Category Archives: Writer

Poetry, Writer

Poetry

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1.

The sea takes me there and away

The raven laughs as boughs snap backs

It’s sudden and strange

This new day

Of golden farewells and black clouds of despair

Look me, look me

I survive, I keep neck straight

You cry as I struggle

Laughter, then crack

I reach my world as a dream

Its molten, the hate

Fear and confusion keep names at bay

Gone for a while now, mixed in a way

There’s news of a heart

But not as it seems, by force was this made

A sea to compel brings words to conspire

Taking of souls to cleanse the mind and begin

For some a stage

Legacy bears falsehoods and pain

To be gone yet survive is one destiny of status

To be here

To be there

To be sure

To be scared and confused

Am I me?

2.

The cracking of bones, no words to prepare

As cold hands take away all hope

The clouding of minds, as truth makes despair

In a home far from life

Filled with fear

The taking of life, all spoiled, no regret

As more sales bring favour and choice

The hating of skins, no more has repair

In a past, here, and now

Filled with pain

A history for hatred endorsed as a given

Deleting forever a soul that was known

Through time and deliverance, we see things unseen

Forge knowledge to the horrors

Negating, berating, be humble in hell

Whenever truth rears

We are free

3.

It’s warm outside

I can see the glow

A kind of calling just before the snow

We breathe it in and laugh at dusk

It’s winter we say

Each year

It’s the time we know

Yet the surprise is real

4.

You call him something

While viewing nothing

Using whipping words

Before the nines

It’s an isolating theory

Powerful in time

It works to weary

Each soul and space

He sees your history

You call him nothing

He rises and marvels at his power

He calls you lost

5.

Dreaming building hoping

The wave of despair seen receding

There’s more to discover

As passing whims hit the floor

And a revealed symptom of patience wins through

A Name in History, Writer

Starting Point

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A blank page.

No words.

Just a glaring sea of too many possibilities, twists, and turns.

After months of interlocking imaginings, copious notes and numerous crushing restarts, I can finally call myself a writer, and I’m stunned.

This has been an enjoyable, frustrating and at times difficult journey. I’ve always loved writing but let self-doubt and a tidal wave of imposter syndrome emotion wash over me. Instead of putting my musings out there, I wrote just for myself. Short stories, poetry and attempts at scripts kept me tethered to a world of writing with no consequence. It was safe, My happy place. It took a family tragedy to focus my mind and push me firmly in the direction l longed to travel.

It’s been a nerve-wracking and, at times, hugely difficult endeavour, but I feel I have learned so much about how I see myself and how personal visions can stall a person’s potential and growth.

A page no longer terrifies me. It’s an invitation to wander around my mind and relay the findings to paper, well, screen, but you know what I’m getting at. Instead of procrastination and sheer terror, I now approach the screen positively and with a spring in my fingers and laughter in my heart.  I can’t believe I let apprehension win for so long. Never again. Onward and upward with joy!

A Name In History is now out there running wild and free of my tethers.

Oh, I feel terror again.

Written by Hillery Baptiste.