Ruby

When you just don't know what to do?

or just waiting for it to begin?

To have them and lose them and still want them years later?

What if it lasts forever?

My gorgeous little cat died yesterday. I've had him for 15 years, since I was 6 and I don't know how to cope with him passing. He got suddenly ill over the weekend, I took him to the vet after he didn't eat for 24 hours and nothing they did worked for him. They think it was his kidneys but I am just so sad. I visited him there yesterday and I wish I'd said goodbye better.. I didn't know it was his last day. My family are away on holiday so I had to bury him on my own. He was the lovelist, happiest cat imaginable and I feel so guilty for taking him for granted. I feel pathetic but can't stop crying and am worried about crying at work tomorrow! Please only nice people answer.

Eternally the optimist -

A brimming cup;

my imagination is reality.

I see kind hearts underneath

layers

of brutality.

Idealist maybe, but not naïve,

Never naïve.

Reams of memories that

make me stronger -

build me up not break me down,

piles of unfinished letters, novels

tattered and forlorn,

masterpieces singularly,

(not evidences of failure).

To love is to live.

Alone is to learn.

To hurt is to grow.

All this I know

and yet I am

positively

stunted.

no matter how much sugar you put on your cornflakes, they will never taste like Frosties....

I wrote this poem about 5 years ago and found it on an old memory stick. While I know it's not much and a little self centred, I still like it.

With perfect suburban precision,

my hand reached to draw the curtains at midnight.

this time has not enough shape to it

for these people, and it shows in the black out.

they are oblivious to my night trained eyes,

but they could not fault me on my timing: midnight

on the dot - the thunder slapped

and shook this glassy street.

Though I am not one of them, these doll-like creatures

I am no closer to the Gods

who Terrified me.

The smacking and growling continued

truly tempered now, they must have been,

With the answering silence and sleep

Forever stoic, here.

They were building themselves up into a real state

a crescendo of rage.

I turned off the bedside lamp to hide me:

Played dead to this show.

The poor trees were blasted and battered relentless,

but the houses refused to budge,

or rouse, or live,

And in their haste and fury at this impossibility,

I saw them. It burnt the retinas of my eyes

They blew us up:

Our snow globe world.

A house has erected here.

The film of smoke that lingers

on make its edges hazy but

I think it has left the shell

of the previous

and tried to mask over the marks.

Covered the roots of the fruit tree

with gravel.

The house is getting bolder.

Shaking off the dust from the fire of which it was born

the ruins of the last house – this one is, they say, far superior.

Sturdier, strengthened, more steady.

Medium sized. Oak Beams. With land to negotiate.

The dust from the burnt out house flies

Throwing age and memories –

Sin into the house

It doesn’t take long for vines to quietly crawl between the front door

And creep inside the windows.

A seed from the blazed fruit tree blew in

with the ashes through the hallway

Into the centre of the house.

rocking the foundations;

it’s growing already.

Guidance to make it more poetic greatly appreciated.

Writing is my passion, but between working two jobs and trying to have some semblance of a life, I'm ashamed to say that I find it hard to find the time to write. How do you fit it in? When do you prefer to write?

For my creative writing class I have to write a piece based on my character going on a journey that they have prepared for, but are regretting on their way there.

In my piece I'm writing about a mum who gave up her daughter at birth and is on her way to meet her, 18 years later.

But I love how wide the variety of story ideas can stem from one initial prompt, so I'd love to hear your ideas! 10 points for the most interesting!

That picture on the wall

Is mocking me.

Our faces are made up and we're

Smiling.

The Smiles aren't fake;

They're Glittering.

(Oh what a shame it is).

Written a few years ago in the midst of the 'Big Freeze' winter.

This Winter snow came.

Thickly it flew, landing,

sweeping in silently

smothering England in

a blanket, a straight jacket.

Snow rushed in,

too fast to halt -

her feet firmly set under the laid table,

her body spread across the unmade bed,

and confidently announced her stay.

Slender lady

Beauitful woman

Dazzling us with her diamond display,

stunning us with her serenity,

anesthetising us with her agelessness

drugging her with brightness in the dark.

Snow rested seductively and the ice lay

with her too, underneath her.

The perfect couple, merging - sex between

Sexes.

One soft, inviting, easy,

the other: strong, composed, hard

and they tricked us all.

Layering our paths - lying down beneath us

but all the time, tracking us, tricking us

-keeping us.

They took many that winter. First our children,

then the weak, the old then all

and we became like them.

They stole us, though some

- though I

went willingly

sliding between their cold sheets

slipping into their glazed world,

kissing their ivory powdered faces and necks

for the promise of

crystallised calm, of powerlessness

numbness

such an easy, lovely

fresh death.

On our kitchen wall,

she lies to us - 12 minutes fast,

and it took weeks to realise -

numb and useless as we are in the morning,

drunk as we are at night.

I no longer trust her, she

ruled herself, chose to confuse

and I think she used us

I'm sure she's using us

for her own private game.

Things take time,

Good things come to those who wait,

Time waits for no-one

Time heals all wounds -

This time I'm onto her.

Because I know it's her fault,

while she's in the future in our kitchen,

she has frozen time in my mind;

taken the minutes from me and

locked you up there

- taken the batteries out.

She is everywhere at once, so

how can I beat her

when she bleats time?

she's locking the past and keeping it,

eating at my present

sleeping with my future.

my bare skin still holds warmth

from the sun in that field where

we first freely felt.

Hidden-away

beyond the pouring rain,

crouching in the leaves

and the wet earth

we found a tiny toy palace

of splintered dreams

and bent backs

and spilt drinks.

a place where

Maybe fairies tried

to break and re-make

their fancy china,

because their

cups were too big for

their gentle fingers

and they wanted to drink

tea.

But they could never

break them into pieces

small enough.

So instead, they built

a glittering mosaic house

for them all to live in

and tucked it away

in a spell of rain

a secret

on the hill

too precious for humans to

believe in

a giant fairy tea palace.

Inspired by this beautiful gem of a place:

http://www.thelittlechapel.org/

Words feel uneasy

on my tongue, he said, with his

arms wrapped up in mine.

Are there no set rules for this? I've seen people on Level 6, with thousands of 'points' not have the title but then some people who have only joined a few weeks ago and answered 100 questions with it. I'm not dying to be one, just trying to understand who decides etc.

What differences stuck out the most to you? There were plenty of scenes which I think really did the book justice, but here are my main issues:

Haymitch - I just don't get his character in the film. I think Woody Harrelson is a wonderful actor but I just don't think they made him 'paunchy', 'middle aged' or rough enough. He was too well put together and just didn't seem qutie right. I wish they had done the scene properly on the train with Peeta and Katniss when he says that they might actually have some fighters here this year.

The interview. Flickerman was great, but Katniss did worse than she should have. And doesn't the dress spinning ruin the shock of it happening in Catching Fire?

All the stuff in the cave. The lamb stew. The sleeping syrup. Katniss taking care of him. The kiss which was actually real. Peeta nearly dying. None of it was quite right for me.

The dress Katniss was wearing in the final interview. I know she's meant to look girly and vulnerable, but she looked ridiculous in that - I don't think Cinna would have put her in that.

Let me know what irked you and if you agree!!!