So I am doing my English coursework which revolves around The Colour Purple. Creative reading is great because you read a simple novel, annotate certain key themes, techniques the author uses and... well, anything that captures your mind. So we had to choose between a few styles of writing and I went for the classic: a poem. These can be interpreted any way a reader wants which is why I chose this method. Also I can express my inner-most thoughts using similar techniques as the writer, Alice Walker.
So the main concept of all 7-8 poems is that they will include a couple of themes similar to The Colour Purple and within these poems I will use some techniques (personification, short sentences, repetition) like Walker so that my writing has some familiarity therefore can be compared to Walker's novel.
The first two poems are about innocence and childhood. Things start out pretty well for the small child however soon things spin out of control as they enter into adolescent stage and find that life isn't full of sunshine and rainbows.
Poem 1: 79 words
Escape
Playing. Playing in the park.
Dancing. Dancing in the dark.
Running. Running round and round.
Sleeping. Sleeping so I don't make a sound
Escaping. Escaping reality and real life.
Dreaming. Dreaming of the adventures occurring outside.
Wondering. Wondering whether I could climb a tree so high.
Climbing. Climbing to my heart's delight.
Holding. Holding onto mum and dad.
Crying. Crying, I don't want to go.
Thinking. Thinking - this is something new.
Beginning. Beginning to grow.
Growing. It's too soon.
Poem 2
Includes: more stanzas, detailed thoughts/feelings, no rhyme scheme (reflects the child is growing up) and shorter, abrupt sentences to keep the reader hooked in.
Being with new people, seeing new places, learning new things, makes me nervous.
My hands tremble and start to cry then its fingers shake uncontrollably.
What happened to my mum and dad?
Bigger people, scary teachers, more buildings and stairs make my head spin.
My eyes rewind rapidly all the images its captured and suddenly the movie of my childhood overtakes me.
Take me home.
2 years have whizzed by; I've seen all I need to see and learnt all I need to learn.
Science, geography, math and English have made little homes in my head.
When will this end?
3 o'clock is when the bell rings; I rush out of the room, searching for my mother.
Embracing her gives me strength, my heart is restored and my hands begin to feel again.
'4 years to go,' she says.
Year 5 has swept in; a few girls enter elegantly into the class and their faces light up when they recognise my new silky short hair.
A hand flaps my hair; it's that one with the gloomy, mysterious aquamarine mirrors that flash when I ask how her summer was.
Autumn stole summer away from me.
I lunge the tattered ball as far as I can; I feel victorious as my team-mates holler and cheer at the amazing goal.
Home-time sneaks up while our eyes silently- with amazement- scurry along the lines of black ink and I make it to chapter 4.
It feels like home to me.
Poem 3
Whatever happened to 'best friends forever?' a saying that once lit my eyes with glee but now gives me a heartache.
T-shiurts, signatures, hugs and smiles around the scene of our last goodbye.
A lump. A lump in my throat calls me tears to the stage.
'Freedom at last,' I thought; freedom has been called upon by someone else now.
It's not my turn anymore.
Bigger people, a noisier atmosphere, more corridors and higher shelves stored with our future predictions.
History; the black death; cold miseries of the Great War and Martin Luther King's great dream.
Dreams. 'I want a dream like that,' I say to myself in the bleak corridors of the Left building.
Freedom decides to take me back. It's feeling sorry for me. Now it's given me a second chance. I can find peace at home again after prison closes for the evening.
6 hours never felt like a lifetime last year. 6 years felt like a lifetime. A life I miss so dearly.
Maths. Algebra. Ruler and pencil. Draw a margin. OK, only 2 more questions to go. Stop. Oh... I've made a mistake. Help!
Science is more like a winding road; it never stops. Just keeps on coming.
Religious studies. Why do I need textbooks? I've got everything in my prayer book. God' words. God is all I need.
Outside. Outside? Is it still there? Inside. I need to get out of here. My soul is trapped in an endless tunnel of endless learning.
Drop the pen. Drop my hands. Feel my head on my hands. Where did the time go? I think I'm dead.
Last month to go; the school performance is tomorrow.
The stage sneered and mocked me but I continued willingly with no pressure.
Pressure. Peer pressure rose from below. My heart told me voice to mute but my mind had the words all ready to flow. Or so they thought...
Laughter. Sneers. Mouths open. Vomited rude words. Rude words weakened my optimum strength.
Cold lingering tears blind my eyes. I wanted to drown. Drown in my lonely sorrows. Pretend it was all a nightmare.
.......
Poem 6
- A call. One phone call is all it takes. Then everyone will know.
- Ring. Ring, ring. Muttering. Footsteps. A shuffle. Heavy breathing. More footsteps. Silence.
- 'Your granddad is dead.'
- My world splinters into little shattered pieces of black jagged glass. Everything is black.
- The devil. The fallen angel. It surrounds me. That needle pierced my only thread of happiness. It sneers and laughs like the others did 4 years ago.
- But God didn't visit. God didn't save me. God didn't save him. Where has He been?
- Gloomy. My gloomy eyes retrace my steps into the past. The past, now a lonely thing.
- My mind searches for the happiest memory, swimming through my nerves and searching in tiny crevices, desperate for that thread.
- But no. My only memory is death. Death has ruined me. Now I pity no-one who dies.
- Now evil, evil things, evil doings, evil people make me sick. My fists clench at the movement, at the scent, at the thoughts of evil. I have had enough!
- My heart beats on fire, my breath grows intense, my stomach is weak but my mind is set.
- I guard myself; preventing the fake, the evil from entering my story, my life. I do not want the devil laughing at me again. Wait. Just wait. I will laugh at the devil tomorrow.
Aunties, uncles, children, parents, long-lost relatives and cousins return.
Oh! The family re-union! A life is lost so the 'family' re-connect.
Heartfelt sorries and sympathetic eyes follow me and my close ones around during that month. Just a month. They couldn't be with me forever. Why would they?
I have nobody. They are too busy being tempted by the devil. And they answer correctly. They meet its deadlines.
'Life is better than death,' they say. What's the point of moping? Why be depressed? Motivation, dedication, will-power and faith.
I keep thinking though: 'What would life be without death?'
