Tag Archives: Literary Agent

The Syllable God – Poem


Creative writer - alex kennedy

The Syllable God – Poem

In front of this Lunar Eclipse,

This let loose humanoid lunatic turns mutant,

A grade-A student bullying school kids with the coolest new kicks,

Your Jiu-Jitsu flips are my amusement, your life is now truant, stupid!

Acoustic screams equipped to my new movement of music,

I’m on the run as a fugitive from their crucifixes,

Come to grips with this,

I want no part of your religion because you’re not fixing shit!

The movement I move in, so smoothly I’m moving,

It’s useless to copy; no no-body can stop me,

As I am a robotic computer, running solely on microchips,

Batteries not included,

Typos living at the end of each fingertip,

I can’t can this as a can of tuna fish,

You’ll need a tank and butane-gas to attack this nuisance,

Because I’ve just gained a new sense called no sense,

I’m merely giving lucid word pollution as a broken world solution,

So let all the new become ruins,

Light a fire under this world, do it and I will run through it,

I am emergency-calling your next-of-kin,

Maybe I’m talking articulate shit again, in which my tongue is too fluent in,

So get ready for some turbulence,

Because I’m bringing back the best of sin,

Before I am running for that border,

And become a Mexican citizen,

In 20 years when I am old and grey,

I’ll still be the same,

Even when I’m KING!

 

Alexander Kennedy – Creative writer

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I have that Spark – Poem


fire

I have that Spark – Poem

Whatever the weather, whether I wither or whether I’m sempiternal,

Fired-up and eternal,

I’m a spirally turning as an inferno tornado,

These drugs had me tied-up,

Now I rise up as a periscope to show the way home,

I have some revenge to cash-in by the pay-load,

You’re not saving this damned kid,

This demon is going to flay his soul,

Stealing the meaning of his life, Hey-Ho!

All of my words have been censored gold,

I’m pulling this world apart as a centre-fold,

There’s no end to my road,

So there’s no sending me home,

I’m living in the darkness of a Hell’s hole,

And it’s impenetrable,

A mission impossible from this psychiatric hospital,

I’m breaking out, I bet you all!

This pencil bestows thunder in my hands,

We’re all crazy here!

I’m Alice in Wonderland,

My colours blur to overstate what’s over here,

I’m passing you it with an underhand.

This is all one man’s mad mind,

Run while you can still hide,

Love while you still have,

Because I’m taking all you hold in your hearts,

Charting towards the cold water with sharks,

Don’t bank on me coming back as me,

Because I’m blowing your homes down with gasoline,

As I have the spark.

 

Creative Writer Alexander Kennedy.

And just a heads-up me and my girlfriend are having a baby boy! So Happy!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The Fallen Ones – A Duet by Alex and Patty


Roll-up! Roll-up! The amazing Just Patty and I have an announcement to make… We’re writing together again.

This poem is really cool guys, just give it a looksie’ and tell us what you think. Yeah, I know its Dark and Magical but that’s what makes it more awesome to read.

I highly recommend you check out her blog, if you haven’t already because Patty is an awesome writer!–> http://petitemagique.wordpress.com/

 So here’s another duet by us both! Try and guess which one of us write which verse.

Patty, keep your pen busy! Love from Creative Writer Alexander Kennedy

Creative writer - alex kennedyPatty NEW PHOTO

Just Patty–>https://petitemagique.wordpress.com/

Alex –> https://youngadultfictionblog.com/

The Fallen Ones

Tumbling

Inside my own mind

A free fall without a parachute

The darkness surrounds me

I close my eyes and drift away

Don’t try to save me

Just let me be

Drifting

Without a destination

Lock me away

Put me in chains

Before I drag you down with me

Can’t escape the things that aren’t there

Or are they?

Hiding

Inside my mind

The seasons change

But I stand still

Captured inside a glass box

I can see, but never touch

I am done fighting, I am done running

Tripping

Over obstacles on my path

Of life

Of death

Does it matter?

No

Because nothing really matters anymore

When you’re falling into the depths of

Insanity

If you somersault within a plummet,

I will catch you,

I’m a rip-cord wonder,

I’ll be your personal parachute.

I’m your spotlight in the dark,

We must both fight for our hearts,

Sailing upon this boat,

Because we’re oceans apart,

I’m coming closer from afar.

When the destinations unknown,

Set sail for the road that leads home,

And for your metal chains there must be a keyhole,

So when your days let it rain,

And your faith gets away,

Keep hope close,

I’m pulling you out from this deep hole,

So you no longer feel cold,

We’re just two people,

Good and evil,

It’s time to evolve,

And see it all.

Come back to the land of the living,

Where I am,

I’m a helping hand worth giving,

Stick yours out,

Come with me, please,

Sanity or insanity?

 

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True Evil Holds a Pen


joker-laughs

I am flirting with fire; from normality I had cold-feet. I am a kerfuffle of trouble, there’s no saving me now as I have mushroom-clouds for thought bubbles. They lacerate my world believing they killed me, I’m letting slip my dogs of war until they know me as a reformed super villain. Challenge Completed, Planet Earth; I’m spinning out-of-control, no fault of my own, I couldn’t keep hold. I’m a libertine shoulder barging my way through the captive creators; I’m writing on black paper in the dark.

No brain freeze or frisson, picking up lightening-bolts and throwing them at the pages of rapture I capture. This is merely reverie I reveal and unravel, I time-travel back and thwart all my enemies plans for me. I am no poltroon, I pollute pages personally I made it personal because I am no longer a person. The rain trickles down and washes away all my plights from my face, I change my mind and change my face and I am giving the world hell again, true evil is holding a pen. My calm levels are unstable, upon this page I have too much sycophantic horsepower, I bucking-bronco my way out from this web of life.

bipolar_by_jaeia

In school, after Maths was English class where I jotted down my aftermath from the bullies pulley, I guess I’m pure vile and puerile, I’m not a Transformer I can transmogrify. Rambunctious to my soul’s battery core; setting my switch to self-destruction. A man can only receive so much failure in his life before superiority takes over his eyes focus. Insanity is a gift from the Gods; I wield and shield it against sanity.

This world sees what they want to see; I could have charming characteristics, suave and soigné, hats off to me, my undercurrent is currently a catastrophe. All passengers, we have a slight insurgence for turbulence and wizen, please, fasten your seatbelts and come join me within my plummet. Its drizzling green and yellow pills, I’m dancing in the pain, I jump in blood puddles and reappear in sky tunnels of bliss. This hurt in my head I play it over and over again, until a joker smirk arises on my face, I’m no longer insane, isn’t life splendiferous.

insane 12

Within my writing I cannot be a stentorian, so I must visual lies my memory video-taped life, transplant and transport all of my supercilious kisses of life, these pages are where my wishes go to find a place to die. This world should have boxed me in early, now I can create topsy-turvy from everything that profoundly promotes to hurt me. Here comes the valetudinarian again, turn away, don’t dare turn that page, it’s all of the same. I could be a beacon of silver-lining light, but the doctors beat my head in with a rock to keep me under it for eternity. I am a writer, this is what I do, keep bringing you words and I shall sit here and laugh at you.

This image was selected as a picture of the we...

This image was selected as a picture of the week on the Malay Wikipedia for the 44th week, 2009. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

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Define: Writer


If you think reading is boring

Define: Writer

  1. noun

Noun: writer; plural noun: writers

  1. A person who has written something or who writes in a particular way.

“The writer of the letter”

  • A person who writes books, stories, or articles as a job or occupation.

“Dickens was a prolific writer”

synonyms: author,   wordsmith,   man/woman of letters, penman,   creative writer; Moreinformalscribbler,   scribe,   pen-pusher,   hack,   potboiler

To look at what a writer does from this perspective doesn’t hit the bone; this only shows you the skin. Writing for me and many other worldwide is pure magic. It is the belief in oneself when words are all we have; and now the whole world has some sort of writing device in front of them. We can all be writers.

But what this doesn’t tell you, from of all of the “Writers” out there; there are scribblers who are “True Writers”

These creators of stories and other articles do not give up. If they blog like myself, no matter how many people are viewing their work or if they would ever get noticed but a publishing house or literary agency, they will keep writing because it is all we have at the end of the day.

But I have to hand it to people; some do try at their writing and give up after a certain period of time because they find out that it is harder than it looks. But you have it in you to make a difference within your life.

Keep at it and show the world what is within you.

Have a look around my blog and see the different types of writing styles and stories you could possibly write or go on to write when you are ready.

Practice makes perfects and re-writes make a great story writer.

Sorry this was a short post, I will make sure you have something great to read later. 🙂

Keep your pens busy!

Alex

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