Writing Contest Results

If you saw my other blog, you already know since the results were out early.
But I did not win. I did choose my best works but I guess they weren't that good (or the judge has no idea what a true word-smith is).
Anyway, I'll be making a much better short story! I won't let this get me down! Beware of the new inspired me!
New poems and new short stories! Coming soon to be published on this blog!

Ramblings

Background: I have said before that I get a lot of ideas in the middle of the night. So this is a prose kind of poem that I just wrote once when I woke up. I had my glasses off and it was in the dark so I can barely read my handwriting and I don't know why I wrote it in the first place, so hence the title: Ramblings. I think I actually fell asleep after this. It was a long night since I had to finish tons of homework. It was the day before the end of the semester.

Ah, to drown in the scent of ink

The authors mind to be released from the confines of social and structural law

Stay away from the words that will slowly bend your mind and drive you away from the light of sanity

The place of no return-so it has been dubbed.

A carousel of pain and fear, one that will never end

Round and round it goes, fear, emotion, suffering

And the pain of the endlessness

For it is our duty, no, more, our destiny to record the words of those who have been silenced by fear, destroyed by emotions, and those who have themselves been around the endlessness of wandering

Duty to find those words of the suffering emotions

Bringing out a pen and paper to show the world the TRUTH

The truth you don't believe in because you don't wish to believe

Where We Can Be Free

Background: I started writing this a while back but I had lost the paper and had the edit the first verse since it didn't fit. I think I wrote the first verse during the AYLI-A-Thon and just kind of went with it. It does follow a scheme, reason why the first verse didn't fit. I'll still add it here though. Then come the new first verse and the rest of the poem. It can be interpreted in so many ways, but if I say the real reason, it will ruin it.


On a lonesome tower, I stand alone
Seeing the darkness creep upon my home
I wish to fly away from here
To a place where I can be who I am
Away to a place where the gypsies roam

Come ideas, come away with me
Come now, where we can be free
Our adventure has come and gone
Our life has been so long
Let us stay here at our home
And will never again have to roam

Come Child, come away with me
Come now, where we can be free
You will fly as I could not
You will be all I could not
Let us travel to where-ever we wish to go
And we never ever be trapped again so low

Come lover, come away with me
Come now, where we can be free
We shall marry far away
We will dance here in the May
Let us live the way we wish to
And I will never be apart from you

Come sister, come away with me
Come now, where we can be free
We shall never be taken again
We will never be at the end
Let us run 'tween the rose so red
And we will use the meadows as our bed

My pearl

I've been doing my work day in and day out, I get so tired that my head gets full of doubt.
I work on my homework that is suposed to be "fun", but still I really wish that it would just be done.
I let my mind drift from reality to this beautiful pearl, one that would be the envy of any rich earl.
And if you were to see it from afar, it would defenitly make you think you were gazing at a bright star.
But I would rather give it away to someone I knew, If it ment I could spend more time with the pearl that is you.

Edgar Allen Poe - My Favourite Works - Annabel Lee

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason
(as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the side of the sea.

Edgar Allen Poe - My favourite Works - The Raven

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

Song From A Music Box (Updated Version)

So here we are the final draft, sent in copy of my short story. I added in new details and finally gave that ending that was bugging me a good end (You have no idea how much time was spent on Wikipedia looking around for an answer.)

One turn, two, then three. When she heard the fourth click, she let go of the little key in her hand. As the music swelled from the box in her hand, her mind drifted back to when she saw the stars in the night sky and the clouds during the day. Eleanor looked to where the window was, her music box now on the window sill. With a hand delicately resting on the stained glass, it was cool to the touch from the snow she knew was drifting down slowly. -Silent and colorless. Just like me.-

As the music slowly went silent, she picked it back up in her hand. When it stopped, Eleanor rewound it again. Same notes as always, yet still so beautiful. Her mind wandered and she saw herself at the piano with her knight standing against the wall behind her with a hint of a smile on his peaceful face. It was his favorite song. And she learned it just so she could make sure that every time he came back home, he would feel relaxed again. The music stopped and she fell back into the real world. Back to where her knight has not returned. Back to where she could no longer see his face when he returned. Back to where she could no longer play the song for him, even if she could see.

The piano was gone. The room where she played for him was gone. The courtyard where she first met him while trying to escape was gone. And her dress she was going to wear when he was to become the Champion Knight was gone. All in flames the day she ran to live. She had no time to save anything but the music box that was at her side on that early autumn day, the only reminder of the song that filled the house that had stood for generations. It was a rebellion of the other nobles, who had grown jealous of her family’s growth in wealth. Hired mercenaries slaughtered every servant, every worker, and every noble, regardless of age.

Hiding along with her maidservant, her toddler son, and the lady invited to stay as a guest. As the smoke started to suffocate them, several mercenaries rushed into the room. The guest had tried to make a mad dash for the door. The crimson blossomed on the white gown like roses. While preoccupied with the lady guest, Eleanor grabbed her maidservant and ran out into the hallway. Across the room, through the charred hallway, and dashing across the shortcuts known only by her. Suddenly the maid tripped, her son tumbling across the ground as Eleanor stared back in fear. The mercenaries had followed and their sights on the fallen maidservant. The maidservant looked at her son and back up at the lady with a pleading look set in her eyes. Eleanor grabbed the child and ran on, not looking back to see what transpired for the young maid. Now running with an oddly silent toddler, she could finally see the last escape route not cut off by the flames. Turning the last corner, a burst of flames made her stumble backwards and trip over herself when fleeing the larger flames behind her. The reason she had escaped from any deadly fate or mortal injury was the knight that was at her side every waking moment. He scooped her up from the ground where the embers had found those once deep green eyes and ran with the toddler outside to the cloaking darkness. He had brought her to this church, one that served her family for years before the house was built. The toddler had gone to the orphanage, she to the head priest.

She shook her head to empty her mind of that painful day. -No use dwelling on that day a year and a half ago.- Even though she tried as hard as she could, Eleanor could still remember when she woke up in a bed, and panicking when she couldn't see any light. Her knight had been next to her and had placed her delicate hands on his face so she knew it was him. When she had asked him what happened, she knew his face had fallen.

Her eyes were not damaged in the fire. She should be able to see. Eleanor had heard the priest talking with her knight in the hallway the day after the fire. Those burns on her body will not scar though the burns on her face, however, might steal some of her youthful beauty; Including her green eyes. Eleanor felt anger inside her mind and stumbled out from her room. Her knight was there. The priest was silent. She grabbed her knight’s hand and placed her mouth on the palm of her hand. -I am not vain! Please be honest my dear sir.- Her pleas echoed still in her mind back in the present. -Do tell me. How does my face fair? I feel my hair yet, my face. It feels changed.- At that moment, her knight teared his hand away from hers. He had never shied away from her. Never turned away from her words, so silent and soft. Tears came to her eyes for the last time as she rushed back into her room and stumbled back to the bed.

The knight had left her in the same church a week later. Only a hand placed gently on her head and a faint kiss on her hair. Not a word, nor thought. No letter from him and no tears from her. Eleanor was trapped in a god-forsaken world without her best friend. He had left to go back to the battle field where he believed he belonged. A year had passed and the only word that had come from him was in the form of four words written on a piece of paper.

Again, Eleanor tried to clear her head of the past. This time she was able to stay in the present moment on a cold winters evening. She placed the music box key back on her necklace as she felt night approaching by the cooling air. She had spent the day in her chair waiting for him as she always did. What else was there to do? A bed, a table, a desk, a bookcase, and three chairs. The bookcase had only three useless books and a small statuette of the local deity. The table across the way from her held food, though she barely ate. The two other chairs stayed in their spots across the table. The last bit of space held her desk. Nothing else, nothing less. Stone walls like a prison creeping in. Not even the everlasting darkness could hold the secret back. Her only guest was the toddler she had saved, filling the room with some sound. Only once a week was she able to hear something other than cold wind, echoes from the past life, her own voice screaming inside her, and the footsteps from the hall from the monks.

Eleanor stood up to walk over to her desk and reached out for a small cloth bag. Inside was what he saved for her. Along with the letter, he had sent a remnant of what had survived from the room when the flames had swept through it. Reaching her hand in the bag she first pulled out a white chess piece from her set that was in the shape of a horse. She knew it was white as that was the only side she ever played, since she was the White Lady. And in the bag was also an ivory key from her much loved piano that she played so diligently. And the letter, carefully folded around the key, with four words written out with a piece of charcoal. Two small mementos, three with the music box, and four including her necklace.

A set of chess pieces charred to no remains. A lady with no house left to lead. An ebony piano destroyed to the point of nothing being left but ashes. A knight with only a fragmented land left to protect. A forgotten and hidden church serving no family any longer. The only followers left were a young knight, an even younger toddler, and a disabled girl.

A swift knock sounded on her door as she quickly placed her treasures back on her desk. 

“My Lady, it’s from the knight!” The priest from those days long gone rushed to her. “It’s another letter! Would you like to know what it says?” When she nodded, he continued. “‘To my White Lady.’ It comes with a gift.”

Dismayed the letter said the same thing it did last time, she reached her hand out for the gift. The priest had rushed back out the second he had pressed the letter and the gift in her hand. She opened the cloth bag and out fell a carved figure. She felt it careful before realizing it was in the shape of a phoenix, the old symbol for her house and linage. She set the carved figure on the desk. -What does it mean? He did love riddles. I hated solving them.- Eleanor had just set the bag down and heard the sound of metal hitting wood. She picked the bag up again and reached into it a second time. When she pulled her hand back out, a small gold ring was in her hand. -Wait. How can I tell it's gold?- Blinking once slowly, she saw her hand holding the ring, and the stone floor beyond it. Hearing movement next the her, but the door not being opened since the priest came, she suspected they had come with him.

Turning to face the sound, Eleanor saw a man in full armor on one knee and his head bowed. As his head lifted, a familiar smile on his face. "Good Evening, my White Lady. Did you know that there are several medicines, associated with a Phoenix, that, after being forged in gold, have healing abilities for those who wish to no longer see?”

Tears came to Eleanor’s eyes once again and streamed down her face as she held the ring in her hand and ran to her knight.

“Didn’t I promise I would come back? And I promise I will get you back your title.”

Eleanor took her knight’s hand and held it to her lips. -I do not care about my land or title. Just a place I can call home with a piano.- Lifting the hand away from her mouth, she smiled. “My sweet Sir Tristan, the music box will play again as loud and strong as before.”

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.