The Driving

If the sky held clouds,
Or if it were to be cloudless,
I wouldn’t heed because I know that my love will still be there
Ready to go when there are no crowds
And set to move if those packs emerge
Engine turns and pistons flare while the
Dashboard comes to life once more.

The engine is smoothly turning
Gasoline is slowly burning,
I grasp the steering wheel and
Feeling the yearning
of my feet to get moving,
Shift into drive and
Let my breath go, go, go.
I am running away from nothing,
But at the same time I am running towards nothing,

Just driving for now will keep me
Thriving off of speed, fresh night air
All while I watch the street lights go, go by.
Driving down the now vacant highways
Listening to the raindrops as they
Splash and play on the window panes.
My thoughts float through my mind
As I watch the yellow and white road-lines fall under
My tires.

Image in the rear-view embeds:
Dark clouds drifting gently off to sleep as
I get to see, much like fire, the sun rise
To meet me and smile as it tells me
“I am with-holding all your lies”

The rain breaks and sun shards fleck the
Asphalt with crystal that was
Marred by the drizzle
I hear the raindrops begin to sizzle on the hood,
in the returning summer heat
Of back-country highways where
Tumble-weeds brawl.

I ease my foot of the pedal and watch the speedometer fall

I know my drive was only a quick fix for the unfixable
Infatuation I have coursing through my senses
Brake fluid and well tuned brakes couldn’t stop this
Wonderful pile up of car crashed emotions that are
Scrambling to escape my hold.

I put my baby in drive and know that,
Whenever I need her, she’ll be right
here waiting for me when I need the lies to help me escape these ties.

Book

Cool leather on the soft grass,
Under the Warm sun.

Cold finger tips on dry letters
Under the darkest of Skies.

A favourite book in the
Dim light of morning,

A bright fire burning
Destroying the work
Poured into the words,

The pages are as exciting
as fresh fallen snow

The words are like home,
A warm hot chocolate on a
Sweetly rainy afternoon,

The sentences are the comfort
That were taken from a freshly
Cleaned blanket

The binding, was holding it
All together

The pages are crackling,
Curling to ash,

Old ink turning the fire a green-y blue
Stealing that home sentiment,

Sentences begin to turn brown, and are
Taking away the relaxation.

The binding melts
Falling on the logs



I am so happy I got another one done (with the help of Shane Heley) that I had to put it up.

The Cons of a Pen Name

So, I have been looking for a writing job, and sent out applications, well I have been looking for any sort of job, but anyways...
so i write for www.beaureview.net under a pen name, and forgot to mention that to the one place I applied,( of course I don't realize this) so I wake up this afternoon, and open my inbox, I see that I have a reply to one of my applications, this is what it said- I took out the name of the company and the name of who sent it to me.


Hi Erica,
Thank you very much for your reply and resume, regarding the writing position at (magazine) However, I am somewhat confused by your writing sample -- the Caffeine piece appears to have been writing by a Melinda Waltson. Could you please explain this?
Thank you!


I felt like such and idiot, why didn't I think of explaining it in the first place, I usually do, but now I just have to wonder how many jobs I applied for and forgot to mention that- the cons of having a pen name!

P.S: they spelt my pen name wrong, it's Melinda Walton, not Waltson! But Waltson has a nice ring too it, maybe I will use it later down the road.

I have not kept my goal

Well, it has been a few weeks since I posted a poem, and I don't know when it will happen again, not that I have been busy doing much besides visiting family, and I admit I have tried to write some poems, but nope, nothing that I liked enought to post.

Wind

Cool, soft wind catches you
As you are about to fall,
I watch in distress as
The wind holds only you up,
not your ideals or hopes or dreams,
those fall down a deep pit where they may never be
reached again.
I wonder if I had held you,
Instead of giving you so much, only yourself,
to hold,
I wonder if I had held you, would your Ideals, hopes and Dreams still be here?
　
Even though I wasn't there then,
when all of this started,
The shutting down, the pushing away,
I am here now and will
do whatever it takes to get what you have lost back.
I will help you
Get those things back so that
both you and I can grow and flourish
and never have to look back with regret.
I love you.

Thoughts

Please read the note at the end.


Thoughts


If I could read your words again and again
I know that I would not tire of them,
Because, when I read them, I hear your voice.

If I could fly back in time, to change what I did
I wouldn’t take that flight.
I would stand by my actions,
To not, would be below my expectations
It would be below yours.

I came to what I thought was home and found myself thinking of you
Then I found myself cold and alone and dreaming of you
You won’t leave me
But you’ve already left the country
And now that your miles away and writing poems about
Me, what am I supposed to do?


Note: I wrote this, not long ago, and wanted to give myself a safety net here, what I write about myself is true, what I write about the other person is only thoughts/ideas, hopes, ideals even, but not pure fact.

The Dance (2007)

She'll walk around him

eyeing him

wanting him

He'll stand there

eyeing her

wanting her

They will stand behind the velvet

watching her

watching him

and each taking a step

like a furl of smoke

they smooth out the steps and

turn them into Silk

she moves like a scarf

from the midnight feilds

he is poised like a cat

weaving through her

soft moves with a

'purrr'

behind the velvet,

the girls are on clouds

of a sweet lullaby

the boys smoke their joints

puff puff pass

puff puff pass

slipping

into the abyss

of the music

she and he

fall through the floor

into the dusk

behind the

screen

they gasp and

turn

to ash

Untitled (2009)

The
Cloud
Is
My
Blanket

The
Rain
Is
My
Music

The
Earth
Is
My
Bed

Life
Is
My
Love

The Search For Passion

Our passion has to be of the same kind,
How can a world exist between two people if they do not at the
Least share the same brand of passion?
I know that finding your own passion is not easy,
It is perhaps more difficult to find someone who matches your own.

When you do find that, it’s as though
The sun and moon will never chase each other again,
They don’t have too anymore,
Day and night can be united.

But that would be chaos,
The starlings would be blinded,
The owls would be blinded
The rabbits would be disoriented,
The coyotes would be disoriented
There would be no more time
No more sunsets or rises,
No more man’s in the moon.

I understand that fire would fight fire,
And I don’t care, let it come.
Let all the birds be blind and
Let all the mammals be disoriented
As long as you hold your passion inside and above my own.

The sky will ripple with ribbons of destruction and rebirth.
The Earth won’t be able to hold all the passion you have
The passion will go out to the universe, to space and separate galaxies
Then it will be grounded and come back to us, ‘
Thousands and thousands times bigger then it was when it
First left.

Find this passion, without it
You will be more lost then you
Were before you even thought of
Creating something for yourself.
　

Angel Sacrifices

toppled the city
She took the crown
Her gown is made
With the threads of
Lies that the treasure chest
held

Her slippers were made
Out of heats that were
Fed, on butterfly wings
And pieces of Gold

The jewels that she wears
Were conjured by the
Purest truths-blood

The city is gone
She sits all alone
and wishes she had
The will to say no

To shed off the lies
To heal all the hearts
To Bleed out the jewels
And let them all rot

But she can not
This city she toppled
And Crown that she took

Is the hall of sacrificed Angels.

Returning Home

From the top floor of a parking Garage,
The tops of Tall buildings seem no
Longer like a mirage

I see a church with a statue about the doorway
My curiosity is caught
I usually do not find time to pray
But I go there

The arches of the ceiling are grand
Every window holds stained glass
I feel like this could not have been planned
From their places on the pillars, faces of angels
Watch me pass

I know so little of what goes on here
But the greatness of the building has made
Me lose my fear

I light four candles for one I
Have lost
Warm serenity moves in
Shooing away the frost.

A new Goal

I have decided to set a goal for myself, write a peom a week. When I say write a poem a week I meen rough drafts, edited pieces, and final copies. So, this time next week there will be at least one new poem.

Hey! So I have chosen to create a blog about my creative process. I have no idea what will end up here-if I will even ever look at this again ( though I probably will, my mom has a blog :] ).

For Now all I will say is that I am currently attending Vancouver Film School ( Acting Essentials) and I am a writer!