Another favorite poem of mine

Hey y’all! About a few weeks ago I posted one of my favorite poems. And I think I’m going to continue on that topic and post another! So here is another of my favorite poems, this one is written by Emily Dickinson:

 

Hope

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune–without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

 

Hope you enjoyed! Comment below one of your favorite poems!

 

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A favorite poem of mine

Hey y’all! No one has been posting, so I’d thought I would post again.

Below is one of my favorite poems. It was written by Paul Lawrence Dunbar. I have loved it since I was little. Hope you do to!

 

A little bird, with plumage brown,

Beside my window flutters down,
A moment chirps its little strain,
Ten taps upon my window–pane,
And chirps again, and hops along,
To call my notice to its song;
But I work on, nor heed its lay,
Till, in neglect, it flies away.

So birds of peace and hope and love
Come fluttering earthward from above,
To settle on life’s window–sills,
And ease our load of earthly ills;
But we, in traffic’s rush and din
Too deep engaged to let them in,
With deadened heart and sense plod on,
Nor know our loss till they are gone.

~Paul Lawrence Dunbar

 

 

 

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A poem

Hey y’all! Happy first day of May! No one has been posting much these past few weeks so I’d thought I would post again.

This is a poem I wrote a while back for Thanksgiving, but I think it applies to everyday too:

 

Count your blessings one by one

See what Jehovah

Has done

A house, a car, a bed to sleep

Drink, and food to eat

But why?

Must we complain for God

has given us things

But some

have not, no house, no bed

not even a pillow

to rest their head

So why complain?

When we have clothes, toys, and shoes

Just be thankful

For what God has given you!

For that is the secret of being content

By counting your blessings

Instead of your cents

Instead of wants, wishes, and things

Just count your blessings

That the Lord brings

Have a great week!

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The Writers Ink Challenge

Hey y’all! So I was nominated by Rachel Vincent to accomplish this tag! Thanks Rachel!

The rules are simple

1.Thank your nominator

2. Answer at least any 8 questions about your writing

3. Nominate 5 other people

  • When did you first show a big interest in writing?

I remember it was about 2nd grade. My teacher would give us very random topics to write about. We would write about blueberry muffins to the tallest person in the world! I remember not struggling at all with coming up about an idea to write about. And I would write 2 to 3 pages at a time.

  • Is writing something that comes easy to you?

It does. I feel that I can explain myself through writing more-so than talking sometimes. Even when doing a short book summary I end up writing two pages. It isn’t a struggle, it comes naturally. So when my teacher says “write 500 words or more” I take that seriously and write about 1,000 instead.

  • Are you published yet?

Not yet. But in a year or so I hope to complete the first book in my christian mystery series: Triple J Mysteries. The title of the book being: The Campout Crisis. After that I hope to have my christian, romance, war novel: Hope published as well.

  • What style and genre do you like to write in?
  • Christian
  • Mystery
  • Romance
  • Historical (during wars or significant events)
  • In the years past. (Like the middle ages, old west , rennaissance, etc)
  • And once in a GREAT while, fiction

 

  • What gives you ideas to write about?

I love reading. So everytime I’ll read a book and idea pops into my head. “That will make a good book title” or “That is what my book could be about!” And I just go from there.

Note: If you ever get writers block; read a good book and the ideas will start coming fast! It also helps you improve your vocabulary and grammar.

  • Have you ever written a story with a friend?

I have. I am working on a book right now with Izzypopcorn entitled: Growing Flames, Glowing Hearts. 

  • Have you ever finished reading an entire book series?

Yes. The first series I completed was a christian mystery series called; Camp Club Girls. I have almost finished: The Boxcar Children, Nancy Drew, and Dear America.

  • What helps you with using good penmanship?

Writing a lot. When you are given a writing assignment don’t type it, write it! And even when you don’t have a writing assignment, write in a journal or diary to keep up your penmanship. Nobody likes a story they can’t read!

  • Would you recommend a pen name when writing? And do you use one?

I don’t have a pen name at the moment, but I have different choices to choose from.

If you don’t want to give out your real name: then yes

If you have a different or long name that is hard to spell/pronounce: then yes.(I have a weird last name)

Because how will people find your writings online if they can’t remember your name! Or if they ask for your book at a library, the librarian needs to know the name!

 

So that’s all the questions! 

Hope y’all enjoyed!

 

I nominate:

Izzypopcorn

Asqa

Lucky

And I can’t think of any more!

 

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TPPWC

Hey y’all! Most of y’all probably already know, but if not…

The creator of Author’s Press, Rachel, has another blog: http://www.nancydrewblogforyou.wordpress.com

Well she is having a contest. It’s called; The Prettiest pen writing contest. And I along with IzzyPopcorn and MaryLouise are on Team Panda!

We have to use certain sentences in our short story we come up with. Two for extra points.

So here is my story:

I was always alone in life. Not so much when I was little. I saw light and shapes. I saw the birds and the trees. I saw the freshest flowers and the most delicious pies. I saw the puffy white clouds and the fluttering butterflies. I saw my family, which I only had for a little while. Who, I could only see for a little while.

The birds and the animals were always my friends. I would come home from school, drop my glasses on the table and run outside and smell the fresh air. See the green trees and blue sky. And I would play with my friends. I was always called “Four eyes” because of my glasses. So the only true friends I had were the animals. Then mother would yell for me to come inside. I would go, reluctantly, and scrub the shop’s floors, and tables. I would count the money in the register, and the stock. Then I would be so tired I just collapse on my bed. “Working hard makes a good shopkeeper”, “A healthy girl makes a good shopkeeper”, mother would say.

Doctors visits were a regular thing with mother. “We must make sure you are healthy”, “The healthy girl makes a good shopkeeper”. She didn’t want a daughter, just an assistant.

But strangely, the world grew darker each day and mother talked less and less to me each day. My animal friend’s once vibrant color’s faded. The black board at school became harder to see. Even the blue sky started to appear gray. She couldn’t bear to tell me what the doctors had told her. She didn’t have the nerve to look at me. She couldn’t even tell her own daughter that:

She was going blind.

One day I couldn’t see anything. I screamed, I cried, I yelled. No objects were visible, the people were gone, my bedroom was a dark cell. All light was gone, all hope had faded, all the faces of the world were just cold dark voices. The buildings and trees I couldn’t see. All I saw was black. Cold, dark black. It was like a never ending night. Mother’s face was just a voice coming from the corner. I couldn’t look into the mirror. I couldn’t see what was for breakfast. The colors and adventure the world had once been so full of, were gone. The green of the grass, the blue of the sky, the purple of the lilacs, the white of the linens, were all black. All dark. The animals which I had once played and looked at for hours, were gone. I even shined a flashlight into my eyes, and I couldn’t even see that. I couldn’t see them. I couldn’t see anything. I couldn’t breathe in my everlasting cell of darkness.

Mother always wanted a strong girl so she could raise her up to take over the family business. A healthy one. But, I was healthy! I just couldn’t see anything. Nothing. Not even my own hand in front of my face. I was blind and mother had to accept that. I could still work. Still make a good shopkeeper.

Mother just took me, just thought of me as a sack. A dumb old sack with holes. It could hold nothing, it was good for nothing but to be thrown away. And that’s what she did.

She dumped me on a street on a cold and I think rainy day. I could feel the hard cement of the sidewalk and the hardness of my mother’s heart. I called to her to come back. I cried for her not to leave me. I told her I could be a good daughter and shop keeper. I cried, I begged, I begged her to look into the face of her daughter and show love. But I couldn’t see if she cried or laughed at me. I couldn’t see her resentment or her obligation to leave me. Hot tears continued to stream down my face. I was soaked to the bone with rain, I shivered from the cold of the rain and the darkness of my sight.  The world was dark. She was dark. The sky once blue, was black. The flowers once pink, were black. My favorite yellow dress that I always wore, was black. Even my red hair, was black. I couldn’t see the people walking by, or the cars on the street. I couldn’t see the rain clouds or the birds taking shelter.

I couldn’t see, and that’s what she hated me for. I wasn’t healthy enough to be a shopkeeper. And apparently not good enough to be her daughter.

And with that she walked into the rain and didn’t look back. And that was the last time anyone ever saw her. The last time I ever saw her.

 

Hope you enjoyed!

~cupcakegirl10

War was at our door. The scream of the bombs filled the air, as the Nazis were upon us. The sky was pitch black, and hints of red started to fill the sky, and smoke clouding the horizon. Grandmother and Grandfather stared out the window, and mother sat there ice cold, thinking about her “foolish family” who was in the middle of it. Father was out there somewhere, and my brother missing. And all I could do was sit in a ball, on the ice cold stone floor, thinking about how they took my brother away, my father to war, my mother never to be the same again, and my little baby sister’s life. I fought the memories out of my head, but hot tears streamed down my face. I wanted father’s gentle touch, my brother’s caring hands, and my sister’s gentle laugh. But what I really wanted was hope. Hope to once again find all that was lost, hope to survive, hope that things would turn out alright. But all I kept wondering was, would my life ever be the same after this? And worse, would I even survive at all?

So this is just a small excerpt from my “in progress” book entitled Hope. Hope you enjoyed!

~Cupcakegirl10