It's a Beautiful Life

DEAR
     Wonderers:
            When you think of beautiful, what immediately comes to mind? If you just thought of pretty girls, you have got to get a life. Seriously. When I imagine beauty in its purest form, my mind fills with sunlight and moonlight. These natural forms of light make anything they wash over look so different: bright, beautiful, and oftentimes unearthly.

         In photography, there are two main rules, in just two words- light and composition. You can take a photograph of a simple piece of grass, and there's nothing special about it; you're thinking of deleting it. But if you take a picture of that same piece of grass with dramatic lighting, the entire composition looks totally different. That scraggly little bit of grass is suddenly beautiful, smooth, and glowing- and why? Because you waited until the sun was hitting it just right. Here's an example from a few photos I took:

            This makes me think of life in general. If we took things that seem drab, boring, and even sad or hopeless, couldn't we just shed a little light on them? Finding even the tiniest bit of something to be optimistic about makes life a whole lot brighter. Just wait until you see the light.  And If you can't, maybe it just need time to move in after the shadows. :D

With Leaves In My Hair,

Joélle.

Six Word Memoirs

DEAR
     Short attention spans:
            Hullo, folks, how are you doing? It's the fourth day of Poemmas! Does anyone actually read these posts? If you do, comment down below! Today's another quickie, I'm pretty busy. :) Ever tried writing in short sentences? Six words each, to be exact. It's harder than you would think. For instance, check out this poem:

Six Word Memoirs

I could take you somewhere fantastic!

Emotion was never so damn thick.

I tried to be somebody else...

Commas were never used so often:

Paints with words to make pictures.

Thinking about writing is not writing.

             I don't suppose anyone noticed yet... Every sentence in this post but this one is made of only six words, just like the list above. I certainly do try, don't I? Hope you enjoyed this quick post! Write you later, my two readers! I really do need more readers. Would you mind sharing this blog? Thank you so much, happy December!


With A Nod And A "Mhmm",

Joélle.

Ranaway

DEAR
     Lovers of the dark:
       On the third day of Poemmas, my blogger gave to me: a really dark stream of imagery. This poem was written about how confusing the depths of an insomniac mind can be, and how reality and dreams mangle together during the night. I hope you enjoy it.

Ranaway

Stumbling away from the haters of joy,

sobbing, spurning– into

darkness hope flailed. Reason, lost, turned to crash

into the inky trees, its headlights smashed.

Limping, blaming, unforgiveness

was bloody, hate spurting; it shook blindly, accusing

the sliver moon as it innocently looked on,

shining sadly, dripping silver night.

Coughing, grabbing, fear

tripped through the underbrush, following

the abandoned wails of unforgiveness. Hidden

behind the forest’s shadow, shivers

caressed hope’s spine, despair freezing her heart.

Losing light, failing, hope peered up

as the silver moon innocently looked on,

shining sadly, dripping bright slivers of night.

Depression’s soiled tendrils, calling, pulled hope

away, as she lay on the shriveled hands of trees,

rotting on the cold earth, gasping, curling into dark.

Dreamy terror slowly emerged; fear

and unforgiveness found hope’s fragile form, aged by

misery. Her shivers ceased, eyes stared;

hope died all alone.

With A Slight Shiver,

Joélle.

Depression in Poetic Form

DEAR
     Depression:

             I have been thinking about serious issues all day-- if you're not sure what I'm talking about, read my previous post-- I thought I'd continue Poemmas with this rather deep look at the depression center of my mind. I wrote this two years ago, in a college class, and it's one of the most personal things I have ever created. I hope you like it.

Grey Thoughts

I.

A tiny void of ink, black–

my confusion blooming in that one small droplet. I

see thoughts pressed down, as shaky handwriting far

too heavy for someone who appears to be bright,

sunbeams. Emotions slowly becoming something else-

Black, curved, marching; dripping

I can taste them, touch them, almost.

But not quite.

II.

My ink feelings

leave velvet teardrops, shaded with

night, across stark paper, yet

all I see is distorted beauty:

lovely words saying terrible

things, drowning in an inky

wash wrung from my thoughts– I’d

hoped they would fade,

but the paper appears as an open wound,

raven scars biting pale skin.

III.

I'm stuck in

the exact moment between day and night,

just waiting. I'm

falling through the twilight sky, still waiting,

fading. My heart is grey, dim, alone; surrounded

by frozen sparks. I am sitting

in the arms of an autumn tree, slowly losing

my colors. – I shiver

I am covered by a bittersweet avalanche when

I cry;

the skies' tears join mine. Icy tendrils

bind my mind and my fears turn to glass

with one side. I can just see out, but no one looks

in past the glaze of laughter.

I think I might break- like glass,

like ice, like mirrors, like lies.

With A Blot Of Ink,

Joélle.

Thinking? That's Never Good.

DEAR
     Self:
        It's been so long, I thought I'd just sit down and write out my thoughts. This is unedited, so bear with me. Lately, I have been thinking. That is never good, because my mind goes ninety-four miles a minute and turns up some pretty crazy things, such as a deep need to debate whether children could be conceived and raised in Neverland. But that is beside the point.

         I have noticed that despite my varied interests and all of the work I do at my job and for myself, I feel like I am at a stalemate with life right now. That is bad, in case you were wondering. Anyhow, I have decided to make a list for myself with everything I'd like to do from now on, then figure out how to actually get that thing in my life without taking too much from everything else that's important to me. Why am I posting this? Because I have nothing to post and I thought you could help me out.

         1) I need to get fit. Not skinny, fit. Food has always been the only love life I've needed, and it's not helping that I enjoy sweets and carbs far more than I should. So if you see me sneaking a garlic twist at work, tell me to put it back and eat a salad. I may get mad at you, but at least I'll know someone read my blog. (UPDATE: Thank you, Sara. lol)

         2) I need to get music out for others to hear, and stop trying to be perfect. So I sang something a little flat, or I messed up that piano bit. PUT IT UP anyway, people will still give feedback. I've learned this, and I am just so self-conscious about it. So I am going to try as hard as I can to put up a video of some kind every other week. If I get sick, like I did this past week, it won't get in the way of weekly projects.

         3) I need to stop watching Doctor Who and start writing again. If I never make it as a singer, at least I'll have a novel or two or twelve to fall back on. Maybe I'll feel accomplished. I just need to finish things, and writing is one of the hardest, because I feel like it all needs to be just so.

       4) I need to make my dream my concentration. Music is my dream, so music should be breathed, drunk, and imagined every second of the day. I need to practice more instead of, once again, watching television shows. Damn you, iCarly. Practice makes better, and if I want my life to be music, I need to make music my life. This is truthfully the hardest, because underneath all the fuzzy blonde, I am still afraid that I am wasting my time and my hope.

       That's the end, I'm trying to be succinct. If I sound self-centered in this, that's because I felt like it today. So-rry. If you have any suggestions for me, whether they be of songs to cover, teas to drink, or anything else, let me know. :) 

With A Mouthful Of Garlic Bread Chicken Salad,

Joélle