gingertrouble

Having just received a little collection of poems as a gift I'm now dabbling into a few more ways of writing poetry. Mastering a particular form requires time - something that I wish had I more of - but there's no harm in trying it out. The last three poems were whipped out in a moment of boredom whilst lifeguarding. It's safe to say that they are not exactly good representations of what was running through my head, and a greater grasp of language would be much appreciated... In any case I'm finding myself wanting to write more and more: no matter how accurate or beautifully worded such pieces may turn out to be. After all, practice makes per

Human relationships seem ever more complicated now that school is over. We edge away from an environment of habit and of comfort, and enter an uncertain world in which ties between individuals appear to be complex beyond comprehension. A spectrum of relationships, from the superficial to the intimate, all made even more important by having to deal with a new level of independence and quasi forces-upon maturity. It is not necessarily a life which we do no desire. Only, it is one which requires getting used to: to accept. We realise that people we meet for the first time look to us as adults who, as well as having to act responsibly and maturel

I looked back upon the first piece which I uploaded on deviantART - mon poeme - and thought about how odd it was to read it: as if it were written by someone else. The emotion you feel in those few moments of writing are quite temporary. They may occur again every so often, with the same intensity or with only a reflection of what it was, but you never approach it in the same manner. It's as if you now examine the ideas under a new light, trying to understand why you wrote it in that way, why you felt that way, and what it is telling you about yourself...