write stories now in comparison to how I wrote them ten years ago, was there any notable differences in how I produced work back then than now?

Yes there was a huge fundamental difference in fact. 

A decade ago I wasn’t afraid to be thought of as eccentric or insane, I would play with my imagination and I would share my thoughts and ideas no matter how obscure and strange they were with people around me and then I would write about those ideas.  I used to have a lot more creative friends too, but many of them have creative careers which have made them too busy to socialise even online, some have died, some have decided that they too have lost their playful side and have become super conservative people.

I have also found that my social circle is smaller these days which is amazing because I used to think my social circle couldn’t get any smaller ten years ago, the people who I do talk to these days are very serious people who have a worried look on their faces whenever anybody talks about anything out of the ordinary, even if you were to explain that you are an artist and a writer so it’s not a mental health problem, it’s just my mind playing with ideas and therefore there is a story in this.  You’d be surprise how people like that can dry up your will to be imaginative or to share your ideas.

Some people who have very little imagination tell me that they wished they had more of an imagination and they start to tinker with my story ideas themselves (which I don’t mind) but then they start demanding that they must change my concept on my fantasy worlds because things are just not plausible and that readers are real people who live in the real world and they want something believable, so they start pulling at the threads of my fantasy infrastructure and start literally pulling my fantasy communities apart by the seams.  It turns out that even my perfect all powerful fantasy God is not infallible, that he has other beings that will cause problems he can’t deal with and that even this God ponders who created him and so forth.  I told the person, you are going too deep here buddy, I don’t want to go that way in my story, but they insist that I must.

I became a fantasy writer because I find the real world too boring and predictable for me to want to think about and write, the idea of making a fantasy based novel plausible, to me, is laughable, because fantasy is supposed to be anything BUT normal. 

To cut myself off from such people will almost completely isolate me again, which I don’t want.  But can I really sit through another conversation where my worlds are being shattered write before my eyes?  I often feel like screaming at the top of my voice “Of course this fantasy God has a creator you dumbass, it is me, I am their goddess, I made them, but I am not egotistical enough to put myself in the book as the all-power”, does any other writer go through this?  Or is this situation totally unique to me?

So I am currently on a journey to find “My tribe” as Elizabeth Gilbert puts it and to find my playful imaginative self again and to have the confidence and focus of not listening to those who are dismantling my worlds and to continue with what I had always planned instead.  Which is a shame because these people used to feed me ideas, used to support me, but these days it is just soul destroying.  I have to ignore the world destroyers.

I wanted to join a writers group, but not sure what is involved with those and I am scared to find more people who are like that, once they’ve heard my stories.  I am trying to forget the people who are making me focus on writing purely for financial reasons and try to focus once again on writing for me, for fun, for release and for pleasure; the way it should be for all writers.

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Filed under About my work

Goblin Market – Christina Rossetti

Christina Rossetti’s Goblin Market

One of my all-time favorite poems, though I cannot recite it from memory yet; this deserves to be in inspiration corner because of the beautiful haunting sceneries Rossetti sets up for the reader.

Goblins tempting young maidens to buy their fruits, though maidens must never buy fruits from goblin men lest they desire a dismal end; very inspiring in an artistic way too, for me. The times I have read this poem and thought, I wish I could do better art, I would paint these fruits and the goblin men in the market; but I do not have the skills to do that as of yet, that will be attempted in the future though.

This is my favorite as it is a fantasy poem and I think this review deserves to be on a site such as this, fantasyfed, don’t you?

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Filed under My inspirations

Dreams of sugar

Little dreams of sugar

Little dreams of cake

Christmas is coming

It’s time to celebrate

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Filed under Poems D - F

reality come to check

So near and yet still so far

I’ve a long way to get home

I cannot tell how far it is

So until then I’ll have to roam

I seek home here and I seek home there

Where there are better days

I need my reality to come to check

I feel like I’m in a craze

What am I and who will I be?

That’s the question now

Maybe I will find out some day

But until then I’ve much to plough

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Filed under Poems P - R

Night Kinsfolk

As I walk into the valley of the shadow of death

I fear no evil

For evil is me

And I am it

 

Though darkness surrounds my very soul

I fear not the legends of monsters old

For I am a monster

And I am old

 

And though I seem fragile, dainty and weary

I am but an illusion

I am your confusion

My deary

I am strong, I am fierce and I never tire

For blood is my desire

 

I am the whispers of Carpathian folk

The night mistress of blood

With her vampire kinsfolk

I am they

And they are me

And together we will for eternity, be

As one

 

 

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Filed under Poems M - O

Life is just cruel

What is the point of living when everyone wants a fight?

What is the point of talking if they don’t believe your plight?

What’s the point of contact, if you’ve nothing to say to each other?

What’s the point of talking if they won’t believe one and other?

What’s the point of life at all?

I’m at a lost, life’s just cruel.

All I want is a bit of peace

A little quiet in the least

Why can’t people let me be?

Why am I denied to be free?

Just leave me alone

That’s what you can do

There’s nothing to talk about

Just make do.

Let me ignore everyone from my past

So I can find my peace at last

 

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Filed under Poems J - L

I’m a cocktail

I am a mix, a cocktail of habits and idiosyncrasies

I am a person

I am my self

An individual

I control what I like and what I do

I do them for me and not for you

I am a rainbow of surprises

And what you’ll know of me is what I gift to you

You may not see the whole picture

To survive one person has many masks

Do not trust those with few

Nothing is completely black and white

Everything and everyone is an array of color

An enmeshment of flavors

We are our chefs of life

Go forth, be yourself, in delight

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Filed under Poems G - I

Mind gallery

My mind is like a gallery, with pictures you can’t see

Oh how I wish you’ll see them, what sights there are in me

My memories of lavender fields and brightly colored stones

And kestrels up on the wing, over my head have flown

Delightful little butterflies who have landed on my hand

And baby swans upon the lake all over this pleasant land

I have seen such wonders, such a joy to see

Little rabbits playing, frolicking by trees

I have seen the otter holding its mother’s hand

I have seen a rainbow, arching over our land

The little things in life are sweet

I find nature a beautiful treat

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Filed under Poems M - O