Thursday, March 31, 2011

Inspirationless

This must be bad.


I have only just started trying to write a novel and I am already at a loss for creativity. I cannot produce anything decent for the monthly poetry competition on Writing Forums.


Where do I go to from here?

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Missing You

I read this poem about 6 years ago and it is one I have never forgotten.


If missing you could blacken stars
there'd be no midnight show


If missing you could make it rain
the seas would overflow


If missing you could make it hot
there'd be deserts all around


If missing you could silence noise
the Earth would have no sound


And so I go now dreaming of
when I am holding and kissing you


For only God knows how much it hurts
when I am missing you.

Monday, March 14, 2011

Dulce et Decorum est by Wilfred Owen

One of the members on Writing Forum suggested I read the poetry of this man. Wilfred Edward Salter Owen (18 March 1893 - 4 November 1918) was a British poet and soldier, one of the leading poets of the First World War. His shocking, realistic war poetry on the horrors of trenches and gas warfare was heavily influenced by his friend Siegfried Sassoon and sat in stark contrast to both the public perception of war at the time, and to the confidently patriotic verse written earlier by war poets such as Rupert Brooke.

His writing is remarkable. Sharing the truth and emotion behind the small details of war that one never really hears about. I thoroughly enjoy reading his work.

Dulce et Decorum est


Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime…
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.

Saturday, March 12, 2011

Media Drones

I have recently been made part of a team of online media reviewers.


Take a look at my first article:
http://www.media-drones.com/home/2011/3/12/getting-to-know-kresha.html

Friday, March 11, 2011

Tragedy in Japan

I could not believe my eyes when I logged onto News24.com this morning and saw the state that Japan is in.


My heart goes out to everyone who has been involved in this. Wishing them the very best.

Thursday, March 10, 2011

Ideas for Vampire Romance

I have been doing some research and have found lots of old folk lores regarding the different "breeds" of vampires that were believed to have existed.

I took some interest in one particular kind of vampire:

Estries. They are female vampires of Hebrew mythology that were believed to prey particularly on men. I think this could be a good main character idea.

An Estrie, created at sunset in 1465, has always lived the life of a vampire - drinking the blood of living flesh. She has memories of her human life, but it has been centuries and what she can remember makes it very difficult to continue in her current lifeless days.

Her coven all live a similar lifestyle, feeding when the need arises. Her and her 3 'sisters' have been together since a century after she was changed. They discovered each other whilst on a journey through Africa. They currently inhabit a plush house just outside of Johannesburg. To feed, they head into the outskirts of Johannesburg and drink the blood of those living in the squatter camps. They believe due to the intense over-population of the squatter camps, many will not be noticed missing. They have continued this lifestyle for 300 years and no one is aware of them.

They prefer to hunt at night, in order to be unseen, but are not cursed to it like other vampires. Three of the four sisters hold permanent working positions, while the other stays home and maintains the house. They have all learnt to control their thirst, but do find it far more difficult to be in close proximity with a male, particularly an attractive one. Estries are exceptionally beautiful. Pale skin with no blemishes or freckles, portrait-worthy faces that lure you in and immaculate bodies.

It is believed that estries could turn into either birds, cats or various other animals. For the sake of the story, perhaps the main character will have the ability to turn into a dove, one sister an eagle, another a cat and another a lion. All of these phasing abilities and that which they turn into is based on their temperament. Legends state that an estrie is only able to phase if she wears her hair unbound. If her hair is bound, this will keep her grounded and render her unable to fly or change form.

Estries can only survive on the blood of living flesh, nothing else. So no chances of eating animals as a replacement. Although it is believed that if they have been injured (which is possible), they must eat the bread and salt of the one who struck her. By doing this her soul will return to the way it was before. If she does not do this, she will die. Estries were considered undeterred by religious iconography and were believed to be able to walk into holy places. Though methods described for the killing of estries were conventional, burial alone would not prevent them from returning. An estrie must have it's mouth packed with earth, or be decapitated or burned.

I can go into more detail about their lives and how each of them has made it to this point. I can explain daily lives and commit to conversation between them in order to better understand the individual personalities of each of the sisters. As I have said before, I want it to be a romance, so a male will interrupt the life of one of the estrie's, causing chaos and havoc for all involved.

I am getting excited now that I am starting to find subject material.

Please let me know if you think this is a good idea or not.

Thank you


Jinxi

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Vampire Romance

I have been thinking about writing a Vampire Romance...

I asked for some advice on the Writing Forums.


I am looking for ways to go about making it sound nothing like the sparkly Twilight. Please leave a comment with your ideas for me.

Thank you

Jinxi

The Beauty of a Child at Play

There is nothing quite like it
The presence of a joy that as adults we forget
The innocence of a game
That lights up the face of a toddler

A giggle that makes the sun shine brighter
A playful bounce across the playground
A hop, a skip and a jump
A smile depicting utter happiness

It is so rewarding to watch a child at play, the pride that oozes from their tiny little faces as they achieve a level within a game. My man’s little boy has being playing computer games this morning. He is still too young to read and sometimes it can become quite frustrating when he asks for help every five seconds. Yet he has taught himself how to start and exit the different games, how to log onto his profile when he starts up the pc, all at the tender age of four.

I remember when my man decided to buy him a laptop. I simply couldn’t fathom the idea of such a young child having his very own Dell laptop. It seemed completely over-the-top to me. I was raised in a way that I only received such extravagant items if I had earned them. However, my man is of the belief that in this day and age learning to use a computer is as important as riding a bicycle. We agreed to disagree and he bought the laptop from the sale they were having at his company. I was very stubborn at first. “Do not eat anywhere near the laptop”, “Do not drink anywhere near the laptop”, “Do not sneeze on the laptop”, but once I saw him learning how to use it I forgot all about my concerns. It was remarkable. His coordination of the mouse left me speechless, especially because he has little coordination in basic things like walking down the hall.

He was playing a game that I downloaded off the Internet for him. It is called Diver Jimmy. A simple game with colourful graphics and a basic plot. As he completed level one I heard a loud scream followed by hurried footsteps as he ran towards our study. “I did it! I passed the level. All by myself!” he shouted over-excitedly. I gave him the kind of hug my mom used to call a ‘python hug’. It is a very tight squeeze and he giggled and ran back to his computer. A basic moment to so many, but a precious, unforgettable one to me. He is a very introverted little boy and to see him come alive like that makes my world stop. He may not be my child, but the pride I felt was that of a normal mother. An innocent joy that changed my entire day. Thank you my little angel.

Life after Death

I wrote this in memory of the morning my mom died...


Have you ever woken up to the sound of screaming?

I opened my eyes in a hope to dissipate the horrific sounds from my relentless dream, only to find that the yells were in my world. My real world. It was still dark outside; I glanced over to my bedside clock – 2:20am. What is happening? Why is my father screaming? I raced out of bed and followed the sounds of anguish into my parent’s bedroom. “She’s not breathing! She’s not breathing! I can’t get her to breath! My angel! Please!” My father lay quivering next to my mother’s naked, exposed body on the bathroom floor. I cannot describe the wave of emotions that sped throughout my body. I was frozen for a split second until memories of first aid came streaming back. I ran to her side and immediately felt for a pulse … … … Nothing. I looked up at my father, desperation flashing through the broken man’s eyes, and I knew in that moment that my life would never be the same again.

Whenever I used to watch tragedies in the movies, I used to laugh when the character would call 911 and be unable to remember their personal details. I remember thinking to myself that I would never be like that. I thought I would remain calm, collected and completely sane. This is one depiction of human reaction that the movies don’t lie about. I called the emergency services and tried very hard to explain what was happening. “She’s not breathing! I don’t know what to do! My mom is not breathing! Tell me what to do!” The lady on the other end of the line tried to calm me down – “Alright dear. Explain what has happened”. “I-I-I don’t know! I was asleep and then I heard my dad shouting that he couldn’t get her to breathe!”
The lady spoke again, in a very soft and gentle voice spoken in such a manner as to create a sense of complete understanding, “Tell me your name darling.”
“It’s... um…” I paused, horrified that I could not remember my own bloody name.
“It’s Smith… um... Kayla Smith! Please help me!”
“Ok Kayla, how long has your mom not been breathing for?”
“Um… 20 minutes I think… um… maybe more!”
“Ok sweetheart. Have you checked for a pulse?”
“I have! She doesn’t have one! That is why I am phoning you! Please you have to help me! I have to make her breath again!”
“I understand dear. What is your address? I will dispatch an emergency vehicle to you immediately.”
“I live in… ah… oh my God I can’t believe this! … I know this, I just can’t remember…”
“It’s ok sweetheart. Take a deep breath and try to remember your address for me.”
“It’s number 2. Yes number 2!”
“Ok. What is the name of your street?”
“It’s number 2! The complex… it’s something Italian… Bella something. Shit! Casa del Bella! That’s it!”
“Very good! Now what street?”
“Church!”
“Wonderful. Well done. A vehicle has just left and is on its way to you as we speak. Now Kayla, is there anyone else there with you?”
“Oh thank you! Thank you so much! Um, yes my father is here.”
“Where is he now?”
“He is in the bathroom. Sitting by my mom. He is trying to give her CPR, but nothing is happening!”
“Ok darling. Go stay by your father. You need to be together. The ambulance will be there in about 15 minutes.”
“Thank you so so much!”

Those next 15 minutes felt like an eternity sitting next to my mother on the bathroom floor. After every 4 pushes that I made on her chest, my father would breathe heavily into her mouth, but all that was released was a horrific smell along with a gargle. I knew she was gone. I knew that I would never see her smile again or laugh at me when I tripped over my own feet like I always did. There was a man sitting along the other side of her. I didn’t recognise him anymore. He was still, as white as ghost and distant.

I jumped as our intercom rang. For a second I could not comprehend where the sound was coming from. It rang again, triggering my memory. I ran to pick it up and let the ambulance in. I sprinted downstairs with every ounce of strength I had, splitting my finger on the wall. I opened the door and found a young lady and a middle-aged man, both dressed in blue, with red and white stripes around the collar and sleeves. Network 911 embroidered on the left side of their shirts. “Hello, are you Kayla?” asked the young lady. “Yes I am. She’s upstairs in the bathroom. She doesn’t have a top on. We took it off thinking it might help to keep her cool.” We all rushed upstairs and suddenly I was utterly numb. I stood motionless when I watched them put a heart monitor onto her faded skin. No emotions escaped my eyes when I heard them say that there was nothing more they could do and I watched my father fall to the ground with cries for his lost love. They moved her into her usually warm space in the bed and covered her with the bed sheet. I stood and stared at the place where a few hours before I had kissed her good night and wished her sweet dreams. On this day, Monday October 16th 2006, I said good bye to my mommy, to my strength, to my person and to my life as it had been for 18 years.

The loss of someone you love is something you eventually learn to deal with. The pain however never goes away. The longing for her voice or her touch is something that stays with you forever, but your ability to breathe becomes easier. Slowly you start to feel like a person again. Never quite full of the life that consumed you before, but enough to continue with a remembrance of daily tasks. This was the most difficult experience that I have ever had to endure, but through it I learnt that there is definitely something after death. Something within you, whether you want to believe in or not. It is purely your decision about how dedicated you are to existing with possibilities or to ignore them. But if you want to, you can create a legacy that you will be remembered by. A gift of yourself that you leave behind when time comes to depart from this life.

I was no more ready to see her die, than I was ready to feel her live inside of me. It must have been about a year after her passing when I first realised it. She was alive. Her smile had faded quite considerably, but she was there. It took me by surprise at first and I felt a little uneasy, then time made me realise. Realise that my actions were a mirror of what I was missing the most. Realise that I was performing the same mindless tasks in the way she would have. All I could do was smile. She was within me, living every day as I do and showing pride for my achievements. And she was there. Always. She may not give me a hug at the end of the day. She may not dry my nightly tears, but every doing of mine is also a part of her and it has an element of her beauty within.

Doc

I submitted this poem into a competition on Writing Forums. The topic was War.


Shivering
Starving
Quiet
Except for the occasional grenade that goes off in the distance

Trenches
Snow
Forest
Seeing nothing in front of me due to the heavy mist

Memories
Images
Tears
For the French girl that I met in the hospital in Bastogne

Looking around at the few men who have managed to live through this
Knowing that this may be the last time I see them
Be it from the Germans who we know are waiting just through those trees
Or from the intense cold that is eating through our bones

The supplies were supposed to arrive today
But we received word that they are not coming at all
We do not have enough food, warm clothing or ammunition
To make it through another day

There is an uneasy feeling within the men
We can hear the German’s chatter from beyond the trees
It is so difficult to stay aware
A cold pain is consuming me

These men have come so far
Fought many battles and survived
Now they may die, not from a bullet
From hunger or hyperthermia

I walked around the trenches today
Trying to help those who seemed to be battling
I gave my ration of soup to a young man who must have been little of 18 years old
My shoes were in better condition, so I gave those to him too

Some of the men are pacing
Trying to keep a blood flow to their feet
The sky is a deep grey
Nature is completely still

I hear a faint whistle-like sound in the air
Followed by a massive crash
I see a comrade of mine battling flames that are lapping at his uniform
Another man lying on the ground, both legs severed from the blast

The Germans have no pity
Bomb after bomb
Shattering our safety
Dismembering us

I am the Medic
I hear men screaming my name over the constant bombings
I want to run, hide
Where I no longer have the responsibility of saving men with no hope

I have nothing
No morphine, no bandages, no scissors
I am wrapping wounds with old food sacks
And giving alcohol to ease the pain

I have no way of cleaning the wounds
If they do not die now
They will later from infections
I am the Medic, and I can do nothing to save them

We have been fighting for years
Struggled through so many battles
We have finally reached a point where victory is within reach
But our own army cannot send us the supplies we desperately need

I am the Medic
I have saved so many men
I have nothing anymore
I want to go home

A Human without a Heart Beat

5 years ago it stopped
My heart
My world
My life

I felt like a paint brush without bristles
I felt like a pencil with no lead
It felt like a world without sun
I felt like a human with no heart beat

There is no better healer than time
It continues to tick
With or without you
Life will go on

At first you live in limbo, not wanting to move on without her
You spend your days staring at every photograph you have of her
Watching every home video
Never wanting to forget

The truth is you don’t
You can’t
She will always be with you
In every beat of your heart

Once you have been able to understand
A deep connection is made
That can never be taken away
A belief that you will never lose her again

Spiritual belief in the love that cannot fade
Is stronger than any emotion felt in human existence
Every breath is no longer forced
Waking up is something you desire

You remember her in moments
Simple, silly actions bring her memory
A smile forces your cheeks to rise
A fire ignites in your heart

She lives on
In every day, every action
I will never lose her again
That is enough for me

Make Love Not War

Hatred
So intense
Racism
So deep-rooted

How is one supposed to move on?
How is a country supposed to grow?
When living memories still flood everyday life
From a time when strong opinions dominated

I have always had liberal views
There are so few like me
It is time to spread the wings of society
Accept and love those who are different from ourselves

We all have a voice
We all have the need to accomplish
We all have a desire to be loved
We are all human

Whether the colour of our skin is the polar opposite
Whether our languages have no similarities
Whether we have been raised to pray to a different God
We all want to get through our day and go home to our families at night

It is time
For every nation
To give up the struggle of nonsense
And make love, not war.

You

From the very first day that I met you
Your grace took my breath away
The first time you uttered the words ‘I love you’
I knew that you were here to stay.

You bring sunshine to my life
You bring joy and happiness
You bring me love and comfort
With only one kiss.

Every day spent with you is a dream
Knowing that you love me sends my heart into a trance
The very thought of spending my life with you…
I am honoured that you would even consider giving me that chance.

You are my very best friend
The person I want to share everything with
You bring out the best in me just by being there
A life with you is something I never want to miss.

You are an incredible father and a wonderful partner
A staggeringly beautiful lover and the greatest man I know
You are intelligent and well-spoken
Loving, caring and as gentle as snow.

I love you with my whole heart baby
I love the way you hold me
I love the way you kiss me
I want to spend every day of the rest of my life loving and kissing you.

My Never-Ending Loss

I used to think the worst thing in the world would be to never find love – how wrong I was!
The worst thing in the world is to lose somebody that you love.
The emptiness of never finding love can be cured in a romantic instant.
The emptiness of losing somebody that you love can never be filled.
It’s a pain you live with everyday, every second your heart continues to beat.
You are always hurting, always missing.

The scariest thing is to be alone with your own thoughts, they haunt you, horrify you.
You think about doing things that you never thought you’d think about.
You cry – all the time.
You feel completely lost in everything that you do.
You can never remember anything clearly, except for the last time you saw her.

Laying naked on the bathroom floor.
No pulse, no warmth, no movement.
Sitting there, staring at a body that shows no attempt at life.
Knowing that one hour earlier, she was your living, breathing mother.

Instead now, I have nothing.
Nothing but memories and an empty hole in my heart that can never be filled.
Forever I will feel that loneliness.

It’s almost two years now, and I can still clearly hear her saying “I love you”.
I wish I could tell her that I love her.
Just one last time
.

Untitled

I sit and watch as a plane passes by
The wind, tickling at my face
The stars are not seen, they’re hidden by clouds
The night is mine to embrace

I vaguely hear the crickets call from my garden
As engines smother their cry
Will the world ever be a silent place?
Or will it continue to pass us by?

I see the leaves of the plants shuffle with the breeze
But the roots are hidden behind my wall
Those plants will grow for years to come
But will my world forever seem so small?

Life is a gamble, a wonderful game
And there is so much that I need to learn
But the lesson I want the most of all
Is how to love and be loved in return

What is this unsolved mystery?
That people like to call love
Is it a feeling that reigns from within ones heart?
Or is it a gift from high above?

I don’t want to rush it
But I’m scared of being alone
I don’t want to force anything that isn’t true
But I don’t want to spend my life on my own.

A Cry for Help

She kept you bottled up
Kept you out of her mind as much as possible
But somehow you managed to creep back in
And torture her innocent dreams

She managed to not think of you
To go entire days without a single memory
Yet you forcefully pushed yourself back into her life
And ripped apart her already broken heart

You stole her heart when you left
You cheaply mowed away at her very being
How can one person be so cruel?
How can you not feel any remorse?

Did you really love her?
Did you honestly appreciate what she lost for you?
Or did you simply have your fun?
Then toss her aside like an old, tattered shirt

You had an angel
You held her tight in your arms
Then you took away her halo
And shattered her wings

She loved for the first time
Truly, Deeply, Madly
You stood on her emotions
And drowned her in a pool of tears

She would’ve given you everything
Sun on a rainy day, stars on a cloudy night
But you took her for granted
And then you shut her out

She gave you everything, so many opportunities
To come back
To reignite the fire within her heart
To kick start her aching soul

Instead you joked and tricked
You played games with her fragility
You gave her a breathe of hope
Then punched at her heart until she was totally winded

How could you expect her not to hurt?
Not to suffer the way she did?
Six months and the pain is just as sharp
Just as damaging

She’s so scared now
Absolutely terrified of falling so far again
So much so, she’d rather be alone
By herself, for as long as she can.