Dream

The purpose to my life: unknown. I dream of a life that I have yet to experience. It's repeatable, but unimaginable--I take my time to grasp the place in which I stand, holding onto something almost unbelievable, and yet holds the key to everything I have ever thought of my life becoming. There's just one problem, there is a woman that I dream of that is neither there or exactly missing; she's more of a silhouette--a shadow that comes into play, but holds no real figure, although, what she has told me is that she is the one that I'm destined to be with, but she isn't exactly allowing me to look at her. She always stands at a distance. I'm in love in the future, but maybe it's just a dream.  Maybe everything we experience is a dream.

New Year's Resolution

To reflect on the past is merely reflecting on something that no longer matters as much as it once had. In the future, each day matters more than anything else. The past you cannot change, but by changing the present, it is more likely that the future can look clearer and shine brighter than the dark ages of our past. Each year we promise ourselves that we will achieve certain goals that will make us better than who we were and/or are now. This year my resolution is unknown to me because I cannot predict the future—I trust in faith and fate to decide what’ll happen next. I can provide changes each day to obtain a long term goal, but in the end, I cannot say who I will become, although, I hope that whoever I become, changed or not, I will be happier than I am and/or was. My ultimate goal is grow more, spiritually, but to grow less physically (insert a slight laugh here). My goal is to ultimately grow wiser in the field of writing and to find myself as an artist, by exploring my inner thoughts and emotions—which I hope I can build onto in order expand my character. I hope to explore a little, too, and seek out new places that I have yet to explore.

            I hope to understand love and what it really possesses. I hope to understand something else that hasn’t occurred in my life, but I know that whatever it may be, I can feel and/or will understand it more clearly. I hope to learn more. I hope to teach someone something new that they have yet to experience, but in return, I will learn something too. I hope to explore my thoughts more and dream about them. I hope to inspire someone with my writing and/or with my personality as a whole. Although these are small goals that I hope to obtain, I will let God lead me to whatever He sees fit for my present and future.

            I hope to become someone wiser within multiple fields of life and to grow within my faith, and be an inspiration to many—so that they may learn too—and they can see that life is a gift that cannot be wasted and never completely failed, either. The purpose to life is to understand its beauty, whether we have yet to do so or not. Sometimes to completely understand something, we must view it our whole lives to know what truly matters throughout our earthly experience; it (whatever it may be) is something we cannot grasp until our final breath; although, whatever it may be, will be beautiful, I’m sure.  I want to understand something more and I cannot completely understand what it is, but through this new year I want to have the patience to wait for it because I know that whatever it’ll be it will bring me complete joy and a different (more improved) outlook on life.

College and Writing

At times when it comes down to writing, I find myself struggling, both creatively and academically. When I struggle with creative writing, it takes a toll on my academic writing, and the same goes for my academic writing taking a toll on my creative writing. As the semester draws to the close, I'm finding myself cramming in last minute papers and doing them in a poorly manner of writing. It isn't that I mean to do this, but it is mainly because I often get too caught up in an idea that I want to work on, rather than focusing on coursework.

Within my college years, I have worked on improving my procrastination, but I still prefer typing something creative, rather than study or write a 8 page essay on a chapter in Milton's Paradise Lost. It isn't that I don't mind the course work, I just often feel that being an English major can get quite hectic with all of the outside coursework- and can sometimes take away my creativity with essays, poetry, and research papers. I often want to give up; although,  that is never the case. What I do in these  situations is write.

Writing can help relieve stress from coursework, but that doesn't help me get back on track of the coursework; except it does take a load of stress off of my shoulders. Writing frees my mind and also can inspire me at times to write 8 page papers on Milton's Paradise Lost and/or any other assignment given to me.  Writing can sometimes allow me to do better with coursework, but at other times it can be distracting as well. I am trying to allow writing inspire/motivate me more, but I think it'll take time and practice at doing so.

I Write...

I write from the pity that I feel for the weak. I write for the lost. I write to save lives. I write to understand death. I write to understand love. I write to find myself within the pages. I write to escape. I write to dream. I write to achieve something. I write to throw something on paper. I write to gain knowledge. I write to inspire. I write to have something to do. I write for a living. I write because that's the only thing I can do. I write to make a woman smile. I write to break her heart. I write to make her fall in love.

This has been a great exercise in my writing. With this style of free writing, I often gain the best ideas and find myself understanding my ideas and thoughts more. I write for a reason, but it isn't to change the world, exactly. It isn't to be famous, but just to inspire a few people. It's a way of letting my mind fill the pages, and allowing my readers to reflect on their own lives. Maybe it is to change the world, whether it's good or bad.

We All Desire A Story

In the past few weeks I have been working diligently on my poetry, or at least I've been trying to do what I can. With classes, work, and coursework, a writer can get writer's block pretty easily. I find myself sitting at the computer screen at times, looking at the flashing line, awaiting for words to flow, but there I sit instead, with a blank face and  looking at updated statuses on Facebook. I'm not motivated to write, and yet I am. I await the words of the true poet to come out naturally, and sometimes immediately, but sixty-percent of the time that is not the case. So, as a writer, I put my headphones on and listen to either classical music, folk, indie, or alternative rock; hoping to find the words through the music. Usually nothing happens.

I'm the type of writer that is inspired when the time is unnecessary. I'm usually sitting in a class room, watching the power point, or reading at the last minute, or writing a research paper; and that's when an idea hits. I take my pen and scribble down the words that come to mind, taking my mind off of the teacher or studies, and I write something that I might find eloquent, that is until I come to it later as I gaze through my notes and that's when it hits me, "Write more as a writer and not as a student."  How was that poetry? It isn't. It was just good advice to myself, that was all. The true inspiration comes when I'm brushing my teeth, or when I forgot to bring a pen with me, or when I'm in the shower, etc. My true symphony comes when I'm unprepared; when my pants are down (metaphorically speaking). A true poet/writer must always have a pen, a small notebook, and an idea. One little idea can explode into something big, soaring to the minds of your readers, grasping onto their sentimental gland; pouring out unto them, having them beckon for more. Write us poetry, they will say.

We are all poets and writers,
Although  we must first glance back,
Look forward, and write.

Poetry

I know that I usually discuss on what or how I write, but I feel that I will just publish a couple of pieces onto my blog. Enjoy!

  Our Lampposts, By Stephen Sanders


The movie scene was closed from the public.
There was death on screen, they say.
Not a real death by a phantom or some other mysterious matter or person,
but a death that was forbidding.
A child hugged his mother, closing his hands on her coat, holding back tears.
We cry when we are sad, they say.
Sadness is a weak kiss.
The death was of a man whom stared at the stars at night, holding his dead wife within his heart.
Touching the glass to his lips, drinking.
This story is false, of course.
It's the chill that reaches the human heart, elaborating the psyche.
I know of a wife who loved her husband,
but when he died she cooed herself to sleep.
The life he lived was something more than we've seen.
It was majestic.
Our death was the very purpose to our reasoning:
our lampposts turn on in the darkness. 


 The Scene of What We Never Saw, By Stephen Sanders

I don't enjoy this company of lonely people, looking out at the sunset.
We gather in groups, drinking club soda.
Where did our time go? Fifty years has passed, alone.
We set our clocks back to mid-summer, laughter is sweet and red.
I cannot remember the last time I held a woman,
Her lips pacing, her eyes revealing mine.
I slept alone for the last fifty years on a couch,
Watching the same television shows: Eating the same food: Working.
Music plays in the background, softly like a pillow filling our void; our emptiness.
I wish you could hear the music play,
Filling my throat and arousing the mood to dance: Breathe in the poet.
Your hands are like leather, brushing against my leg,
Passing through my hair. Weakened by the stench of fragrance:
I want your mouth, pressing, tonguing mine.  I want your hands moving, pulling my hair.
I want your hunger: your lustful heart. I want to lay my head against your belly.
I want the softness of a woman-- you're the woman.
We sit and watch the sunset: never moving, never changing, never living, never dying.

The Muse

When it comes down to writing poetry, you must meditate first. You must look into your soul and breathe in the ideas that reach out to you. A true poet will write what's on their mind--they will seek the words. There really is no specific way of writing real poetry; rather, it's what your mind, soul, and heart tell you to write. While writing poetry, you must allow the muse to enter into your being and speak the words. You are the poet, you are the creator of thoughts (given to you by God or whatever being you worship). Anyone can be a poet if we allow these things to react, if we welcome the Holy Spirit and our inner-self. Breathe in, exhale, think, and welcome the muse, and write.