Hi fellow bloggers,
I am going to give away a free copy of Whisperings via a sweepstakes.
Terms and Conditions:
Thanks for playing!
I’d like to try something new, like collaborative poetry and call it “A Poem for Your Thoughts.”
This is how it works:
This is completely experimental, so I don’t know how it’ll go and how many people would respond. I will also be posting this on my Facebook pages.
I previously did something similar in my poem 30 Days of Beard which was a lot of fun.
This week’s experiment would be about STRESS
Your answers can be realistic, silly or sarcastic. Be creative, have fun with it! I’ll post back in a week! 🙂
Here’s a collage using Google images to give you some inspiration.
Since Halloween just ended, I thought it was a good opportunity to post my other darkish flash fiction piece that I wrote in 2005 before moving back into the realm of poetry.
You Are Mine
Laylona bolted out of her bed as she heard a roar of thunder followed by a terrible screech. From the corner of her eye, she saw a black figure race into the darkness. Darn that stupid cat, always so cowardly, Laylona thought. Nevertheless, she grabbed her coat and went after her beloved Sir William. After all, it was the only thing her mother had left behind.
A tear started to fall from Laylona’s eyes as memories of her mother flooded back to her. She could still remember the day her mother had come running, holding two ice cream cones in her hands. Yet Laylona never tasted that Rocky Road because her mother never made it across the street. A red mustang, going 80 mph, had slammed into her, spraying blood all over the gray cement. Laylona had suffered from depression ever since that day, but luckily, she had found an escape, a way to avoid the pain.
At that moment, Laylona noticed a dark shadow dart across the bramble weeds and disappear behind the open doors of a huge mansion. She couldn’t help but hesitate at the entrance, wondering if this was the legendary haunted house talked about among the townspeople. There was no time to decide as the rain started pouring. Laylona gently touched the wooden door, which groaned in return.
“Anybody home?” she squeaked. The sound of rats scurrying across the floor was the only response. As Laylona took two steps into the house, a gust of wind whipped past her, and the door slammed shut. The house was then filled with an eerie silence, a kind of anticipation, like a mummy ready to be reborn.
Lightning continued to flash outside and Laylona was able to piece together the interior of the house. In the center of the room the once glamorous 15th century furniture was covered in cobwebs and the cream colored rug on the floor was stained with rat urine. Aligning one side of the wall was an elegant cabinet of wine glasses, no longer shiny, but worn with age. Laylona gasped in amazement, but her glimpse of the house was over when the lightning stopped, engulfing her in darkness.
Then, as if by magic, a light appeared before her eyes. Laylona saw a woman with dark flowing hair dressed in a white gown. It was her mother and in her arms was Sir William.
“Here,” whispered her mother, extending her hands to offer the cat to her daughter. When Laylona took hold of Sir William, her mother disappeared.
“Mom?” she called into the darkness, but there was no answer. All of a sudden, she felt a searing pain in her arm and found herself staring into the devilish countenance of the cat. A set of burning red eyes, accompanied with sharp, piercing fangs, pored into her very soul.
“YOU WILL NOT LEAVE THIS HOUSE!” croaked an inhuman voice.
Laylona felt her heart beating ferociously as she tried ridding herself of the cat, but her struggle was to no avail. Stifling a cry, Laylona reached into her pockets for her savior. Throughout the hard times, these LSD pills had given her the courage to go on, but this time it wouldn’t work. This time around, they were the cause of her suffering.
Hard as she tried, she could not escape. Hideous laughter filled her ears.
“YOU ARE MINE!”
This was originally a flash fiction assignment that I had in class, in which I utilized the same idea from a poem that I had written. It’s supposed to be weird and ambiguous, so I hope you enjoy it!
Nothing in Particular
Rain falls in a diagonal motion, wetting ground, watering plants, falling into puddles, making ripples in the pond. Outside, little boys in blue raincoats are chasing paper ships down the waterway. The elderly Mrs. Chan dressed in white, burns paper houses in a black cauldron for her dead husband. It has been a long night. The crow watches a raindrop slip off the golden leaf and disappear with a “plop.”
A moment of silence, and then the rain pounds harder, like translucent daggers hammered into doors. The crow flies off into the night, passed the children, passed the wooden house, passed the naked slithering worms, into the cemetery with Gothic gates where people are engaged in a ritual dance. Singing, shouting, dancing around and around, arms in the air, with the beating of drums. Crosses, crosses everywhere, there are angels too, all over the tombstones. R.I.P.
The crow flies off, passed the lovers skinny-dipping in the lake with moonlight glistening on their skin, passed the restless, thrashing waves, passed the fallen tree, occasionally dodging the wire-like thunderbolts, only to land on the sill of a barred window at the insane asylum. With his dark little pupils, he watches, waiting, anticipating … the scream!
The woman has her back to him. Her long black hair falls down her thin nightgown in a tangled mess, until the tips touch the floor. She stares at the granite wall, as if mesmerized. She counts: 1, 2, 3, until she reaches 13, and turns around. She is pale with sunken eyes and high cheekbones. There are cracks in her red lips. Upon seeing the crow, she screams and screams and SCREAMS!
Her voice drowns out the “drip, drip, drip” of the leaking faucet in the corner of the room. Her face is contorted in pain. Her eyes reflect the flickering light of the candle that sits on the nightstand. The crow does not flinch, but simply stares back.
The screaming stops as the woman brings her index fingers to her lips and kisses it.
“Shh …,” she whispers, “breathe in, breathe out.” Her chest rises and falls, rises and falls. All over the world, awake or asleep, people are breathing a harmonious song of nature. She spreads out her arms, as if to fly, and twirls around in circles at a steady pace.
“This is our moment, a special moment in time,” she whispers. She throws back her head and cackles, jumps up, and lands sprawled on the floor. She slowly bites her finger until a trickle of blood appears.
“Shh…,” she whispers, gently putting down her bleeding finger on the cold cement. She writes in the flickering candlelight with the crow perched on the windowsill and the moon shining behind. There are no stars tonight, and she is no van Gogh. When her writing stops, she blows out the candle and the crow flies off. What does she write? Nothing, nothing in particular.
Louisiana has embraced a new public literary feature in the form of poetry boxes (small boxes on decorated poles) that display the work of local writers. It will be placed throughout the North Shore area and the poems will be rotated each month. The town hopes to engage passerby to stop for a moment and appreciate an art form that gets little recognition in this day and age.
I think this is a novel idea 🙂
To read the entire article, visit: nola.com
Good afternoon fellow writers, photographers and lovers of life, The Tiny Prints Friends and Family Sale is here! We’ve got some great new designs this year. Email me at jenkatluu@yahoo.com to get an exclusive code and save on holiday cards, party invites, announcements and more. Mention that you are a follower of Whisperings in the subject line just so I know who you are! 🙂 Shop Holiday Cards now!
These were my picks for the year. Sorry, I can’t post my actual photos and ruin the surprise for any of my friends that happen to see this 🙂
In honor of Halloween, here’s a fun poem.
The Bad Little Angel
“Dear Dracula,” wrote the little girl,
“More than anything in the world,
I wish to meet you.
You don’t believe me, but it’s true.
The darkness within me
longs for your embrace.
I want to surrender to you,
body and soul.
I want to lose my mind
and lose control.
My heart aches for your touch.
I want to feel the power,
the adrenaline, and the rush.
I want to kiss
your luscious red lips.
I long to touch
your smooth, cold skin.
My body tingles
at your touch,
and I love
that very much.
I am hypnotized and mesmerized
by your fiery, red eyes.
I want to feel
your sharp, canine teeth
pierce through my skin.
I want to feel
the pain and power
from within.
I am thirsty for you unholy blood
being poured into my mouth.
I long to be
in complete ecstasy and oblivion…”
The girl looked up, startled,
and said, “Oh, my God.”
For there he was.
“What are you writing?” asked God.
“Nothing,” muttered the girl.
“You better not write anything indecent,
or else you’ll lose your wings,” He warned.
The little angel looked around,
crumpled up the paper
and threw it away.
She started another letter
and wrote, “Dear Lucifer.”
I am happy to announce that after almost two years of work in selecting, collating, editing, proofing, designing and tweaking my collection of poems, Whisperings is officially published and available for purchase on CreateSpace! Read about it here: https://www.createspace.com/4596601. It is now available on Amazon as well: http://www.amazon.com/Whisperings-Decade-Jenny-Katherine-Luu/dp/1494853183/
Stay tuned for future release dates and local poetry readings!
Thanks everyone for your support! 🙂
Every so often you hear a song that really speaks to you (not because of the beat, but because of the message). Try by Colbie Caillat is a beautiful and inspiring song about self-image. It reminded me of a poem I wrote a while back called Who You Are Within.
Who You are Within
In the mirror, she stares
hoping that someone would care
how beautiful she looked
because of the amount of time it took.
She smiles and tosses her hair,
wondering what to wear.
She puts on an expensive dress
and shoes that cost no less.
She begins her mission
of putting on lipstick with precision.
Mascara, powder, cream
and jewelry that gleams.
She has it all,
standing gorgeous and tall.
Looking like a star,
she has accomplished her dream.
But appearance may not be
what it seems.
What she really lacks
is self-esteem.
Wipe off that lipstick!
Take off that powdery mess!
If you want success
that’s not the way to go.
All you need to show
is who you are within.
The comet hit the earth,
splintered into a million pieces,
shards of glass, of metal, and of flesh
in the midst of hazy smoke and flames.
A mirage, a hallucination,
it must be LSD,
but it was not;
it was a thousand degree heat.
A massive oven of radiation
burning flesh, melting flesh, like acid
pop, pop, pop.
Flames of madness
running through the street,
limb by limb
flying off
whimpering moans, crumbling walls,
a scream so shrill, it explodes in your ear
and pierces your heart,
a dagger of insanity,
the horror, the horror,
flashes of white
inside and outside your head
as they are thrown on walls,
crushed beneath buildings,
hands grabbing desperately
for you, for help, for life,
forever …
in the midst
of tears, of war, of people
losing lives,
forever
in your heart,
in your memory,
they cry.
Whisperings 