The car rumbled down the rutted dirt road, through the countryside. Clouds of dust billowed into the air behind it. In the back, a girl perched on the edge of a worn leather seat. Hands folded, eyes closed. Her eyebrows were furrowed together, forehead creased in consternation. Beneath her closed eyelids, her eyes flickered nervously. In her mind, a thousand things were banging on the inside of her head, telling her to wake up and face reality.
A scream. The crash of a shattering plate. Her father's face, twisted in rage. A shard of porcelain flung at her. A searing cut. A slamming door and rain, rain. A wet dress clinging to her legs and back. Blood running down her face.
Gingerly, the girl lifted a finger and traced the ugly cut below her left eye that was only just beginning to heal. She could feel her heart hammering inside her thin frame, causing torrents of blood to rush through her veins. The girl hugged her legs to her chest, resting her chin in the comfortable divot created by her two knees. She gazed absentmindedly at the dry landscape passing by. The dust had created a thin film that clung to the window, blurring the edges of the sporadic landmarks.
by elisabeth
Monday, February 21, 2011
A Uniform World
Every picket straight
Every garden carefully tended
Every shingle in perfect line on
Every roof
Every window pristine and polished but
Every curtain drawn
Every sidewalk devoid of litter
Every yard strangely empty
Every window box bright and blooming below
Every vacant frame
Every gate kept wide open but
Every door shut tight and locked
by elisabeth
Every garden carefully tended
Every shingle in perfect line on
Every roof
Every window pristine and polished but
Every curtain drawn
Every sidewalk devoid of litter
Every yard strangely empty
Every window box bright and blooming below
Every vacant frame
Every gate kept wide open but
Every door shut tight and locked
by elisabeth
Sunday, February 20, 2011
I'm a Survivor and the Pain is Gone
Survivors crawl as a fire sets
Falling long and hard the wind pets the crust
In desperate need of blood, oranges are a must
Smiles emerge as the wings appear
Pain is extinguished as red disappears
Hearts quicken from the shock
They realize the carnival was almost the end when
Lapid flicks of orange rose to the bridles
Paper wrapped up those orange blows
And pureness was restored when the orange was dimmed to the irises
-Adrienne
Falling long and hard the wind pets the crust
In desperate need of blood, oranges are a must
Smiles emerge as the wings appear
Pain is extinguished as red disappears
Hearts quicken from the shock
They realize the carnival was almost the end when
Lapid flicks of orange rose to the bridles
Paper wrapped up those orange blows
And pureness was restored when the orange was dimmed to the irises
-Adrienne
The Storm
A drum beat
Timing each oar thrust
Echoing inside each man's chest
Everyone's heart beating to the same rhythm
A cold as cold as hell
Chilling to the very soul
Freezing your heart
Fighting for the will to live
Wave after wave
Fading hope
Into a world of darkness
Massive towers of water
They do not lose faith like you
Rearing their foamy heads
Prepare for death
Prow tips upward
Don't let go
Climbing up
You cannot win
You have come to the end, it is finished
Then, a turn of the tides
Prow crashes through wave's crest
And glides away
Into calmer waters
by elisabeth
Timing each oar thrust
Echoing inside each man's chest
Everyone's heart beating to the same rhythm
A cold as cold as hell
Chilling to the very soul
Freezing your heart
Fighting for the will to live
Wave after wave
Fading hope
Into a world of darkness
Massive towers of water
They do not lose faith like you
Rearing their foamy heads
Prepare for death
Prow tips upward
Don't let go
Climbing up
You cannot win
You have come to the end, it is finished
Then, a turn of the tides
Prow crashes through wave's crest
And glides away
Into calmer waters
by elisabeth
Tribute to the Fallen
Survivors of the war torn lands
The cry of falling men
Their mingled voices resonate into the fading orange sun
A smile that hints no joy, no mirth
Pain, piercing pain, feels like
A gaping chest wound in the heart
Life like a twisted carnival
Lapid from the outside, but cruel and ruthless
Blank paper with no words
make me again pure
by elisabeth
The cry of falling men
Their mingled voices resonate into the fading orange sun
A smile that hints no joy, no mirth
Pain, piercing pain, feels like
A gaping chest wound in the heart
Life like a twisted carnival
Lapid from the outside, but cruel and ruthless
Blank paper with no words
make me again pure
by elisabeth
A Little Drop of Sunshine
She stared out from the shaded window an inch away from her nose, resting her her heavy chin on her hands. She watched longingly as the waves gently tackled each other, racing to the wet, sandy beach. She watched as a seagull flew effortlessly in the air, as it glided down hovering over the big blue ocean searching. Searching for what? Food? A fish right beneath the surface, one dive from being its dinner? The only thing stopping it, making it hesitate, was the cool water's misleading surface.
She peeled her eyes from the bird and brought them to the sun. The brilliant golden circle in the pink streaked sky touched the oceans edge. Its warmth burned her blue irises, so she looked at its layered reflection mirrored on the water beneath its golden glory. She felt like the bird as she looked at God's creation from the shaded window; Just like the refraction misled the seagull, the sun misled her. How could something so beautiful, so splendid, so warm and inviting be so harmful to her tender, pale skin. She envied its warmth that she could never feel.
She limited her vision to the cool glass in front of her face. She saw the pale reflection of a girl with brown curly hair that brushed her shoulders staring back at her, only a hint of sunshine sparkling from her eyes.
She sighed as she looked back at the sun's reflection. If she could just have one drop of its golden sweetness- sweetness like honey. One that wouldn't burn her skin or make her itch. One that she wasn't allergic to. She would be happy. She sighed as she reluctantly turned her attention to her room. Her trap. Her world without a sun. Bamboo floors showed clearly in the open space. Ocean blue bed spread lay neat;ly near the swaying hammock. Green walls the color of nature- the color of grass and spring leaves, were scattered with hanging paintings of forests, beaches, and nature; The things she couldn't experience as long as the sun shone. She had the wood, the ocean, and the green grass, but the only sunshine she had was what her eyes carried.
She noticed the blank easel that stood in the corner of her room. Paints open and brushes clean, lying on the desk next to it. She brought the easel by the window that she had so many times stared out of, imagining the sun's warmth upon her skin. She needed to catch the sun before the ocean swallowed it.
"Just one drop," she thought, as she dipped the tip of the brush into the yellow paint.
"Just one little drop." She stuck her tongue out in concentration, pulling hate sun onto hate easel. The sun had left and the silvery moon ruled the cool night air now, but Sophie smiled with a sparkle in her eyes because she finally had her little drop of sunshine.
-Reagan
She peeled her eyes from the bird and brought them to the sun. The brilliant golden circle in the pink streaked sky touched the oceans edge. Its warmth burned her blue irises, so she looked at its layered reflection mirrored on the water beneath its golden glory. She felt like the bird as she looked at God's creation from the shaded window; Just like the refraction misled the seagull, the sun misled her. How could something so beautiful, so splendid, so warm and inviting be so harmful to her tender, pale skin. She envied its warmth that she could never feel.
She limited her vision to the cool glass in front of her face. She saw the pale reflection of a girl with brown curly hair that brushed her shoulders staring back at her, only a hint of sunshine sparkling from her eyes.
She sighed as she looked back at the sun's reflection. If she could just have one drop of its golden sweetness- sweetness like honey. One that wouldn't burn her skin or make her itch. One that she wasn't allergic to. She would be happy. She sighed as she reluctantly turned her attention to her room. Her trap. Her world without a sun. Bamboo floors showed clearly in the open space. Ocean blue bed spread lay neat;ly near the swaying hammock. Green walls the color of nature- the color of grass and spring leaves, were scattered with hanging paintings of forests, beaches, and nature; The things she couldn't experience as long as the sun shone. She had the wood, the ocean, and the green grass, but the only sunshine she had was what her eyes carried.
She noticed the blank easel that stood in the corner of her room. Paints open and brushes clean, lying on the desk next to it. She brought the easel by the window that she had so many times stared out of, imagining the sun's warmth upon her skin. She needed to catch the sun before the ocean swallowed it.
"Just one drop," she thought, as she dipped the tip of the brush into the yellow paint.
"Just one little drop." She stuck her tongue out in concentration, pulling hate sun onto hate easel. The sun had left and the silvery moon ruled the cool night air now, but Sophie smiled with a sparkle in her eyes because she finally had her little drop of sunshine.
-Reagan
Ocean (Part 1)
I never believed that it would do this. I never believed that it could. I mean, the ocean had always been the friend I never had. I used to sit out on the rocks for hours on end, knees pulled to my chest, watching the great blue waves throw themselves against the craggy shore. The sunset had always cast ruby-red rays over the glistening sapphire water, making it look as if there were millions of pinprick stars in the sky. But now... now all I can see are rivers of blood against a sea of tears. Her blood. My tears. The ocean no longer deserves any description of beauty and tranquility. I used to think of it as wonderful, but I now see it for what it really is - a ruthless, cold-blooded killer.
The ocean took my older sister, and by doing that, the ocean took me.
Three months. Three months of pain and suffering at my loss, my sister's loss. She was the only one I ever really cared about, and the sole person that felt the same about me. Now, with her gone... I am alone.
I lean back against a coarse gray boulder on the seashore and inhale the sharp aroma of salt and seaweed. Can i eave the ocean? I wonder, and then I snort aloud, "Can I jump over it?"
A couple walking their dog along the shoreline glance at me strangely, at my mascara-streaked face, and pick up their pace. I can't blame them.
For so long I have wanted to turn my back on my sister's killer, the glistening, roiling ocean that had once been my only salvation from this cruel and desolate world. Now I cannot bear to turn away from it. Every day I come to this spot, telling myself that tomorrow I won't return, but I always do.
-Kinsey D.
The ocean took my older sister, and by doing that, the ocean took me.
Three months. Three months of pain and suffering at my loss, my sister's loss. She was the only one I ever really cared about, and the sole person that felt the same about me. Now, with her gone... I am alone.
I lean back against a coarse gray boulder on the seashore and inhale the sharp aroma of salt and seaweed. Can i eave the ocean? I wonder, and then I snort aloud, "Can I jump over it?"
A couple walking their dog along the shoreline glance at me strangely, at my mascara-streaked face, and pick up their pace. I can't blame them.
For so long I have wanted to turn my back on my sister's killer, the glistening, roiling ocean that had once been my only salvation from this cruel and desolate world. Now I cannot bear to turn away from it. Every day I come to this spot, telling myself that tomorrow I won't return, but I always do.
-Kinsey D.
Escape
Life is a bottle full of liquid.
Inside flows
knowledge
personality
soul.
But the liquid is easily
manipulated
by others.
Give it a shake.
It sloshes around.
Talk to it.
Vibrations stir the surface.
Shift near it.
It is disturbed.
But even if you stand perfectly still
Ignore it.
Do not touch it.
Maybe even walk
away from it.
The surface of the substance
still moves.
It twitches
cringes
shivers
convulses.
Wanting to escape
the clutches
of its name.
Yet trapped
in its walls.
Capped in silence.
Motionless.
And yet it moves.
Making us wonder.
Should it be full
or empty?
Inside flows
knowledge
personality
soul.
But the liquid is easily
manipulated
by others.
Give it a shake.
It sloshes around.
Talk to it.
Vibrations stir the surface.
Shift near it.
It is disturbed.
But even if you stand perfectly still
Ignore it.
Do not touch it.
Maybe even walk
away from it.
The surface of the substance
still moves.
It twitches
cringes
shivers
convulses.
Wanting to escape
the clutches
of its name.
Yet trapped
in its walls.
Capped in silence.
Motionless.
And yet it moves.
Making us wonder.
Should it be full
or empty?
Not near
Once upon the midnight way
a man and woman lived
but they are not near, not near
oh no they are not near, not here
The man once said to woman
I love you with all my heart
so why, tell me, so why, so why
why is the love not near, not near
the love is not near, not here
A man loved a woman
and from them a child born
but the fathers not near, not near
the fathers not near, not here
and the child grew to a man
and he lived a happy life
but his parents not near, not near
both parents not near, not here
and the child had a daughter
and despite her fathers upbringing
her family was there, was there
her family was there, was near
---Duke TIP student
a man and woman lived
but they are not near, not near
oh no they are not near, not here
The man once said to woman
I love you with all my heart
so why, tell me, so why, so why
why is the love not near, not near
the love is not near, not here
A man loved a woman
and from them a child born
but the fathers not near, not near
the fathers not near, not here
and the child grew to a man
and he lived a happy life
but his parents not near, not near
both parents not near, not here
and the child had a daughter
and despite her fathers upbringing
her family was there, was there
her family was there, was near
---Duke TIP student
Untitled
A young girl,
survivorly falling into the orange sky.
on the way down she smiles
trying to forget the pain.
her heart spins in circles
like a carnival packed with people
she feels strangely lapid
sort of like a fresh pack of paper.
What does this mean?, you ask
Ask her,
shes the purest of us all.
~~~Dajuan
survivorly falling into the orange sky.
on the way down she smiles
trying to forget the pain.
her heart spins in circles
like a carnival packed with people
she feels strangely lapid
sort of like a fresh pack of paper.
What does this mean?, you ask
Ask her,
shes the purest of us all.
~~~Dajuan
Age
Gnarled hands and crooked bones restrict your fingers
Ink and lead weigh down your palms
Eyes remain teary
Age has filled your mind
Age has crippled your body
You'll die with no written story
Ink and lead weigh down your palms
Eyes remain teary
Age has filled your mind
Age has crippled your body
You'll die with no written story
Kiki Soare
This is a prologue from a story, so if it feels incomplete than that's why.
Fall. It's fall when the leaves change, when the world is awash in new colors. It's fall when the days start to shorten, and night emerges. It's fall when everything starts to change and get ready for new things coming. It was fall when I met Matteo.
Before him I had always been somewhat lonely. It wasn't so much that I had no friends, rather I felt like none knew me. None could tell you I loved to dance. None could tell you fall was my favorite season. None could tell you my favorite color was red. Matteo could. Matteo always remembered what I told him, and what I didn't tell him he would ask.
I think that's why I loved him. I say 'loved' because I don't know what he is to me now. He still has a place in my heart, he always will, but I don't trust him, not anymore. And if you want to love someone, you have to trust them.
It was fall when Matteo won my heart. It was fall again when he broke it.
Fall. It's fall when the leaves change, when the world is awash in new colors. It's fall when the days start to shorten, and night emerges. It's fall when everything starts to change and get ready for new things coming. It was fall when I met Matteo.
Before him I had always been somewhat lonely. It wasn't so much that I had no friends, rather I felt like none knew me. None could tell you I loved to dance. None could tell you fall was my favorite season. None could tell you my favorite color was red. Matteo could. Matteo always remembered what I told him, and what I didn't tell him he would ask.
I think that's why I loved him. I say 'loved' because I don't know what he is to me now. He still has a place in my heart, he always will, but I don't trust him, not anymore. And if you want to love someone, you have to trust them.
It was fall when Matteo won my heart. It was fall again when he broke it.
The Crying Sky
The sky was crying. Transparent sloshing tears bombarded the earth, quenching the thirst of dry grasses and contributing to the vast ocean that went on for miles and miles in front of her. She lay still on the soaked ground, hands and feet sprawled out as if she were making a snow angel. Her hair was matted and as tangled as the blades of grass that were intertwined between her clenched fists. Salty tear-stained cheeks were cooled by the harsh winds that were raging all around her. She felt as though the world was coming to an end as she watched the grieving sky sob above her. Her slender leg rose slightly off the ground, and she stared blankly ahead as her pointed foot traced meaningless shapes in the air. She drew a stick figure with a circular head and skinny limbs, and then another, right next to the first. Her leg than lifted slightly, and she traced a heart around the two invisible figures. For a moment she kept her leg suspended in midair, concentrating solely on the sky's tears. Then, in one slow, precise motion, she drew an X through her creation. Her leg fell back down next to her resting one, and she closed her eyes as she emphasized with the sky. She knew how it felt, how no mater how hard you tried, the tears would come and they wouldn't stop coming until you felt numb and empty and done feeling sad. That's exactly how she felt. She was done feeling sorry for herself. Her tears had dried, and her heart had stopped pounding. She simply needed for the memories and the pain to be washed away, to seep into the ground along with the sky's misery. She needed a new beginning. And that's exactly what the sky was helping her do. As she gazed up at the raging storm above her, she outstretched one palm towards the heavens and smiled faintly. A soft whisper escaped her lips. "Don't worry sky, you'll be done feeling sad soon."
The Perfect Society
This poem was inspired by picture called "The Village of the Mermaids" by Paul De Vaux
By: Ashley
They stare
One-by-one, each 5 feet apart
Every one of them exactly the same
No one has their own personality
You can see the mountain view
You can imagine that crystal blue sea
But can they?
To them life is boring and plain
They don't realize that life is moving to fast
They don't know what their missing
If only they could turn around
And see the true beauty in life
By: Ashley
They stare
One-by-one, each 5 feet apart
Every one of them exactly the same
No one has their own personality
You can see the mountain view
You can imagine that crystal blue sea
But can they?
To them life is boring and plain
They don't realize that life is moving to fast
They don't know what their missing
If only they could turn around
And see the true beauty in life
Duke TIP Creative Writing
Hello, my name is Lauren. I flew across the country, from California, to take this Creative Writing course offered by Duke TIP. In these past two days, I have learned that struggling in writing is common--and moreover, natural.
I would like to thank Anna, Marshall, and all of my classmates for contributing to such an intellectual environment in which the exchange of ideas is welcomed.
Lauren
Duke TIP Creative Writing Participant
Palos Verdes Peninsula High School
Class of 2012
I would like to thank Anna, Marshall, and all of my classmates for contributing to such an intellectual environment in which the exchange of ideas is welcomed.
Lauren
Duke TIP Creative Writing Participant
Palos Verdes Peninsula High School
Class of 2012
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Welcome
Welcome to Tipsters Write, a blog of the creative writing works from students of the Duke University Talent Identification Program. Read on to enjoy original poems, stories and essays crafted by our talented contributors!
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