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Category Archives: Poetry

STILL

Jaded vision of the past

My soul is in shock

No longer remembers the words,

The exact sentences

The exact look on your face when the words were said

What is left are the feelings that lingered from those moments

The habits that formed from those moments

The pain that remains has situated itself inside of me

Turning sour

Little girl sits in the dark

Crying

STILL crying

Ultimately dying

For some the pain leaves,

For me it morphed

Morphed into sweet words and helping hands

Open heart and the ability to understand ALL

But myself

Not realizing that I never really dealt with my own pain

I try to help others prevent from doing the same

Tears streamlined

Little girl embarking upon a journey of her own

Something is wrong

She’s aware but cannot articulate

STILL cannot make the pain go away

Writes about it.Talks about it.

The feelings overwhelm

Silently she suffers

Brightly she smiles

Secrets

Confusion

MUCH confusion

When will the truth taste the dawn?

She is a pawn

An experiment

Mommy won’t come to grips with reality

Can’t look in the mirror and seek the change it needs to be

Holding herself,

little girl cries

Little girl dies

Lost in lust and rhyme

Little girl was a bonafide dime

One could not envision the pain

Bloodline contaminated, blood is bleeding……STAINED

Spreading, 

Like HIV

Who in their right mind would think to love me?

That’s how it feels when you have to fight for it

When you have to bite for it

When you did not know you had rights for it

Not personal she tells her self

“They are the ones that really need the help”

Friends cannot rescue they can only listen

Increased pain

Drought of rain

NEVER will it

go      a    way

But now,

I have to face me

STILL that little girl in the mirror I see

WHY?

WHY won’t she go away?

WHY won’t the pain leave?

Why does it keep playing hide and go seek?

Times that I wanted to die,

Sitting in the empty bath tub,

I cried

I called HIS name

I sat still

I listened

I opened up my heart so that my life would not end

I called on a friend

God told me my purpose

To be a woman of the truth

To write, to see, to speak

All of this to make whole of me

Copyrighted by Ashley S.C. Walls 2007

 
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Posted by on August 31, 2011 in Poetry, Uncategorized

 

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HEAVY- Poetry for a Graduate

Some call this a milestone 

     I call it a monument 

It’s HEAVY….this achievement 

This collection of experiences composed of perseverance, multi-tasking, late nights, early mornings, group projects, train rides, miscommunications, one too many power points, department coffee, red bull cans, and all that we know as sacrifice 

This day is the output of all that’s been put in 

For some of us, this was a test we took to prove to others we were worthy

     Worthy of the accolades, the salary increase, credentials for promotion, and much more 

But for some, this day is all about you 
 
Passion for learning

Lust for knowledge

Infatuation with making a difference in the world

     It is HEAVY…this achievement 

This monument, that no longer makes it okay for your ignorance to be excused 

This mountain that demands you make a certain amount of money per year or the purpose of your further education gets called into question 

This statue that makes some idolize and congratulate you for accomplishments that they only dream of 

This tribute that you must balance with pride and humility, pledging to help those that come after

It’s so HEAVY….to big to hold

Too many words to describe how it feels,

The thought of carrying responsibility to this degree makes you sweat,

Makes you lose sleep, workout and eat Wheaties

It’s so HEAVY….intangible,

Feels like a figment of the imagination because tomorrow,

     You cannot rest 

Tomorrow you will be pulling the weight of this monument 

I don’t know, some may continue to call it a milestone,

But during my pursuit, I felt like boulders were on my shoulders 

I cannot call this a stone, and I definitely walked more than a mile to get here 

And will walk much further than that in the future. 

          It’s HEAVY…..this achievement.

Graduation 2008- Columbia College Chicago- before the hooding

 
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Posted by on May 19, 2011 in Poetry, Uncategorized

 

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Are You the Master of Your Domain?

Cover of "Creating Poetry"

Cover of Creating Poetry

Normally I write poetry as a form of catharsis or social action, usually to be spoken. I have some poetry that I would never intend to perform. I started thinking about submitting some of the pieces that I consider “reading poetry” into competitions or other sources for publication. After comparing some published pieces to my works, I realized that much of the published poetry had a very different sound and vibe than I am used to delivering.

I began reading a book titled Creating Poetry by John Drury. Creating Poetry explores the fundamentals of poetry, providing descriptions and examples of all poetic terms including prose, verse, iambic pentameter, sonnets, and more; formalities I don’t usually consider when writing. 

While reading, I recalled my experiences with sonnets- senior year of high school, theatre class. Each senior had to pick a Shakespearian sonnet to memorize. We completed a million and one activities with our sonnets. I enjoyed learning my sonnet and finding the beauty in each word as well as becoming familiar with the format. 

In Creating Poetry, Drury lists hundreds of exercises one can do to learn to create poetry in the numerous styles described. I was a bit overwhelmed thinking about the formalities of this art form, some of which I have taken for granted. Although one should not become obsessed with following the rules of poetry, I think that if I say I am a poet, I should know (most of) them. 

I would hate to be in a room full of poets and they begin tossing around poetry terms, and my self-proclaimed self could not add to the discussion. I would also hate for someone who admires my poetry, written and spoken, to begin asking questions about form and I could not provide any concrete information. 

Talents are not necessarily taught, therefore presenting a challenge when one seeks to become a master of their craft or talent. I have written poetry long before it was taught to me. I think it is important to know the rules of whatever “game” you play, so I am committed to re-teaching myself some of the basics. 

What do you think? Is it important to know the formalities of your talents or can you push forward without knowing them? 

By the way, I decided to play with a rhyme scheme using a topic I would not usually write about (the type of suggested activities in Creating Poetry). Can you identify the pattern below using letters or numbers? For example, ABAB or 123, 456, 123.

Find What You Are Looking For

Runny nose turned stuffy

I’m even having trouble breathing through my mouth

Chest filled with air

Throat hard to clear 

Where is the poetry in my being ill?

Nyquil tastes sucky

Spraying Lysol to keep germs from spreading through the house

Boyfriend handles me with care

He might catch my cold I fear

Why no poetry in my being ill?

Ahheeem, is the sound I keep making

I’m no good at just resting 

Eyes heavy, he said my face looked swollen

Yeah…..That’s really what a girl wants to hear

Even when I’m sick, I still want to be the finest thing near

No poetry in my being ill!

No milk, means no baking

Virus festering

Need to workout, trying to keep a schedule rolling

On my deathbed, still worried about the plump of my rear

Toward losing 25 pounds, I still steer

Looking for the poetry in my being ill…..

 

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Distracted

I fear the loss of truth earned while playing Monopoly at the kitchen table on Friday nights with my brother, sister, mother, father and cousins.  

 

The truth earned while defending my face and body parts as jealous girls sought to hurt my spirit with lies and fists of low self worth.

 

Truth tattooed on my 36 C cups from the elementary boys that violated me with the ink of shame in the elementary cafeteria followed by the counselors color by numbers of disbelief.

 

I fear that my time has been monopolized to help me forget all that I know I knew.

 

I think that since my ancestors wanted education, the “powers that be” decided to put guidelines and degrees in place to reduce us from the path of truth and knowledge onto the roads of careers that distract from purpose.

 

I fear the loss of still time under dark suns and cloudy rainbows because my next appointment awaits me.

 

The discovery I missed because I did not trust it was mine to discover. I fear that loss….


 
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Posted by on March 18, 2011 in Poetry

 
 
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