English 101-9:30 TR
A Pens’ Memoir
“The Twist of Two Writers”
A divine aroma filled the air along with the sounds of soothing and gentle melodies as they drifted throughout the entire café. Women were dressed in their finest evening gowns and men in their suits. There was immense wandering in the “Chocolate Fizz”, a romantic Southern poetry club founded on the basis of an “Equal People”. It was filled with the most influential and mind-blowing poets of the 90’s generation. Poetry arose from the souls of individuals as they explored their deepest depths about life and inner feelings. Distinctively, it reached to the audience in hopes that the artistic creations would inspire discovering love. At the “Chocolate Fizz” there was always an awaking journey drawing near. This setting was me, this was my home, often my pen would break while I was writing and I would always save the ink. To me it was not just ink. I had discovered that life was my pen and that I bled ink throughout my arts. I had also discovered that my ink was concentrated, I only needed one drop. That one drop of ink would bleed into a stream of dreams and with it, I would write history.
There she sat, in the back of the club outside the vicinity of people .Her notepad and pen were the first things that I noticed about her. She wore a long black shirt with some black and red textured tights. The outfit in a way reminded me of the punk rock look of the 90’s.She had her hair slicked back into a puff which I could tell was the natural look. Overall she was beautiful and the longer I gazed at her the more she became. The pen in her hand danced within the lines of the red and black checkered composition book. The pen strokes were very swift letting me know that she was in a hurry to write whatever was in the book. As I was getting up to go and meet the woman, she was called to the stage. Suddenly, I snapped out of the trance, amazingly she was the night’s featured poet. I could only wonder what she was thinking.
Across the room, couples were scattered amongst the tables and the appearance of one guy struck my eye so glaringly that my mind developed much purpose to my writing. In transition, an instant part of him was yearning to be told. In reality, I was the quiet and secluded type. Syncing into my surrounding was not a big part of my life. On that night, I had determined that it was my time to shine. I had just written a new piece and was eager to premiere it. Poetry was my passion in spite of being a nurse. New to the Washington D.C. area, I strangely recognized how much appeal I interposed to young men. “It seemed so dry”, as my best friend Ada would put it.
Slowly I walked to the stage, introduced myself and began.
“I’m tossing away the words never said until they crash into the ground,
Those are the rocks un-kicked I watch them grow, until they sprout,
From a distance our distance is visible and that distance proves to be deadly,
If I moved hearts with these words, I’d be right on time for the winter,
I see climates reaching their limits and tears hitting the concrete, it’s like rain clouds in descent, but I know you’re ready to finish
For you I drew the line in this chapter, I stopped the spine from breaking,
I can offer you art, if you’re willing to take it,
I can alter your heart, until the cracks have faded,
And when you learn to love again, this time it will be remembering...”
When I had finished I received a standing ovation. I