I failed miserably at NaPoWriMo. I got to day 5 and found I couldn’t write anymore. Unfortunately, with my creative failure came a sense of general worthlessness in the writing sense. I therefore stopped blogging for a while. For this I apologise.
I am now back from my Easter break. This is a double edged sword. Experience has taught me I don’t blog well at home, so being back here should help me to write more. On the other hand, I have deadlines. I just finished writing my first ever play for coursework #1. I’m actually quite pleased with this. However although I did have a post about the plot and planning of it, I have had to remove it in case the assessment board people do a search and find it. Although I know it is my own work and all my original ideas, they won’t. For this reason it’s gone. It will return though with the actual play at a (much) later date.
Coursework #’s 2 and 3 are yet to be started. #2 is Shakespeare, due on May 2nd. #3 is Victorian due May 7th. This is the final day of my second year. Until that day I’m going to be working my arse off to get it all done (and hopefully to a good standard). Until then I regret to say that The Hell Butterfly is going to be on a form of hiatus.
I have had the idea of ‘Music May’ in which I introduce you lovelies to the world of Nightcore. I have been making Youtube videos in which I make edits of songs. Some are traditional Nightcore, and some are male versions of female songs, known in some circles as Negative Nightcore. It’s been quite fun doing this and it will allow me to post something every day whilst introducing you to something I find interesting. It also means I can get on with my work without feeling bad about neglecting you and The Hell Butterfly family.
For now, I must bid you adieu. I am off to read A Midsummer Night’s Dream for coursework #2. Wish me luck.
Au reviour, mes amis.
Busy busy like a bee,
Noise always surrounding me,
Buzzing buzzing all the time
Makes me think I’ll lose my mind.
It’s hard to take it anymore,
Don’t think I’ll make it out the door
Of my external world of pain
That’s trying hard to shred my brain.
This hurt, this anger, every day
Is getting worse and I can’t say
That I will make it out alive
If I am forced to live this lie.
Pain pain pain pain in my head,
Now the noise wants me instead.
Knives knives burying themselves inside
The segments of my inner mind.
Cutting cutting cutting deep
And making me forget if sleep
Is help or hindrance to me now
That I can’t tell my up from down.
Constant constantly it drones
And makes me hurt and makes me moan
And forces me to figure out
If anything I write about
Is ever going to help me gain
Some sense of semblance here again.
The noise, the noise, it buries me.
It drives me to insanity.
And yet, the silence soothes my nerves.
It calms me. It restores the words.
Quiet. Quietly I stay
Here in this world of night and day.
The sun is harsh, the heat it burns,
But darkness, though it scares me, turns
The hum and bustle of waking hours
Into something that empowers.
I can do this if I just believe,
Tune out the noise, don’t panic,
Can you spot the literary technique? Hey, hey, can you? Probably not, but that’s not important. NaPoWriMo #3 is all about the truth of trying to write poetry. In all it’s glory, this is Poetry is Hard.
People don’t understand the difficulty.
Over and over I try to piece the language together.
Every time it gets harder
To state profoundly a message to the world.
Really, I don’t know what I’m doing.
Yet I keep trying.
I fail often,
Scrap more often still. Paper baseballs in the bin.
How can we continue to create in this world of language mutation?
Anyone would think we’d forgotten how.
Rarely do I now find myself interweaving hidden messages in imagery.
Don’t underestimate the craft: poetry is hard.
I know it looks like I failed already, but I swear I haven’t. I’m already struggling, I can’t lie, but I did write a poem for NaPoWriMo yesterday. I just didn’t have internet connection. So today will be a double whammy to catch up. Not sure whether I like this one, but hopefully as I get into my stride throughout April my later ones will get better. For now, this is To Be a Warrior.
To know if you’re a warrior is easy. Simply think.
A warrior protects something, no matter what it is:
The friend, the family, money, pride, belief or country, love.
A warrior that fights the best has often one of the above.
So figure out which one it is that you fight to protect.
Use it as your will to fight, to the fight your face direct.
If in your contemplation you find out that you don’t know
What it is you go to battle for, a weakness, here, you show.
If you fight to protect something your sword or gun is strong,
But if you fight not knowing why, on the field you don’t belong.
You have to fight for something, there’s a reason that we do,
Because if out there you lose your focus you’re killing me and you.
Hesitate you die. Turn back you die. So in your mind be wise.
Don’t take the sword, the gun, the bow if you don’t have a ‘why’.
Fight because you love your country, fight to stay alive,
Fight because you like it or fight for your own pride,
Fight because you cannot stand to hear those awful screams,
Fight for the future that will help you to achieve your dreams,
But if you cannot find a reason to take your weapon up,
Stay out of the way of those who haven’t given up.
Go home, get out of here, just leave, as I don’t want to die.
I know my reason for being here, I have no cause to cry.
I tell you: leave, don’t enter into this if you can’t fight,
Because if your weakness gets me killed, I’ll haunt your afterlife.
A warrior has their reasons to fight for what they know.
So stay and fight for something too, or turn around and go,
And if you choose to take that sword, or gun, or bow in hand,
Stand proud here by my side, my friend. Let us protect this land.
So I heard about NaPoWriMo and thought I’d give it a crack. A poem a day, how hard can it be, right? I think this is where I grin nervously and hide my apprehension behind a laugh. I hope I haven’t already posted this, but I couldn’t think up anything new today. I’ll have a go at something new tomorrow but for now, here is My Ancestor’s Battlefield. It’s a tribute to my Great-Grandad, Archibald.
And the ringing in my ears is deafening.
The silence oppressive.
As the shrapnel from the mortar
Rains death upon the foliage
I grip my M1 Carbine;
Beg survival from the ender of life;
Glance at my frozen hand,
Crimzon beneath the fire that burns
Beside and above me in the trees.
My friends, Jamie? Adam?
Archibald. My Corporal.
7th Battalion, Hampshire Regiment.
His sockets like trenches.
Guests to an unintended feast
Aim high, duck low, and scream.
I follow them.
We never learn.
Tainted sunset breathing
Grey over Holland. Circles and stalks us.
Now they’re back for me.
The Party begins again,
And it’s my turn to dance with the Devil.