Hello everyone and welcome to my 300th blog of Tia Orchestration’s Corner or for less of a mouth full; T.O’s Corner, whichever is fine.
Wow, 300, what a number that is. Never thought that was going to happen, let alone making some grand friends along the way. But now, is not the time to be sappy, maybe another time.
So, as for a 300th blog, I thought of looking back at the past work that has been posted here thus far, and see how of a writer, I, have grown to become. By looking at the top ten choices that were thankfully narrowed down by others choices that who were able to get through and give a helping hand in this, along with some, I, somehow was able to decide to talk about. Again; not easy, the reasons vary.
But, if there is one of the few things I know, everything has a story behind it; movies, paintings, people, objects. Poems are just as stories, just shorter in telling than what a book; like War and Peace or the Harry Potter books can do. Each of these ten poems have a story, be it they able to tell it or not, their reasons are going to be known.
With that said, let’s get this show on the road.
Number 10 ~ Free Write No. 12: Lights
Oh, the memoires of this poem. Written from the point of a five year old going to a light show, distorted music being played through the dark room, so many people in that small room, just enjoying the atmosphere of it. I was visiting family at the time, and there was theme park not far a ways from my cousins’ house.
Our main goal was to see the Beauty and The Beast on ice showing, but there was lots of time before then. And when the water park was too full of kids, and me not much a fan of being wet at the time, and my bad habit of running off, found a dome building where they going to do a lightshow. Thus the start of when the poem begins of when we (Me, my mother, Cousin’s 1, 2, 3, and 4) are just enjoying it, as this part of the poem shows;
Lights dance,
On the walls.
Bright,
Mesmerizing,
Colorful,
Where do they,
Come from?
Pay no mind.
Just watch.
Red,
Yellow,
Blue,
Green,
Many more,
Dance and,
The music,
Only gets,
No one,
Makes a move,
Or sound.
Minds are at,
If anything it was worth it. And yes, the ice show was just as awesome. Sadly as the poem ends;
That show,
Was the last,
The joyfulness,
Never came,
Within the coming year after, the theme park was shut down and was planned for demolition for a mall or something. A mini market I believe now really thinking about it. A simple poem, of a simple time of what disappointment can be, when it grows in larger scales as one grows up. I will say; there are still some places that still do these lightshows, but no within driving distance. But if anything, it’s a memory I am gladly to have. And happy to know that others could see and feel it too.
Number 9 ~ Move To The Words
What an odd poem this became to be, but none the less, it was fun. As it started as an idea that was really a question: Could a poem tell a hint of what the future comes for one self. And with that, I grabbed a notepad, a pen, and my shoes . . . hey you never know. Yet, when looking back at this poem, it comes off as a lazy poem, when looking it over, but I guess it’s because of it’s a reminder of all the moving I did when making this poem.
POEM WORKOUTS; Join Now!
Ouch, that joke hurt.
If breaking down the poem, there are some points where the poem really backfires on my account, such as this part;
Spin twice,
Walk the steps forward of your favorite color letters,
Then back of the least,
Say a close friend’s name,
Walk their name sideways,
Spin again,
But,
Please only do it the once . . .
And if there is anyone; who really gave this a try step by step, besides me, and did not fall. I bow down to you if you tell you didn’t fall. Cause, I had no such luck in that.
Or maybe in this part of the poem;
Stand straight back up,
Jump back,
Slide to the left,
Count to three when done.
I had, at this point on, had somehow ended outside of my house, and thankfully with my shoes on this time, and . . . it was flipping raining. Curse you Washington and your weather bipolar-ness! You were sunny not too long ago!
*Slaps myself*
Sorry about that, folks, I don’t know what came over me. *Gives an awkward laugh*
The poem as it nears it ends, is really a tossup. Mostly; for what I got in the end when the poem was done and I find myself at fork in the road. Yeah, thanks future, like life wasn’t hard enough as it was. Hopefully if anyone else did this, their answers were a little clearer than mine. I don’t the hate the poem or anything, painfully fun through and through, yet; others who picked this, loved it . . . but that doesn’t mean, I am planning to another poem like it every again.
Number 8 ~ B.I.S.E.X.U.A.L.
If anyone remembers, that after the poem was done, in the side notes; it stated that poem is based on a friend who is no longer around. This person, a once great friend of mine, that we at met at day care when I was picking up a younger cousin. This person was a sibling I never really had before. Weird, that I was label as the oldest one when there was a six year gap with us. Funny as a flat-line, but they were so bad, you end up laughing anyway.
What happen to my friend was unfair and lacks any justice. How was I to know, if we never talked about it. A good friend, if you don’t mind thick-headedness, cause, dang, my friend had lots of it. Each line, you could say, is quotes of my friend’s words that pretty much summed this person up. Such as this part;
I is for the If I ever get blown off from everyone, but I will always have a smile with me
Part chestier-cat if you ask me.
B.I.S.E.X.U.A.L. may come off as a lighthearted poem to hopefully open others eyes, as my friend story was anything but light. In between the lines; there was someone trying to find a place in this world, find someone, who understood and maybe even love in return, pointed here;
U is for the Up-side in every day life, I will carry those moments forever
A is for the Awesome times I had with the best people ever, I never will forget them
It is heart breaking, to know my friend is gone and is never coming back. And I just hate it, of how others treat something such as one’s choice as a bad thing. When death plays a part, others just brush it off, as if to say and I quote those horrible words; “it’s the soulless one; who strains paths that go against what’s already plan for them. Taking the easy way out . . . just proves it”. If that means forever be unhappy, then, no, thank you.
As to how the poem ends, are really my final words;
L is for the Love I give, show, take, until my heart can’t gather anymore
For I want change. And to do that, is through an emotion all that I know that can work or be a downfall. Less the latter of this, than everything is good. Everyone is equal and I plan to see it through, for those who can’t. So come at me world, do your worst, I need a new battle scar for my collection.
Number 7 ~ Silly Dream
With all the hype that was going on for the first Manic Expression movie, the joy in me was just wow for how far this site had gotten. Even before I showed up; this place is just full of energy. Wherever it comes from, I hope to never see it fade away. And I guess in some way, I felt this little spark from all that energy and this poem came to be, also around the time, when I heard some people where having some rough times trying to stay on the air. Silly Dream became a shout out in some ways to them; not to give up and to those just getting their feet wet, as some would say.
As to the first lines;
Many arts form through a person.
Medias of all kinds.
Pleasing and angering with every turn.
Common sense: when thinking about it. Whatever the media is, will end in pleasing some people or just put them in a fit a rage. Our, inner nip-pick, really, when thinking about it. Yet, the main of Silly Dream relies of the words;
Dreams may be so silly, that they are nothing but a joke.
But it’s our inside joke.
A little laugh that we will, not only prove them wrong, but carry on.
Yes, it’s a fact others don’t see things as another eyes, but, being where able to laugh about it, to where a random person would see it as a sign of insanity. So? Living under a rock much, then? It’s a dream, a butt-end joke, but really, for whoever loves the media of passion? I can’t and wouldn’t stop it, for they’ll just laugh back for thinking it could be stop. Their inside joke, if you will. And taking it in full strides of pride, claps to them.
With this poem, soon coming of the ending, as to say, for whoever has a dream. Know there is a place for them to express it. And the laughter of that, are the chances others never gave.
Leaving with the ending;
Wave bye for now.
Speak hello later.
As waving the hands of giving up is no longer needed, and future of the person’s media is spoken words of hello and welcome. I still never thought, this poem would end up in the Manic Expression movie, really it was a shock, but glad to know others will hopefully understand what I meant.
Number 6 ~ From Another Mind
Man, this was lot of teamwork in this. Even though, most; if not rest of the team had no idea why I was asking them to fill in the blanks for this poem. As it all started with when I notice there was a Collaboration section, yeah, this poem was posted on Nov 15, 2013 after I just then notice it.
*Face Palm*
I am a dumb-ass!
Anyway, back to the poem. When I did notice it, I had this idea of doing a collaboration of some kind. But the only ones that came to mind where video reviews and blog style ones. So at first, I thought of dumping that idea, and doing something else, leaving that idea in the back of mind as if it was nothing. Until, I found some old adlib books from my younger days and was still learning to write, and then my thought light bulb broke.
It would sound odd saying doing an adlib poem out loud, can go so many ways. But again, I went half a brain into it and started coming up with the lines that would be handed to others to fill.
So many stories came to mind when doing this, even more so for the people I picked at random do to this. Even some said they weren’t much a poet and thought it wouldn’t be good. It’s far from the truth, that was something that was needed from them, just the adlibs filled. It could have been gibberish for all I cared, as stated to some; I just wanted these people to be part of the poem, that’s all.
Reason to why the poem ended as this;
And in short of a poet to another,
Be those masters or shaky chancres,
I bid you farewell.
To me, you guys are poets, just not the kind of what I do. And for that, I love that part of you guys. You’re different. So please, can it. What your art is, is great, way better than mine.
Along with the story that was made, how it was a welcoming to who someone is, what they could do, what more they could do, and how just for a little bit; they would do it again. That is a simple but breath-taken story and without you guys, I could have never pulled it off. So really, when picking this poem for the list, it was more of a shout to you guys, pat yourself on the back, you are awesome.
Number 5 ~ RANT: Cut Off
I am not an anger person; I am a person of many. So when one emotion is target, it’s a hit or misses. RANT: Cut Off is a hit, as I have had it with certain sites, people, life, and other things just cutting off someone because of matters that are never said, but leave wonder as to why? Even, more so of when it comes out of the blue. It’s just dumb.
Saying as to this part;
No voice of reason to give us answers as to why that is.
No warning when all the work that has been done is gone with a simple click.
No where to go, when everything else is the same or becoming the same.
You know who you are, when reading this. A site shouldn’t just go and off people like this, when these are few of the reasons others would think to have the deed was and done. When; you take away things that are different. Things change alright. And not for the better! When going to these sites, what is left? Most of things left I don’t know, don’t like, nor find anything what brought me there in the first place.
Why is that?
Oh, cause of the numbers, the rates, the whole shebang.
As to say in this;
Cutting off new looks and new faces, leave those who are left to try harder, breaking them.
Breaking them into a bony mess.
As content means nothing, numbers are everything.
Does anyone really want to only be remembering for that reason? I wouldn’t. Just numbers? Not content? What kind of life is that? If anything, it’s just a bother, that all you were known for was that: hey it was a hit . . . for what . . . that cares just do it again with a different look; same plot. They won’t know.
Just once more on another line this time;
Equalness has been toss aside, for the numbers are looking good.
Looking good, but for what?
Whatever is left in world, that has not been cut off, what is left . . . when they leave.
They can’t stay forever?
Nor live that long or find someone as good as them.
For there is only one of them.
May I say it again; there is only one of them? And they can only do things for so long, before they think it’s time to go. Leaving what behind? A blank place, that won’t be filled for that numbers others to those numbers, will never meet. And if knowing that is true relies on others. For those say and call others a rip-off, a bland version, a metal-brain with no talent trying to be something that will only be in their heads. I have been called all those and I am still here, trying, for I know there is no full blood clone like me, nor hold what kind of ego I have, for its mine and mine alone, if it feels like a rip-off something or just plain bland; and here is why? Because: that’s how the past isn’t forgotten.
If there is anyone who knows this, dead or not, is Shakespeare, cause, for how long as some of his work been rip-off? The Taming of Shrew = 10 Things I Hate About You; differences: from different time lines, names of those in the story are changed, take place in different locations, and have very different endings. But have the same plot. And both loved in different ways for they call to certain people.
Hamlet and The Lion King are also the same, and did that work out for them? I’ll let that be something for you to answer.
That falls to everyone else. And leaves to how the poem ends, and this goes to those who been cut off by others for whatever reason: given or not;
Do you get the picture?
Or does a slap in the face make it understandable for someone, as you, internet?
You have this chance to have people like you, but something is blinding you, seek help.
Or the next time something happens . . . the one thing being cut off . . . is you.
And will you do when those numbers fade?
No really, what will you do? When all you do is pissing people off? What then? Do you need a number scale on happy viewers, because if that’s all you need to fix the problem and not cut off people, because life get’s in the way to do your bidding, then you’re far gone than I thought. And then there is no hope for you. And for that may you lay in wonder as to why your numbers fade because, you lack understanding that everyone’s a human being not a super computer, that you, yourself have claim to become in the world of the internet.
Number 4 ~ Paint a Picture No. 4
Way back on the 100th blog, I wrote a new style of poem that relies more on a compose prose side than being small and blunt in the matters of getting a story told. But it still fun. And Les requested for my take on A Starry Starry Night by Vincent Van Gogh; one of many paintings that became and remains a classic and a footprint in the land of art. As with painting, when I saw it, there was so many tales it told, and coming across of style of poetry to tell it, I knew some day I would tell my story of it, and thanks to Les, it pick the speed to do so.
The opening line was something I never forgot when I first saw this painting in so many movies and at small museum that I went to as younger kid;
Darkness has fallen down on this little town made of pine wood, stone of many, and thin plates of glass.
That line stayed with me, as any writer knows; you need to try and make a strong opening. As well with the elements that came later, when learning more of this craft. Such as learning the matters of folk tales and legends that would normally take place, a lone town such as the one in the painting, which brought up this line;
The flaming strides of the trees bend to the winds that keeper of winter could only do. Swirls of the fresh frosty airs blow faster and faster, for that greens near look as if their flames of hell.
Out of all paintings I written stories so far, No. 4 is good, much better than I could with other works. Though, this painting does the most in doing a moment of breaking the fourth wall when getting to the end;
Until, this is only a good night, under the stars, in a restless sleep.
When reading it alone, it comes off as that. But in later PAP’s I have notice, they have shown up more as I keep doing them. I may have to work on not doing that. But who knows, it may rest more on if the stories work that way or not. So far, no has said anything, I would give it time.
Number 3 ~ Free Write No. 18: Mighty Moon and Sun
Ah, the Mighty Moon and his brother, the Mighty Sun. Forever caught in a battle on what is to be for our one and only home. When it is really; about someone who has schizophrenia and has multi personality disorder. As the moon is that of fiction and sun is that of realty. As they call each brothers; siblings, for they look the same, but mean things different from each other. Much as that of twins . . . but in one being, one mind;
The very first line;
Waves are crashing.
For that means the wall the person built has broken, slowly, but the person knows. The battle takes place in it. As the waves rise higher and higher, for the moon is just too close to the earth, too close to the person’s senses of life. As the poem keeps going, we read of the destruction the moon has done thus far into the poem, soon we reach about the stars;
The stars show no,
Stars are as simple as the on lookers. For they only see it as how things go. As does people when they believe on how to deal with things, they have idea about. Nor: how to handle it. Leaving: that of the sun: realty. An unnamed drug the earth must take in hopes of calming it. With little it does, the moon keeps at it. Leaving the sun; to maybe no doubt hurting the person more than healing.
In another try, the person calls out to the moon;
Oh mighty moon.
Be kind.
Be gentle as,
You always,
The story keeps going with pleads, until the person is silence for good. Unsure if the person is dead or not, is anyone’s guess. As it may not come off as it when the words go as this;
Oh mighty,
Tell moon.
Please…
Please…
All in the sad facts, as this is base about a real person. Though, that information will remain quiet. So please, respect those wishes.
Number 2 ~ The Key
Well, here’s something that has some history in. The Key was the first poem, I have written; due that a school counselor wanted me to express myself and report back to her, when it was done and show what needs work and what I am a master of. And I know it’s odd, that if it was the first, why it was posted second on the site. Simple, fear of rejection and thoughts of getting into trouble, as this poem summed up the matters that I was going through, as even stated at the start of the poem of my mindset;
Heart is trap. Soul is lock. And spirit is crush.
High school was a pain; grade school was hell. But I put on a brave face, for I wasn’t going to let that hold me down. When I knew I had chances of making it, I pulled all the stops to make it true;
Heart yearns to be free. Soul wishes for a key. And spirit wants to be reborn.
In others poems or maybe a short story is a vent, a fact, a tale, an emotion I never had a chance to show, because of it. For a short while, I wrote nothing else after that. For I didn’t want to feel that weight of rejection or get into trouble . . . reason why I asked James if it was okay to post here. No repeats, a fresh start really. To forget; all the rest before this, and maybe find someone, anyone, who would listen.
The poem was a cry for help and nothing was done about it back than;
But we know it could drive you mad.
The key is all we know that can and will work for you, but yet it was never made.
When it was just weeks of leaving that place, it was for the better. I hold onto this poem for the bitter times and the good times, for it held what was holding me back, trying to define me, and leading to somewhere better;
Because you only get one chance in your life and whatever you do is there forever.
Even you don’t see it, it will feel like a fever that will never go away.
Find your key before it’s too late…
I found my key through people who looked at me weirdly but it was welcoming. Later on I wrote another poem and soon, I had a clatter of poems that told bits of my past that in some ways was letting go. Moving onto other things that need to be spoke, from one of the few teachers that I liked and actual told to keep writing for he saw something others never gave a chance at. And was, write what you know, the limits of that are how far I see it. And for that I keep writing. Healing myself and hopefully someone else one poem at a time.
Number 1 ~ Looking Up
The last poem . . . a safe place where anyone could go and see a world where it’s vastly open for anything, all one has to do, it let go and go for it. Looking Up may be about the stars and what they hold, but they are also what others hold too. Maybe a story, imagination, far reaches of lands unknown to the human eye;
Messy in one eyes.
Wonder in another’s.
These two lines sum up most views of it. Those who see what is before them and those who wish to see beyond that. It really could sum up any other poem really if they were talking about one subject from two point-of-views. Those lines would sum it up. But maybe not as much as;
Knowing little if others agree or not,
Is another tale to say,
But it raises the question,
Do they understand if they have done or do the same?
Human nature, a fact and rumor, but it relies on the one person than really high numbers of people. Is a star a star or more? Just ask that question and change star into another word, would the meaning change? No, but maybe so, again relies more on another view of this. For all humans don’t think such a way, and that leads us to be different. Giving others a bit of a cringe when someone who lacks the understanding tries to say all are the same. And is true; breathing, speaking, blinking, living life. But differs when knowing that no one acts the same, maybe in a few things, but far from a shadow another.
And that leads to the last lines of the poem;
Simple again to do,
Once all before is done,
Just look up.
One simple motion of a person’s being defines them as they own person. Not that of clan of millions. Look up and see where you will go in this crazy world, we all call home.
Wow, a lot has happen up to now. Amazing! I can at least say, I have grown a bit, become a bit of fighter and trying to push others to be fighters too, and if I recall right . . . trying to become a voice of my generation, but I have feeling I am ways off of doing that. But up to 300 post and lots of it was venting, is too much to ask that I am sorry if it felt like that? What a blog this came out to be, but looking over it, well worth it. For everyone has some kind of demons and need to let them out, I am sure someone out there agrees. Alas up to now, I have changed for the better; and now doing what I love and it’s thanks to site, knowing for a couple of blogs all I have been doing is saying thanks over and over.
Yet, I don’t want to stop, because you guys have been the best . . . there is no maybe . . . thing to ever happen to me and if others can’t see that. Then I’ll just have to keep trying in my ways to show them, as again for thanks.
This has been T-kun U. Wordsmith III and I’ll see ya’ll next time. Later!
