Cricklewood Personified

Cricklewood is a town, and a family.  There is the general store, who is the mother that provides for her children.  She gives them food, and clothes, and medicine.  She doesn’t turn them away, even when she should.  That’s a mother for you, but the father, he is the law of the house.  He is the court, the judge, and the jury; passing judgment upon his brood sternly and without emotion.  He towers above the town reminding the children to obey his rules.  His sternness is only tempered by an uncle, a “brother” in fact.  He is the Church and believes in the goodness of people and their temperance.  He looks through rose colored glasses and sees untainted people.  But only one person sees the people truly.  An old man, the jail, he has sat in that square since Cricklewood was founded.  He has seen good men come and bad men go, both with the passing of years.  They all stand in the square looking in at the children, wondering what will happen next. Personified

Be Nice to Babies!

The other day I turned in a short story called "The Changeling," and today it was returned to me(I will post it at a later date).  Looking at the comments I noticed a large amount of red ink on the last page.  Well it was an interesting comment, " This is too creepy... I'm mad at you... >:( Be nice to babies!" 
I must say I burst out laughing, and called over my teacher to have him explain.  Well it turns out he likes my story and thinks it was well written, but he just happens to have two babies at home.  I don't think I will end up baby sitting for that teacher anytime soon.

Edits

Edit... Edit...Edit.  Sometimes I have the unfortunate displeasure of editing my own or a friends writing.  I despise editing, I am an atrocious speller and am bad at written grammar, well I can write my own stories well, but I can't find others mistakes.
Editing shows what a person thinks of your piece as well and can feel like a personal attack on your writing.  Someone may say that they dislike how my character speaks, or they dislike my topics.  Intellectually I know they are just trying to help, but emotionally I feel as though they dislike my piece.  This is why I am generally reluctant to show my writing to people.  I wish editing wasn't such a pain.  I wish it wasn't a pain from both sides of the paper.

The Purpose of Art

Art is one of the most debated subjects in our society.  Many people postulate that art has an innate purpose.  I do not perceive a purpose, and I am an artist.  When I create a piece of art I do it because it fulfills a need.  Some may say that it's fulfillment, is it's purpose, but I just enjoy it, somethings can just be done.  It is existential, meaning it exists simply to exist.  When I make a piece of art to express an idea, it is not to express it to someone else, but to help myself understand an abstract concept.
Many people will argue on what is art?  Is Mein Kampf art, it is a work of literature, and literature is art?  I believe that if one person anywhere in the world considers it art, then it becomes art.  Our perception changes the nature of the thing.  Our perception make it art.  A thing by itself cannot be art without someone to see it.  Art, rather the object itself is purposeless and in the words of Oscar Wilde "useless."

"Life is a Cold Black Stone"

Life is a black falling stone,
That move through the cold air,
And hits the ground only to be forgotten,
The hungry Earth swallows the stone,
Mixing it with all the lifeless stones,
That have fallen before it.

Haiku's of a Random Nature

Small dancing creatures,
Butterfly's fall from tree,
Earth swallows whole.

Skin like silken sheets,
Powerful and yet tender
Flash and it is gone.

Shut your mouth and kiss,
Open your body to me,
Open your heart, love.

Cut the meat and cook,
Customer wants medium,
Tell them we do rare!!

Falling like a stone,
Pieces of glass fall with me,
Defenestration.

Monk waters tree,
Metal death cuts down beauty,
Now tears water tree.

"A Creepers and Creeped Sonnet"

I smelt your nice soft hair as you slept,
Oh Jesus Christ where did you get a key,
I was watching and found where it was kept,
Oh my, a stalker you must really be.

Stalker is a word keeping us apart,
A restraining order will do that too,
Nothing will keep me from feeling your heart,
Hello police? Help he's got a pool cue!

I'm coming for you, you beautiful doll,
I see him now he is cutting the phone,
I know where you sleep, 3rd door on the hall,
Help someone help I hear his dreadful poem.

Now I have found you, now I'm, really bored,
Really? Really? that's it, bugger you lord.