Like a powerful ocean,
The raging river continuously flowed,
Its waters glistening under the blinding sun.
As the waters clashed against stones and each other,
They created a sound that was like a thousand screaming men.
The air felt cold, with sprays of water falling on his feet
As he stood next to the river.
The air smelled of wet soil, rocks,
And the scent of water that had been travelling through many forests.
Somewhere along the river came blowing
The fresh scent of such forests,
Mixed together into the other scents
To create one powerful aura
That had a life of its own.
He reached into the water, cupping his hands together to get some,
And raised his hands to his mouth to take a sip.
The water was cold and fresh.
He felt cold but alive as it traveled down his throat
And filled his stomach,
All the while trickling down the sides of his hands
And down his wrists to his elbows.
He saw with his ears that someone was approaching.
In the middle of an island in the Philippines,
Who could be here with him?
On the other hand, anybody could be here with him.
All foreign tourists wanted to see these islands,
Most of them just feared the Abu Sayyaf.
Could they be planning to kidnap him?
But the Abu Sayyaf kindapped only rich Americans,
And they did it in the tourist spots.
They probably wouldn't Allahu Akbar their way
To the beautiful island of life.
This island was connected with everything;
To the water, to the earth, to the sky, and to his soul.
There was a sudden sound behind him,
Which made his soul jump out to the outer space
And return to his body within a second.
It was Charlene, the ghost!
It was rumored that she was a writer,
Who could dream up ideas so well,
She always ended up appearing in the places she wrote about
As a ghost wearing different clothes.
Today, she was wearing a pirate's hat
And a mix of gowns from the Victorian Era.
She must have been writing about this island.
Scientists believed she had discovered the first wormhole,
But they could not experiment on her
Because she had wormholed herself into her computer
And she wouldn't let anyone know
How it worked.
The ghost looked peaceful
Even when she opened her mouth and said,
"Call your lover and tell him you love him before I delete this draft."
"This draft sucks," she told him.
"No! Save it! Post it on your blog," he pleaded, raising his hands in panic.
"The NaPoWriMo is ongoing, they're gonna love it," he claimed.
"Really? My characters are always manipulating me to keep them alive," she sighed.
Then she disappeared into the mist
Of the sprays of water on the riverbed.
Satisfied, he turned to admire the raging river,
The sounds of a thousand screaming men,
The scent of wet soil, rocks, and fresh water,
And the blinding sun.
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4 comments:
That’s an epic poem! You certainly included all the senses, which come through especially in the lines:
‘The air smelled of wet soil, rocks,
And the scent of water that had been travelling through many forests’
and
‘The water was cold and fresh.
He felt cold but alive as it traveled down his throat
And filled his stomach,
All the while trickling down the sides of his hands
And down his wrists to his elbows’.
What a wonderful, detailed story, Charlene. I love the self-referential nature of it. I recently watched a movie on Hulu called "Ruby Sparks" about a writer. I think you would enjoy it. I thoroughly enjoyed your post today.
Thank you so much, Kim! It was fun to write!
Oh, thank you for the recommendation, LuAnne! I wanna see it!
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