Update on something very important To Me!

I have just printed out the entry sheets for a writing contest! Yes, Usagi Hikari (under my real name of course), is sending in some poems and a short story to a Writing Contest!
The short story is a new, updated, version of A Song From A Music Box (since I kept think that the story looked weird). Once I send it in, I'll post the updated version here for you guys to see the difference a few all-nighters and a good editor makes (Thanks Ishymaru).
I am allowed to send in up to three poems to the contest. After two days of kicking myself and re-reading every single poem I ever made I finally narrowed it down to seven. *Sigh*
By the end of that day, the winners are: Lady Of The Water's Mind, This World, and My Past Lives in the free verse category!
So wish me luck, have our fingers crossed, and I will post the results on this blog once I check them on the first on April!
By the way, I have never entered a writing contest before, so I am a little nervous of sending in my works.
Ciao for now!

Really Sorry!

As I'm working on some short stories at the moment, blogging and poems have kind of taking a backseat at the moment. My books are much more important at the moment.
Some poems and bits of stories and ideas will still be posted, but here is just a warning that there will be really long breaks in between.
Sorry in advanced.

Lives Gone by and Time Wasted

"Mommy!" "What are we going to do?" "Save her!" "We have to leave  little lady!" "Not without my mother!"

"Stop crying sweet girl." But my mother..." "You can go back, change it." "How?" "With my help."
"I can change the past?" "I will give you twenty-four hours. Change the past by then, or you will have to give you life to me." "Who are you? That deal is not something I would agree to."

"You didn't think a mortal would create this deal? No. Only a demon would. Twenty hour hours? Or your life?"

In just twenty-four hours, I'll be lying on the pyre.

Unless I change the past to before the fire

Deal with a demon?

Something I never would have done, even if I was dreaming.

So why not? I've been wasting my life till this moment

My mind filled with the acknowledgement

I turned my head back in time

Everything will be over tonight

In twenty hours, I'll be under this earth

Unless I change this rebirth

I see the planning and flowers

As the minutes tick, then the hours

Is this the heaven or the hell,

Now who'll be able to tell

What is the truth or the lie?

This has be making me question this time

In just seventeen hours, this story will end

Not if I can make the amend

To save the most important life

Away from the edge of the knife

What was clear as crystal

Now I see behind the barrel of this pistol

As the setting sun so gold

Never knew it get so old

All the plans fade

Everything made

Now gone?

In just thirteen hours, it’ll be done

Nothing to go on

All the pearls and the silks

How am I feeling this guilt?

I will save this day

As everyone may

This will work I don’t care if I die!

In just nine hours, I’ll be laid down in my promise to return

Don’t care anymore about the burn

Now will I come back?

What if it’s something I lack?

Are these the doubts the demons put in my mind,

Has everyone become blind?

Why am I running away with only a few hours left

With the hope all bereft

In just three hours, it won’t matter anymore

I have lost, so it doesn’t matter anymore

It has been this long

Till I’ve heard her song

I knew she would be ashamed of me

A distant melody, or a memory

This was my home,

In an hour it’ll be nothing in the foam

In just one hour the demon shall have my body

I know I shouldn't have agreed

As my blood is filled with the poison

And the scene I was to save now filled with crimson

Same feeling as the one night

What has happened to my might?

This time is where they wait

So why didn’t I leave this fate?

The demon is in front of me now

A sick grin on his face as he leans toward my ear

The blood on the ground

And smeared all around

"Say goodbye to your world.”

As the lives unfurled

Why did I waste my time?

This idea nearly killed me, and I'm going to die tomorrow with my Aerobics final project but I finished it! I don't care who you are, I am proud of myself with the rhyming. Song which inspired this: 24 by Jem. It's actually a specific video featuring Hetalia that my friend showed me.
This has been haunting me for weeks.
Note: Bereft is actually a word. I didn't know either at first.

Life and The Seasons - By Lord Michael

Freshly ploughed fields lay fallow

Under a heavy morning frost;

The breath of animal and man

Steams as it puffs from nose and mouth.

Golden grain wavers in the breeze

As it blooms to maturity,

Calves, foals and lambs laze in the shade of trees

The sunburnt farmer works under a broad brimmed hat.

The seasons all pass in turn

The cycle of life begins and ends in turn

The sun, the breeze, the frost and fallen leaves

The wonder of our land in all its beauty.

Two Prose Poems - By Lord Michael

Symptoms of a Romantic

Why? Romantics love purples and mauves; talk of nostalgia, winsome, and

wistfulness; deal in the sadness of beauty, and the beauty of sadness; and

understand we can greet death with a certain peaceful sadness; hear the echo

of bagpipes in mist filled valleys and imagine the terror that existed there; of the

courage and the bravery; and feel the tear drops that fell upon the dead and dying

after all energy is spent; see the haze that surrounds the virgin, imagine the soul

with wings not meant to be seen, see beauty in clouds that others see filled with

danger; see faces in the lightning; hear the kitten cries of a wild lion roaring; see

through the troll's facade to discover the little boy; see notes upon a page and

hear the most glorious of sounds we thought were for the dead; and who's being

explodes into shooting stars and rainbows which words cannot explain; that starts

within, and carries past, the final thrust of love?

We Must Not Forget the Heart

Yes we must not forget the heart. It is our heart which contains our world. If we look into our

heart, and shuffle things around a little we will always find those little things we had forgotten

about hiding in the corners. The little things are often the most important. As we draw them out of

our heart, they will open up like a pair of purple gossamer wings that will wrap around our being,

comforting us and colouring our world for as long as we wish them to be there. And while they

are there we are sharing ourselves and our gifts with the world which helps colour the world and

makes it more beautiful than were it without you.

The Battle And Journey Home - By Lord Michael

The Battle and Journey Home
The battle weary knights head homeward once again.
Their dinted armor telling; the story of their pain.
Their horses too are bloodied, but carry masters home.
Soon ladies and princesses, will no longer be alone.

‘Twas many hours ago, they fare welled their King and son.
The stutter of the hooves as the mighty steeds set forth,
Silenced the cries and sobs, of hope the job be done.
The rattle of the armor, played a song of death and worth.

The pipes were bright and lively as the long ride had begun.
The rattle of swords and shields provided for the drum.
Two sides soon met headlong, into bloody battle,
Sword against sword, shields raised high, the clash was more a rattle.

Courageous men and ladies, with fire in their eyes,
Set upon the others, and wiped away their lies.
Green fields in the morn' had suddenly turned red.
Blood spurting from the injured added to the dead.

The traitors near all slaughtered, but some did ride away.
Thoughts already turning for the fight another day.
They limped and crawled away, for home is where they headed.
A few were strong and upright, but their leader was beheaded.

The King rode high and strongly as the leader of the knights.
And home came out towards them as they told of all the fights.
And victory was their message, as they stuttered in once more.
Ladies and princesses, greeting home those they adore.

Everwood was safe again, though all knew there'd be more.

Holiday Gift for You Part 2

Alright let's get back to what I started a few days ago with tips and tricks on how I write my best works. I already went over music, classic study, rhyming, and notebooks vs computer. So with a bagel at my side I shall try to remember what I was going to say yesterday. Here we go!

1. Find what time is best for you. By this I mean find out during what time gives you the best ideas. I always get better ideas either at dusk or at night when I can see the moon. Like I said in a post a while back I wrote a good epilogue for FDTR just by looking out one summer evening and breathing in the cool air. If you ever wake up to change a part of a story at midnight, you never have to change it again. And this is why you should have a notebook under your pillow.
2. Don't be afraid to people watch. Go to the local Saturday Market and sit down with some hot cocoa to watch everybody. I went to the Saturday Market just a few days ago and a local street musician was playing on drums. I wish I got a recording of him because he was amazing at just improv-ing his whole song. Every time someone gave him some money he added a thank you in his song. I, of course, had to write down the ideas I got from the market right away, else I would probably have forgotten then by now. 
3. Be Spontaneous with writing. God knows how many times I was zoning out in class while taking notes and some story scenes pop up I just write them down. I remember laughing when I saw my teachers face when she was checking off notes in Chemistry and parts of a story were written down. Don't worry if the writing doesn't sound good. It may help later in the future.
4. Most poems are based off serious emotion. Try to find a way to make yourself feel the emotion of the poem. I have taught myself to cry whenever thinking something sad, but it only works one time with each sad thing. If you want an angry feeling poem, make yourself angry. Of course make sure you don't get too angry especially if people are nearby.
5. I don't really have any more advice except (I know it's really cliche) Find what is in your mind, hidden, and write it down. I didn't know I could write poems until I actually tried it. Find the poem hidden in your mind and pull it out. You never know if you might be the next Shakespeare.

I hope everyone has a nice holiday season and I hope you enjoy writing now poems with some of these Tips. Wish I could remember all of them that I had earlier but I got distracted.

Writer's Block Is Evil, So Here's A Holiday Gift Instead Of the Poems

   I was working on two poems based on I Guess It Doesn't Matter Anymore by Blackmore's Night, but I have had so much writer's block that I can't finish it in time. So instead, I throw out a few good tips on how to get your own poems started. These will be tips I myself use on a daily basis when I can actually write without that block stopping everything. These tips will range from the basic to the way I get my best ideas.

1. This one is really basic: Music is poetry with a beat, so listen carefully. I have gotten several ideas for short stories and quick poems while listening to new songs. Sometimes listening to a song you normally wouldn't, is a great burst of inspiration. I (Might) Remember Me is based off a song I heard on Graham Norton Show but because I couldn't remember the song lyrics the title was all I had. Some good musicians I get inspirational from regularly: SJ Tucker, Heather Dale (good for Renaissance poems), Blackmore's Night, anything that Mercades Lackey had a hand in, and Emilie Autumn songs (for those who like more rock songs).
2. Read some of the classics and study how they write. The first poems I had studied were some by Edgar Allen Poe, one of my favourites. I think he probably inspired some of my more morbid ones. A poet and play-write that is really good to study is William Shakespeare. His sonnets and monologues are some of the best to study withe iambic pentameter and the whole feminine and masculine endings. I'm still working on learning those. Good writers to study: Edgar Allen Poe, Shakespeare, Walt Whitman, anything by the Brontë sisters, ee cummnings, and maybe some international authors if you want. I have most of these authors poems on iBooks.
3. Poems don't have to rhyme. I have a lot of issues with clever rhyme schemes unlike Ishymaru. How he does it, I still don't know. I know a lot of people who can't rhyme and think they need to make it be a poem. Working with prose is much easier but does give it a bit of a rough, unfinished look. (Just got distracted for about an hour looking through pictures.) If you want it to rhyme but can't think of anything, go to rhymezone or some other site you can probably find on Google. There are no examples here.
4. Try using a notebook instead of the computer if needed. I used to only use pen and paper for all my poems and books. I use computer now because it is a lot easier for me to type faster than write and I can look back and edit anywhere. Handy if you have more than 20 pages, but all my old poems and first 50 pages of The Hunted were hand written(Which remind me, I need to find my good pens again). I still always carry around a notebook for ideas or if I get a flash of inspiration and I don't have a computer. Sometimes having the notebook and actually feeling the pen writing sometimes gives you the best ideas. If you have no purse that can carry a notebook (which I highly doubt) or if you're a guy and don't carry around a purse or bag, just find some of those small memo book which can fit in a pocket. I just bought a new/first purse which can carry a full sized notebook. Actually around 5 full sized notebooks.

Since I am really tired right now and I know this post would slowly go downhill if I stayed await. So I'm guessing there will be a part 2 soon. If I remember.

I (might) Remember Me

I remember how you met me years ago
I know what you wore and how you acted
I treasure what you did
But I don't really remember me
I recall your usual smile at my laughter
I dwell upon our daily life together in the sun
I recollect your dream
But how can I not remember me?
I can cite your favourite places visited
I love reliving laying on our backs in grass
I retain that mistake
I want to remember me
I learned that I was in a hospital
I had no memory of what happened
I knew nothing
But I know what you did


It was all an accident
I know the truth
She had fallen down the stairs
You are wrong
Nothing but ramblings
Don't leave me with him
She has serious memory loss
Don't listen to him
She can't even talk anymore
Let me write it down
If you would please leave
I'm begging you...


She doesn't remember even who she is
Of course I don't
I'll try to see if she remembers anything
I do remember something
...I remember you...



The idea was something completely different than I thought at first. It was supposed to have just been someone remembering an argument. The idea was supposed to have been happy at the end, but the story had different ideas. I hate how I'm the storyteller, I should know how it should end. Story has different ideas. 

One new idea is going to publish two new poems by the end of this month. Please be patient! 

Nat's Power - Dramatic Monologue - Written over two years ago

While looking for a name I used in one of my stories a long time ago, I came across a few of my works from Freshman Year (God, has it really been two years?). This was an assignment where I had to write out a dramatic monologue for something, I don't remember the instructions. It's a little weird because I remember writing it on a night where I had insomnia. So anyway, Background note: It's about one of the main characters in The Hunted, called Nat. The monologue isn't really in the story but something close is. It's a bit choppy, but it's pretty good for being an old one. I changed nothing from the original way it was written, even though it may not make sense (It truly doesn't anymore).

She lowered the blood stained sword.

Walked across the battlefield

All her wounds already healed.

Her sister, brother, friend all have gone

Ran when she lost control, she couldn't stop

The purple eyes filled with anger, fear, and bloodlust all in one.

She couldn't control the bloodlust and anger

So all she had was fear.

Why must she have this power?

Killed so many at so young

Wisdom beyond her years

Nat knew she used up most of her power

She must get out of this field.

Why can't she remember what happened?

Not remembering her own battle

Not knowing what really happened

Or what she did to her enemies

Dropping her sword

Stumbling across the bodies

She walked into the forest

Away from the blood soaked ground

Trying to find a place to rest 

Before trying to find her friends

This poor little girl with no real family

Her hazel eyes staring at the moon

A willow tree in the woods provides a place

She closed her eyes and slept

Little seven year old Nat

Until her power wakes her up.

Please comment on this post on what you think of my writing style now and how is was when I wrote this.

I have happy news!!!

Last school year, around the time of the Shakespeare, I lost 50 hand-written pages of my book, The Hunted. This whole time, I had given up on that story because even though I had most of it memorized, I couldn't remember the best parts. Just yesterday, my mom asked if she could throw away some old notebooks that had been gathered (I love notebooks a lot). Looking through them, most were empty and were wide-ruled....Sad. Wide-ruled is evil. So I was flipping through the notebooks when I saw a small one with "Bunny" written on the back in Sharpie. Turning it over, I nearly fainted. The reason: I normally have blue or red covers on my notebooks but this one had a black cover. When I opened it my whole story was there! I started crying because I have already given up my notebook for dead!
Normally I would put this kind of a post on my other blog, but it's my writing notebook! If it wasn't for my friends reading that notebook in middle school, I would never have written so many poems and this blog would never exist! I have never been so happy to so a notebook in my life.

I'm working on some so here's something else that might catch your interest!

There are poems on the way, do not despair.

Something Else that might catch your interest:

My friend and I are going to Sakura-Con this spring and are raising every penny by ourselves. While she is doing drawing commissions on DeviantART, I will be doing writing commissions for anyone who wishes for them! So, if you need a poem or letter written out to woe someone or, I don't know, something nice to frame, drop me a line. My e-mail in on my profile and I will probably reply to all e-mails. This being a commission, it is perfectly legal to ask for money in exchange for the copyrights to the work. I will get a Pay pal or use my friends to transfer the money.

 I will say now that I will not do essays. I have enough to do already.

A life with me and I?

A life with only me and I, would be like a dream were you can fly.
It would be a party with games and fun, and anything else that can be done.
It will be filled with lots of emotions, and maybe, just for fun, it will have many potions.
That life would be a lot of fun, and I really wish it could be done.
Whoops how could I not remember, I made a bit of a small error.
The first sentence says "A life with only me and I", but it is wrong because I can not deny,
that I can say with out a hint or clue, that it wouldn't be a fun life if I didn't have you.