“Wash the moon in the burning flames of the sun,” I said aloud to my class as I recited a poem of my original composition, “Dance in the flowing embers igniting my passion at night when the trees sleep with the crickets. I’m forever encumbered by your embrace, as the light in my heart is magnified by your song.
The classroom exploded with applause from my classmates and teacher.
One student commented, “The piece is rich with beautiful images. You should become a professional writer when the time comes for you to go on to college. Perhaps you could study creative writing to produce beautiful works of poetry and fiction. All kinds of writing would be well suited.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that. I’ve always loved to write. When I was in the 5th grade back when I attended the Kalamazoo Public Schools, my teacher assigned the class spelling words every week of which we were to incorporate into our stories. Mine were the favorite of the class. Then, when I moved out here two years ago, I started writing poetry,” I said as I went back to my desk, and waited for the teacher to give her feedback.
“Kiki, you definitely should consider majoring in English and obtain a B. A. degree in creative writing. You have such strong potential to be a great writer,” she said while glancing up at the clock, “We have five minutes of class time left. I suggest you kids collect you books and belongings and line up at the door, so you’ll be ready to leave for your next period class.”
On the bus ride home, I took out my notebook and a pen, and begun composing some poetry. While I was writing, a friend of mine who sat next to me, asked, “What are you doing, Kiki?”
“I’m just writing some ideas for some poetry. I’m mean, I’m composing a poem. Or at least trying to. I’ve come up with the first two lines so far, but I’m struggling to figure out where to go next with the piece.”
“That’s cool about you writing poetry. If you take a few deeps breaths, and give yourself a chance to relax, you’ll figure out what to write next,” she said, while straightening up her books on her lap.
“I think that’s a great idea. Thanks. Maybe I could come up with some more lines for my poem by observing the scenery, and gain some inspiration,” I said thoughtfully, as I glanced out the window observing the grasslands we passed, and the farms.
Upon arriving home, I ran into my bedroom, tossed my duffle bag onto my bed, ran out of the room to get my dusting supplies, and began dusting the furniture in the living room. Then, I cleaned the bathrooms, and the rest of the house.
By the time I finished, I already had some more ideas to include into my poem. I wrote about the scenery I observed when looking out the bus window, such as how the long blades of grass tickled the air, the sounds of the traffic on the road, the man and the dogs playing in the fields, brought such beautiful means of inspiration.
I also wrote about my day at school, such as how my classmates made me feel good when they showed their appreciation for my poetry.
For lunch, we had sloppy Joe’s, my favorite sandwich. I wrote about the conversations taking place during lunch time, such as about the upcoming school dance. Many of my friends didn’t go to such things; therefore, I didn’t like to attend them either.
I included these things into my poetry, in addition the housework I had to do when I arrived home from school. I wrote about what thoughts went through my head while I was cleaning the house. I couldn’t get Wham’s song, Careless Whisper, out of my head.
I wrote my interpretation of the lyrics for the song.
I then got started on the rest of my homework.
My brothers had football practice. They didn’t arrive home until 5:30 p. m.
They ran into their bedrooms, tossed their books on their beds, and went straight to work on mowing the lawn. Then, they did their school work.
© Copyright, Kiki Stamatiou, 2015