So far this post hasn't been terribly poetic. I suppose that's why my title is PROBABLY poetic, because things don't always have to be. Though, if you think about it, prose in and of itself is poetic. Kind of. Every piece is just a little bit different. Anyways...
I think I mentioned before how my friend Katie and I give one another "poetry challenges". We mail each other our latest poem and include a challenge for the other to write a poem. These challenges serve to stretch the imagination, and to keep us writing. Katie is great about them. I, on the other hand, am two behind. I have poets block. Or I just don't try. Or I try to hard. I'm not sure what my true reason is I just know that I haven't felt terribly creative lately, and this post is an attempt to correct that. So, here we are. The first challenge that she gave me is this:
"Write in the point of view of a type of person you are not (a type you are most unlike) (?Slutty girl, atheist, callous person?) This is not meant to be cliche or a satire, but try to realistically explore their psychological and spiritual landscape: we all see the top of the mountain, but what lies in the forest (if anything)?"
Man, Katie goes straight to the heart! Well, here goes nothing::
The Forest at the Mountain's Base
Sarrah Loyce
There is an anger at the top of the mountain
a brutal, bias voice.
It screams out of me, louder than a lion.
It is not my choice.
The rage within me bubbles out my mouth
frothy, foaming fury.
The anger so consumes me
that I can see nothing clearly.
So many bad impressions are made of
my anger, my wrath,
I am judged so harsh and rashly,
that it makes me catch my breath.
They call me crude and callous,
a mean, insufferable bitch.
But the truth is they don't know me,
they only catch a glimpse
of who I am.
I am a wealthy woman.
I am a mother too.
I am a fiery leader.
I am not a fool.
I have a painful history.
I have a story of loss.
And most of all, I have my reasons for being cross.
Do not presume to know me
or think that you could understand,
I'm guarded by my anger,
and I protect myself how I can.
I see the world around
the green, the glorious, the grand.
I also see pain and persecution,
treachery done by man, to man.
I am the forest lying
and the tall, noticed mountains base.
I am the truth behind it,
I am the emotion hidden behind that face.
I see the world around
the green, the glorious, the grand.
I also see pain and persecution,
treachery done by man, to man.
I am the forest lying
and the tall, noticed mountains base.
I am the truth behind it,
I am the emotion hidden behind that face.
