Here’s a haiku just for you!
Haiku
push into abyss
lawless yoke latch together
committing as one
While writing this, I was lost in my thoughts of the unknown, sorrow, and dependence. Sometimes relishing in depressing thoughts help emotions jump from your mind and onto paper in word form. Even the simplest, tiny poem can speak volumes. Once in a while, you need to stop thinking and let out your feelings… like word trajectory 
-B
Posted by B on April 4, 2013
http://wordtrajectory.wordpress.com/2013/04/04/pondering-words/
An English sonnet for your reading pleasure, took me a solid hour to hammer this out. I wonder how long it took Shakespeare to write a whole play in this format?!
Kneeling before me a pool of tears
Wept unconditionally I cannot contain my cries
Flowing down a hollow body empty for years
Merely a carcass this form lies
Words cannot gain the scornful grasp
Of the truth that hides beneath fate
Around this mind the words will not wrap
A fickle feeling I openly state
Simply within a thought my mind plays a trick
A thought too ill to keep in the dark
But to rebound back from it quick
Is merely something incapable of no remark
Evil’s intent at its best
Will never be put to rest.
Snide remarks set to stone I will lash
Push maliciousness away
To sound pure and not be brash
Is not something I can put at bay
I purse my lips but my mind sneers
I allow the wrong to mock
Smiling at all of their jeers
I do my walk and talk my talk
With all the hate I cannot but push
Negative thoughts fade from mind
My heart races with the unknown rush
And breaks from the previous bind
Goodbye to all those ones that hate
Bring on all new to this fate
Bring on all new to this fate
Let all come whom is ready to debate
Posted by B on March 18, 2013
http://wordtrajectory.wordpress.com/2013/03/18/lets-get-shakespeare-with-it/
The past few day have been a bit cumbersome to say the least. Although my Christian heart knows better than to worship false idols, I turn to my worry dolls. For those who don’t know about worry dolls, they are hand-made out of wood and thread and are about the size of a fingernail. You see, In Guatemala where they originate, small children take these dolls and delegate one of their worries to each doll. Then, they put them under their pillow at night and gather them back up when they awake in the morning. It is said that these dolls will hold all of your worries while you sleep. Since I am a stressful person and tend to worry about everything, these dolls are a good use to me. It feels so nice to put all of my stresses away for the night, to tuck them in safely, in return for a refreshing start to my day. If one big worry can be contained into such a small object, perhaps the worry should not exist at all.
When I turn to my dolls, I tend to give them the same worries. I feel as if they are continuously confronted with deja vu. This thought reminds me of a poem I wrote a few months ago. I one has a constant worry that is never resolved, why is it there in the first place. It is time for me to let go of things that aren’t in my cards and make a play on the ones that are.
Deja vu
If life is planned
or pre-conceived notions dictate
the way we live, me and you and everyone
day to day encounters
lack coincidence no second guessing necessary
each occurrence lay before me
acted out, a play of blind participants
every moment happening
as it should be.
If our lives are programmed no glitches assumed
Yet perfection’s effort aimed too high
Whom then shall I fear?
Have you ever tried to explain a deja vu? They show up in the most random places!
Embrace strange occurrences, they’re going to happen anyway.
Cheers,
-B
Posted by B on November 27, 2012
http://wordtrajectory.wordpress.com/2012/11/27/oh-not-again/
Here is my daily prompt:
Go back in time to an event you think could have played out differently for you.
Although I stray from the prompts intent, I managed to push out a short rough draft of a life event I really didn’t think over too well. It’s the first time I have ever written about this and rarely do I ever talk about it. Now, aren’t you curious? What am I talking about? I’m talking about a fork in the road. I will never forget this decision because I always think about my alternate ending.
Prompt #1
Torn between two different lives, I had less than 24 hours to decide my future.
Looking through my personal library, I pick up a recently purchased novel and make a mental note on how this book will become the next best seller- well, according to the back of the dust cover. Before making my final verdict, I notice the last book on the bottom shelf. The book was taller and thicker than the others, and the cover was long gone, yet this book never collected dust. I would never allow that, it’s my favorite. Both books in hand, I give them each a good lookover.
My new purchase was more of an impulse buy. It’s different from the rest of my collection, a different genre, and different adventure. I have all the intentions in reading it, but whether I’d become disinterested half way through was somewhat of a gamble. Yet there is something about this book that I can’t quite figure out. I am drawn to the plot, yes, but mostly the protagonist.
The other choice was always the best. This book I could read every day and never put it down out of disinterest. I knew the adventures inside and out; the characters were real to me. Countless lazy afternoons and rainy nights I spent with this good read, every chapter better than the last.
Of course I choose my favorite book. And that is exactly how I made my future. On the 23rd hour, moments before I began my next chapter, I sat in the passenger seat of his car. I was next to him, but my mind had already set sail on the sea of regret. Yes, I am pleased with my decision. However, if I were ever granted the opportunity to recant my choice, I would have read that new book.
Reading the last page of my favorite book is an unsettling feeling. I never want it to end, but it does. Funny thing about this last read was I immediately ran back to my bookshelf to begin a new adventure, one that lies amidst the pages of my once recent purchase. Because I failed to make the right decision, the book sat on my shelf and collected dust until a day came where someone else came along and snatched it up for their eyes to see.
And that book lived happily ever after, even though I never read it.
Posted by B on November 27, 2012
http://wordtrajectory.wordpress.com/2012/11/27/one-book-two-book-old-book-new-book/
As November comes to a frozen end, this poem from my ongoing portfolio seems fitting. Originally written for a upper-level poetry class in the fall of 2007, I have revised this piece several times until I managed to capture the feelings that lie within the meaning of COLD.
A Chilly Remembrance
The Forgotten Cold
Crackling against the bitter night’s breeze
Spitting embers like an erupting volcano,
A small yet roaring fire preserves the gazer’s warmth
During the unforgiving truth that is November.
The flaming tips of golden fire neglect
Waves of heat one might enjoy.
Making this eve more bearable than last,
Hopes the frostbite lay dormant in this depressing
Season of the hibernating sun.
Nostrils flare with the intake
burning woods,
Which now, just a haze
Veiled beneath the snowfall,
Apart from the glowing comfort,
The heat of the fire.
Breath cannot be seen, in thanks
To this pyramid of birch,
Dwindling its glow on a temporarily
Warm night in November.
MS
Posted by B on November 27, 2012
http://wordtrajectory.wordpress.com/2012/11/27/a-chilly-remembrance/
I will admit, I’m a book sniffer. Really, I consider myself a paper sniffer in general. Whether it be the combination of texture and filth on a jaded dollar bill, the or the slight breeze created by fanning through a textbook, I cannot help but waft the the aromatic scents these quality papers possess within their creases and folds. I stare in anticipation as I stand in front of the laserjet paper printer, watching each leaf slowly scroll from the depths of the the ink lair and onto the graphite colored cooling tray. I can hear the gizmos inside the printer, customizing each sheet to my satisfaction. I gather the lengthy stack of papers, warm to the touch and the scent of words still ripe. Eyes closed, my lips curl into a grinch-like grin….
As one can see, I’m pretty gung-ho about paper, which probably means I’m crazy about words. And I am; I love them all. Whether you read a book from the very beginning, take a peak at the last page, skim, or even skip over chapters, the words consumed leave an impression. Words are everlasting gems, sneaking their way in and out of novels, newspapers, Facebook posts, and songs. Essentially, words are a continuous flow with no particular order unless intended. Pretty cool, eh?
Here on WordTrajectory, I will attempt to show how great writing really is (in case you didn’t know already).
Enjoy!
-B
Posted by B on November 27, 2012
http://wordtrajectory.wordpress.com/2012/11/27/a-new-smell/
