Tag Archives: Writer Resources

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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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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My Darkness Writes Rhymes


new for blog

MY DARKNESS WRITES RHYMES!

——-

Kill my thoughts before they kill again,

My souls holes picked locked,

With this wicked pen,

I have stricken men,

Pets, women and children,

I get vicious with them,

Because my hurt comes first,

This curse is the worst,

But first things first;

I’m taking off this blindfold,

Taking the name of a psycho,

Raising my followers as if I was the bible,

Pressing against this collarbone is my rifle,

Let’s get your ghost out of those dry clothes,

I’m spying on you through my motel spy-hole.

 

I am trying my hardest to bury this sin,

Swallowing a fistful of pills,

I’m merely practicing medicine,

Face droops and head-spins,

‘Til death do us part,

This will be my black wedding.

I’m ready for war, Bring on the drums!

Luckily for me we’re not men of the cloth,

Or we’d all have serious problem,

Alex you’re not regular anymore,

Counting the days on my calendar,

Fearlessness with the spellbinds I write,

My enemies I fight, I dissolve them.

Further into fiction,

Murder with my fingers tipped visions,

When my world stops turning,

Over the lines I’m killing.

 

Slit my write wrist,

Popped the tablets,

Incase you missed it,

Didn’t kick the habit,

Kicked off the blanket,

Shaking in my boots,

No fear factor,

Taking even more bad fruits.

In the eyes of the beholder,

I will be a memory,

So whatever happens,

Please, just remember me.

I’m traumatised from Earths frostbite,

Reading this? I got you cross-eyed,

Forced fed another lost life,

Living in a bombsite,

 Writing is my only foresight,

Superman putting on glasses,

Because in the land of the blind,

I’d rather be four eyes.

 

I fall by my will,

 And one day I know I will fall,

After all someone must hold onto this thunder-ball,

Peeking over the wonder-wall,

Tipple-tailing and somersaults,

Happy-slapping and handicapping,

All the worlds’ underdogs.

Fight this thought,

I’m a writer!

Blinded by these words,

A mad mans mind, the rise and fall,

I’m a silent pen crier,

Deep dark depth climber.

Weather calls for extreme conditions,

Heaven falls while we all listen.

I’m a jack of all trade,

I’ve got the rapid response late,

When my magma words roll this way,

My jagged bones stick out from my face,

And I’m still attacking my soul,

With simply a pencil and a page.

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There’s No Sense like Nonsense


day-of-nonsense

There’s No Sense like Nonsense

I am the devil and I am here to do the devils work! I’ve got my fingers on my own pulse, everyday my body is losing the idea of me. I walk in the sunlight and I burst into a paper ball of flames, bring your marshmallows and shovels; we’re all going on a family trip to hell! I am not fighting myself anymore, I always end up winning. One cut, two cut, three cut, floor. I am neither no longer holding back, I’m throwing this pen and paper at your head; catch them with your eyes. Where I will deliver everyone worldwide, their imaginations will be my weapon against them.

holy gibberish batman

Manipulation is the key. Evil Writer – Evil Writer – Evil Writer – Evil Writer – Evil Writer, every time you hear those words, you will think of me! I am lying naked on a morgue slab cutting open my own chest; the crack of each rib bone is the equivalent of the crunch of an apple bite. Well how else do these people want to see what the hell is going on inside of me? Insert heart here!

pointless

I’m a born again writer, why do you think I engrave death on so many pages? Literature will etch my focused ambition from here to the after-world. The gibberish I glibly glide over these glazed pages comes forth as exact natters of my scatterbrains, battering, psych-complaints, medicines, time-restraints on my minds mental states, time to splatter my brains-cloud right down this papers page, do you even realize the rhymes I’m writing in wait? I can’t put this razor down now, there’s more to just saving face.

I’ll out rightly out write you because you write what is rightly right! I may be the antagonist of my own story but that doesn’t mean beauty doesn’t grow within me as a poisonous wild flower. I feek through these hallways talking to the darkness; but before I beblubber I will bestow a blunder of ideal ideas constructed in blood-bubbles. The longanimity keeps me grounded, how can I end my life when I have too many persons from the past to revisit, I need absolution. I defile these pages now. I dollop of dull life mixed with drawcansir and the male equivalent of a drazel. When you get to hell, tell the devil he can suck my pen!

RandomNonsense

You’re all staring upwards, which stars do you want to be? I will gain an entrance into forever as I dig downward on these pages. I’m running from my monsters I create, I fight and eventually kill myself; all I have is this cemented war cry for it; in essence sweat, blood and tears. I am slipping away into the darkness; I am becoming a son of the night while everyone stays children of the dawn. I need help! My only medication is word dialysis as the demons have pitched home in the corners of my fingertips.  I am hungry enough I could eat this paper I am writing this upon. I can’t sleep at night the monster growls within my belly; the ache keeps its pincers clenched. I roll and I thrash, I am being eaten by this. Money has greatly escaped my entire trouser pockets have miraculously sprouted holes. I think this world is trying to tell me something, don’t you?

This evil pen is an instrument of fire, writing out my empathetic feelings means I am gambling with life and death every time I scribe. I am finally alive; life oceans through me along with my brainwaves towards the thought of psychosis, tsunamis inside. You’ll all pay! The doctors tell me I am a Mattoid. I L-L-L –Loath you! Sorry, towards the nicety of harmless words I have lethogica. I’m digging deeper into my mind, the place where I buried anyone that has crossed me from the past.

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My Evil Pen Told Me to Write This – 3


bleeding

My Evil Pen Told Me to Write This – 3

I am a mere scab upon this world as the whole planet wants to pick on me. Beware world, this is my turn! When I straddle this pen, I can kill you with my mind. I would scribble this world as an ignited cherry-bomb to have revenge upon you and you alone. Why individually miss a target when I can wipe clean the table in one sitting? I have eaten a dictionary. Each page thrashes out and rustles with a shiver with the knowledge of what my pen is about to carve upon its skin. Get them, boy!

if i fall asleep

I am wearing my madness as a medal; this world will not allow me to forget what I am, so neither should I. Bring forth your scrolls of paper and your flickering quills, condemn me, crush me and quarter my limbs; for I will write myself a new destiny, one where you are all alone in the darkness where I have lived, let us see how the monsters shall treat you in time.

michael phelps

I am running on the fumes of past fears, my memory sticks out from my brain as a protruding cocktail sticks. Lobotomize these thoughts forever Alex! There is madness in my method of writing, yes, but my method in which I use helps tame the madness into a constructive horror show for you all. I am a master sculptor with a pen, chipping away at my mental illness so you can see revulsion from my perspective. Behold a masterpiece from my membrane pieces. Doctor, open me up and fish these voices from me; Priest, open my soul and take this ghost that is haunting the hallways of this body!

ernest hemingway

Fear is only a choice – A brain tidal wave! I choose to grant it, as it is the only thing to ever stay consent within my life and thinking. These words are actually flesh-eating ants, that when you inhale with your eyes, they feast upon your brains. Yummy!

If you think reading is boring

I am cold towards this world, hence the shoulder barge; I am marvellously a marvel with a heroic heart which has stopped beating; I am burning words along with my cape to keep mildly warm from your frozen breathes.

rained upon

I am running naked in the rain for revenge, pointed fingers and tuts ensue. I have made a deal with the devil; if I use him to write and give him a purpose, he would return the favour. My words are jumbled and my blog is a jungle book; can you hear me roar in pain on my pages? My apple has fallen light-years from my family tree; my DNA is not even human, let alone the same as my mothers.

Risk

I’m living in your walls; I know all of your dirty little secrets. What you do when no one is looking and what you think to yourselves when no one is around. You’re all damaged, just like me. I was brewed in the chaos of humans malfunctions, now I have doctors telling me I’m the one that needs fixing?

edgar allen poe

“You have me confused with all of them, wait! Please don’t lock me up, I was happy before they came into my life and broke all of my windows.”

Now I am smashing each of their windows in revenge, well, I do need a breakthrough. Haha! I’m not aiming for the stars, the sky is far enough, this where I will explode into smithereens and my ashes will twinkle downwards upon the clouds and wreak havoc with acid rain. Is it a bird? Is it a plane? Nope; it’s only blindness for looking for me. Haha!

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