Writer's Dream

True Desires

We long for love,

When we run low.

We long for joy,

When bond by sorrow.


We long to be held,

When our hearts bleed.

We long for appreciation,

For the weights lifted, backs broken and time stolen

our eyes falling short of such.


We seek the untold seas,

Sipping plenty of life from it

To replenish our souls

our eyes falling short of such.


But fate reveals our weaknesses,

Leaving us pleading for more today,


and the day after

No Heroes

I soaked my shirt in tears,

grieving for the shadow I’d become

but the puddle you saw

wasn’t enough to lift your pride.


I sought for approval,

In ways far from my liking

Only to drown in sadness

as you watched me burn.


Then why do I find it hard to laugh

when you stumble?

Why do my eyes well up in tears

when you crumble?

My cry for you can’t match any words.


Yet you taught me to trust no one

that the moon will outshine the sun in many phases.

Yet you taught me to judge by one’s feet

dusty or muddy, ignoring their wit.

To stay wide awake,

because heroes don’t exist.

My testimony

I’m the living vessel
rocked back and forth
by the wildest storms
but sailed on their anger that warms.

I’m the missing page
that restores the edge
when patched back
to my rightful place.

I’m the last piece
that keeps the world afloat
with my countless flaws
that shares my lows.

I’m the only ride
that brings you back to life
brushing with leaves
As we flee in delight.

What have I become

Am I the fly
that hovers around
into spectacular scenes
but sticks to one place?

Am I the beetle
using the earth as my tool
to gather what’s pleasing to my eyes
despite my mother’s cries?

Am I the bee
that finds peace
in the little I have
but leaves the world mesmerized?

Using Ideas to Start A Story by Alicia Rasley

No Wasted Ink


Thanks, Wendy, for inviting me to talk today about “idea” as a way to start a story. Some stories, especially those classified as “speculative fiction,” start not with anything concrete like character or setting, but with an idea to be explored.

As science fiction writer Orson Scott Card explains, “Idea stories are about the process of seeking and discovering new information through the eyes of characters who are driven to make the discoveries.”

That’s really the appeal of an idea story. No matter what it turns out to be, it starts as an intellectual puzzle. In the spirit of that sort of intellectual mission, let’s consider some ways an idea can start a story.

Questions. For example, many mysteries start with a scene that presents a question, one of the oldest questions of all, “Whodunnit?” But most authors add some additional complication, like, what could kill a man alone in…

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Slaves of time

We are slaves of time,
for our scars will reflect our past
while our wounds will ache
till we tend to them.

We are slaves of time,
forever in debt with our master.
Devouring our will to lash back,
there’s no escape from her jaws.

We are slaves of time,
slowly guiding each other to our sure end.
For she brought out all the dirt
exposing the shadow we barely knew.



Listen to the tires screeching.
Listen to the clock ticking,
as it steals the power of silence,
from the tireless barking dog.

Listen to the stillness of a man,
his mind full of broken promises and empty words.
Listen to the boy’s jubilant world,
being shuttered before his eyes.

All I ask of you,
is to just listen.
Listen to the chirping bird,
slipping from the tree
and landing on its beak.

Listen to my agony
As I scribe this down in the dead night,
we all want to forget.


I see a face of joy,
That calls my feet.
I see a face of delight,
That melts my heart.

I see a face of certainty,
that scampers my fears.
I see a face of remorse,
that saves humanity.

Faces faces faces.
I see a faceless man
Who lets anger prey on him.
A face of no regrets,
that never wears out.

A face of concern,
is required.

Self Restoration

During the past few days, I have learnt something vital that has granted me a new understanding.
Most of my life, I have always wanted to achieve greatness in everything I touched.
To go places that I never thought I would set foot in.
For my hands to feel the warmth of a blazing courage as I get close to it,
becoming fearless when I immerse the tips of my fingers in it.

But when I woke up on a sudden day, a date worth forgetting, everything had changed.
I fell so hard that I had to remain still on the floor and think afresh.
All the beliefs I had in mind were unreal. They were all plain liars as I searched for a consolation.
It all made me a cheat and a loser.

But today someone still saw me as my old self.
He branded me a champ in the simplest way I couldn’t imagine.
Surprisingly, for the few hours we squandered together,
I had my old boots back on and a huge smile
I have never worn for years.
I need this forever.

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