body

The Art of Writing...

The Art of Writing

@SachikoMochiko


 


Writing...
Humanity's engraved history,
on the tips of our fingers,
on the tip of the mind

It's a beautiful art, isn't it?
How someone's soul,
personality,
beliefs,
style,
Is expressed with a language
The art of writing

Of course, I do not
I do not limit
Limit to words...

Body language is the writing of the body
Music is the writing to decorate time
Facial Expression is the art of writing and interpreting...from the crust of a soul
Speech writes the base of language

Writing is not what you just think it is
...
It. Is. Pure. Art.


============


Now reading back on this poem, I have found my reason to write.


 


This thing called Writing. It's woven into our nature. As stated above, I consider things such as body language, facial expression, and music as "writing". 


 


 It's our own mind that limits us. Writing is not limited to words. After all, it is a way to express. Our ability to express is already woven in us from birth (for instance, when we cry, we express from the wails written, by our voice, in the air)...


 


And maybe I am mistaken...


 


When you kick when you were in your mother's womb, you may definitely express and inform something hehe...


 


 So really, it's my nature...our nature...to write.


 


Don't let yourself be the one who limits your potential! - SachikoMochiko :)

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Just another quick poem...

Based on Jonathan Chiu's post: "5 Reasons you should write"

See it here: http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/youngteenwriterz/1982150/#comments

Kenopsia

Folder: 
To Be Illustrated

"Almost tiring,

the bump of the shoulders passing by,

the hallways so full of students, mean, 

their intentions unknown to what they vie. 

 

But the Janitor, 

mop handle twisting in wrists, 

cleans the bustling halls, murder

of the sparkling floors committed with fervor.

 

Moreover, the students don't care!

But no matter, the Janitor smiles as he cleans,

leaning on his swab bucket, no flair

for how unfair redoing the swab job is.

 

But now it is after five,

the older gentleman is working his way up and down,

the passageways now empty, 

all the students long gone home. 

 

Quite the opposite scene,

from when the school was full,

a loud and swarming event, specifcally

during the lunch periods. 

 

And during those times? While constantly 

going back and forth, picking up spills

and keeping the floor clean,

he even feels grumpy.

 

But only now at this momement,

a longing, a forlorn feeling wraps itself

over the un-bumped shoulders of the man,

alone, doing his job.

 

The sudden wish the students were there,

to fill the empty space he cleans, 

the abandoned place to fill up soon,

but not a moment too late, he steams.

 

All the moments that he's spent,

breaking up a fight between two boys,

frankly taking both collars in each hand

and talking to them sharply, they listened.

 

The time he talked to the crying girl,

leaning on the mop handle, wise counsel

spewed at a comforting rate to the young one

who had her first broken heart. 

 

Or the time he tutored the troubled youth,

not in math or english but in life,

the boy sticking around while he cleaned. 

alone, his only brother having been knifed. 

 

Every smile he evoked,

with silly, word-play jokes,

every time he snapped at young students passing by, 

keeping the rowdy in line. 

 

The old man now smiled himself,

finishing up the entire school,

looking forward to the bustle to come,

the lockers that will slam, voices, loud.

 

The end of this feeling, eerie,

sudden, and no more farther then

when he will grumble, with a slight smile,

of the busy hallways where he will be bumped again."

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A imagined scene of an old man janitor that we may or may not all remember or think back to.

Diprosopus

Folder: 
Ryan Lyandree

 Diprosopus


I’ve fallen victim of the aspects of this alembicated theogony

Prisoned between the texture and tone of this hypnotic polyphony

Behind the counterpoint there’s a secret left to be unraveled

Hidden is the blood bathed instrument, in which we are modeled.

 

The harmony and the melody being played got me all tangled

Like the feeble children of Hamelin, I beg blindly to follow

When crossing both circles, the omphalos, the experience’s spiritual

To think they’re just thermionic waves in motion being contrapuntal.

 

Left but marveled and dazed by this convoluted but delightful outcome

I leave the umbra of the beast to wherever it may choose to roam

May the specter of my own shine beneath the parsimonious heart

 For since the beginning of ages, we were never meant to be apart.


Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is my latest "Ryan Lyandree" poem.

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Know Bodies Biznazz

 

To the tune of "my bonnie lies over the ocean"

 

 

《¤》

 

My body lies over the ocean,

 

My body lies over the sea,

 

Our thoughts guide intention in motion,

 

There's more than a body to me.

 

《¤》

 

There's sooooo many bodies that gossip,

 

A venture too trite for my style,

 

These bodies when nosy say, "wassup?"

 

I wish they'd get lost all the while.

 

 

《¤》

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Inspired by such a clever write... glad to have stumbled upon:

 

http://www.postpoems.org/authors/rex/poem/971626#comment-417449

My New Best Friend

He’s with me all the time,

We’re practically best friends.

He’s there for me the hard times the most.

He’s the worst friend I’ve ever had,

I regret the moments I introduced him to my life.

 

He taunts me, provokes me, pushes me,

He ruins me.

He turns me, frustrates me, rushes me,

He makes me.

 

I struggle to get him out of my life,

But he only gets closer.

I try to block him out,

But he only gets darker.

 

I hate him. But he loves me.

I wish him out of my life with the little passion he’s left me with,

But he remains around me,

As if his sadistic job was to torture me through this period of my life,

I loath him for this resulting strife.

 

I’m told one day he’ll die,

And rather than suffering in perpetuation,

I will caese the constant struggle towards evasion,

But his ghost may haunt my internal abrasions,

I wish his death would hasten…

 

I know he’ll die eventually.

Being left with his sporadic memories.  

The Subconcious Parting Gift

Have you ever experienced a moment of death?

A moment some may believe to be dreadful,

cold,

painful?

The thing is, it's not.

In fact it's quite the opposite.

Never can there be another moment in life as beautiful,

as warm,

as blissful.

Never in life can you experience a moment that truly shows the bond between you and your own body.

Your body, something you disregard,

Thinking you have complete control over it.

But it works on its own.

Separate from yourself.

It protects you.

Relieves you in your final moments.

It takes your mind away from the pain.

Sits you down and and explains this is it.

If anyone else but your own body were to explain, you wouldn't except it.

You would deny it.

Only your own body can bring that wave of relief.

Only your body can show you comfort in that moment.

Only your body can help you find acceptance in your fate.

 

It will bring you to a dream,

Where you can look back and laugh on all your memories,

Because only your body has been through everything you have.

Feels what you have felt,

Shares all your strengths and pains.

It can show you all the “what ifs” and any future you would have desired to live out.

It brings you the peace of mind you need as you part ways and move on to whatever may come next.

 

It could be on to greater things,

Or it could be on to an eternal nothingness.

This may be why our body helps us in such a way.

They don't know where we may be going,

But they help us experience the greatest moment of our lives as a parting gift.

A congratulations because you will find out what truly comes after life,

Something our body, which we spend our entire lives with, can not accompany us to.

 

In this moment, you and your body meet for the first time.

A moment where you can truly meet yourself.

You've known each other all your life yet never have you had the moment to meet until that time comes.

And it leaves you with a warm embrace.

A feeling that I can not even attempt to describe.

Then you're on your way.

It all starts and ends in just a brief moment.

The most beautiful moment of life.

 

- The Lazarus

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Another piece that has to do with the body's subconscious and how powerful it truly is. I think I'm going to make a new series out of these scientific poems I've been writing.

View verbalverbatim's Full Portfolio

FOR YOU

FOR YOU

With the ups and downs
and the ins and outs
you get good and bad
great and terrible.
Treat it all as a wave
roll with it till it crashes
the end result will be what is ment.
Keep your mind clear and free
like the beautiful sand lifting off earth.
Life doesn't end, it shape shifts;
changing with every decision and every stage of life.
Grab every shape and place it in the proper location;
ovals in your eyes, circle on your neck and heart in your chest.
Easy your mind, body and soul with fresh air of everyday.
Smile, laugh, love and live!
Four key points to a great life.
Smile for everyone that can't,
laugh for those that don't see joy,
Love like you have never loved before,
and live for those that no longer do.

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