"There it stood. I had walked past it several times and I had never seen it. It terrorised me. The idea that someone could have lived in this very building. The walls. So tall and never-ending, encircling me as if I was the victim  of an ambush. I then noticed almost forcefully, the empty space where a window would have stood, where shattered, sharp remains of glass still lie, threatening me like someone putting a knife at my throat..."

This is the beginning of the descriptive writing I wrote as a practice for my IGCSE exam, answering the following question: "You come across an abandoned building you never knew existed. Describe its exterior and surroundings before giving details of how you enter. Describe the atmosphere inside and everything your senses experience as you explore the building".

Click "Read more" if you are interested in reading my whole answer.

Whilst I was browsing through last years' english folder on my computer, I found this article that I achieved high marks on and I think is actually worth posting. The topic was on our perception of "success". Click "read more" if you are interested in reading it. 

It rains.
As the clouds cry, 
their tears are peacefully carried away.
To the rivers, to the oceans, to the sea.
Reaching unity, their rightful destiny, of pure and honest acceptance. 

Raindrops of emotion.
Of love, happiness, and nostalgia
Of life at its full. Impossible to ask more.
In them, reflected three of the pillars of nature’s existence,
Sunshine, Fire and Wind.

Three forces that keep me upright
that hold me in place
helping me find who I am
what I am to do
what I am to love.

Sunshine.
She radiates light, warmth and energy.
The energy of life, 
light of wisdom, truth and guidance
Hope 
rainbows of unrelenting positivity.

Fire.
In her flames, she carries not only passion, boldness, and character,
but warmth, and light of sound wisdom and advice.
In which I see inspiring and mesmerising beauty.

Wind.
She moves, touches and inspires. 
Fills you with love, happiness, and meaning.
Knowing exactly how she must blow to keep you upright, 
to hold and support.
Her power transcends limits of human imagination.

In the tears that I cry, 
raindrops of emotion,
I see the reflection of your essence,
three of the forces
that hold me in place
helping me find who I am.

Tears carried away to the oceans, rivers and sea.
Where I feel whole.
Having reached unity, a sense of pure and honest acceptance.

Where I am in peace with myself and the world.
 

 

This above is my final coursework piece. Click read more to see the work that led up to it and that was submitted as my coursework for the IGCSE art exam. 

So this is the handbag I was talking about. I took me around 30 hours to make it and I am so happy I finally finished! I made this with some old jeans, newspaper (on the inside), some scrap pieces of cloth and a strap from another bag. The idea is completely mine, and I practically improvised the whole thing, not knowing much about any particular techniques to use. In fact, my sewing machine does not work very well (or perhaps I just don't know how to use it) so I made the whole thing by hand. Totally handmade! Yes. My fingers do hurt. Well hopefully this was worth the effort and you like it, and more importantly (as I can already guarantee that I like it) that it will be of use and will not fall into pieces on the first day. It seems pretty sturdy, so hopefully my expectations are correct! If you want to read about the process of making it to perhaps inspire you to make one yourself, click 'read more'. 

I have started the complicated process of making myself a handbag out of some of my old jeans, newspaper, and other pieces of cloth - but I am far from finishing it. 
My grandmother's birthday was coming up so I decided to interupt the process to make a much smaller item out of the same materials and technique as a gift for her.
So use your imagination to imagine how my handbag will look like!! I have never tried anything quite so complicated and my sewing machine does not work, so it will definetely take a lot of time!
I hope you like the little pouch I made for my grandmother and the instructions will come soon when I finish it! 
Click read more to see the pictures! 

Title: the Chaos Walking
Author: Patrick Ness
This sci-fi, action series sucked me in immediately. In the New World, a planet where people have settled and where streams of thoughts can be seen as images or words known as Noise, Todd Hewitt finds a place where there seems to be no Noise, and is immediately made to leave his town. Finding the source of the silence, he journeys away from Prentisstown to warn others about the Mayor’s treacherous plans.

Books in the series:
The Knife of Never Letting Go
The Ask and the Answer
Monsters of Men

This is a poem I've written to one of my best friends, and from those who are reading this poem right now, I am sure you will know who it is for. The whole poem is both a metaphor and real all together, as some of the feelings are exaggerated.. 

I sit and watch you walk away,
until the hurt inside me pains my heart,
and I feel guilty that I can’t,
grab you and beg you to stay.

A week goes by and I cant stand,
a single day without our talks,
knowing that soon you’ll be nine thousand kilometres away,
while you are still so close to us.

It is friday, and I know you are on a plane,
and that in fourteen hours you’ll be half the globe away,
eight or nine hours difference,
from where I stand here today.

From the time I saw you leave,
little have we talked,
and neither have we been in contact,
and mostly because you weren't able to, either.

And my heart hurts,
because I miss you,
because people dont understand,
because Im not able express the pain I have inside.

Time has passed and Im not so lonely,
and neither am I so depressed,
but as I find myself sending you emails,
I wish you were on the other side, replying,
so that I can finally have some rest,
from my constant hurting and my constant missing,
and my constant wishing the impossible..

I sit and watch you walk away,
I feel guilty that I can’t,
grab you and beg you to stay,
and I cant stand a single day without our talks,
while you are still so close to us.
in fourteen hours you’ll be half the globe away,
from where I stand here today,
And my heart hurts,
because people dont understand,
because Im not able express the pain I have inside,
because, from the time I saw you leave,
little have we talked,
and Im not as depressed,
but I want to finally have some rest,
because now, you are nine thousand kilometres away.

Am I allowed to wish the impossible?
 

Friendship is important,
and one of the hardest things in life,
but you can find your way through it, 
and get to the golden light.

The paths will often complicate,
they will often become narrow,
but the hardest bit of it all,
is aiming the perfect arrow,
and hit it through the center of the wall,
and opening the secet passage,
that holds the key to perfect friendship,
that will not be causing any damage.
 

When flowers grow,
when grass is grean,
when sky is clear,
what does it mean?

When it is warm,
when the sun is boiling,
when we go swimming,
what is its meaning?

It means that it's summer,
it means that all can be warm,
it means that everybody can be happy,
unless you're at home.

It means its a sunny day.

This poem is dedicated to all the small children, girls and boys, forced into Joseph Kony's organisation. Please don't give up hope, we're coming.
Everyday I go to school
I wonder if I look cool
I wonder, who will tease me today?
And will a bad grade lead me astray?

I surf the web, and on Facebook I find
"Stop Kony '12" and I am inclined
To watch a video made this year
After it's done, the message is clear:

Stop the crimes, stop the hate,
Don't let killing be another child's fate

Snatched from thier homes in the darkness of night
Given a gun and told to fight.

And as for the girls, thier days are degrading,
You can see in thier eyes, all hope is fading.

Families and friends, forced to kill
Torture others against thier own will.

For years and years the crime has gone on
We all know it's cruel and it's wrong

And us together, me and you,
All together, what can we do?

We make Kony famous,
We utter his name
In every single street
The bad kind of fame.

Lets get him noticed
Make them all look

No justice for 26 years
Should've have taken as long as it took

Put up posters
With paper and glue
Buy a bracelet
Get not one, but two

Know who he is, watch his video too,
And try to stop his cruelty crew.

The Americans, they're planning
To capture this man
But they need enough support
So that they can

So please, please, children,
Hold on a bit more,
'Cos someday soon,
We'll be knocking on your door.

We're coming, kids,
Keep a smile on your face
And most of all...
Don't lose faith.

Don’t look down
Never give up
Release fear
Learn to let go.

Climbing upwards
I feel the knots disintegrate
those that capture my body and mind into a frantic, convoluted mess of distress, confusion, and overwhelming emotion
loosening the tension of those that bind me to the terrible consequences of a decision I cannot turn back on
but only move on.

Instead I am held by the powerful knot of safety and comfort
a knot that allows me to let go
to lose fear
to move on.

Instead I can climb upwards instead of 
pulling myself down.
There I forget myself and look towards my only goal.

Persistence, perseverance, patience
sometimes means letting go.
Though my violent falls are easily perceived as the fault of
weakness, under-confidence, cowardice
Though the bystander may consider that I have
Given Up.

But when I let go it is not to give up
but to look at the wall from a 
different perspective
take a moment of rest and self-care
So I can learn, improve and try again.

In my peaceful state of unrelenting motivation, concentration, and clarity
I challenge myself to a harder wall.
Slowly, calmly and fearlessly I approach it with gentle movements
despite the strain on my arms and my trembling body.

I do not ignore the pain. I acknowledge it and move forward because
I know my destination.

And yet,
ever so close,
I feel a sharp, burning, searing pain. I know I can still hold on, move on, continue …

I also know that I will break.
Instead I remember to
let go.
And I remind myself that
I will try again.

Don’t push harder, work softly, don’t make the damage worse than what it was.

Where I am injured I support 
though I know I must temporarily avoid my source of pain.
Support gives me an equal if not
more gratifying source of peace.

Then try again, but don’t push too hard. 
Aware of my injury I adapt my strategy
the position of my arms and legs
the difficulty of the walls that I attempt
letting go whenever the strain is too strong.

A judgement that I alone must make,
for the strain is nothing like
the pain of 
a broken
or dislocated
arm.
Nothing like the pain of a
gashing wound.

But I will not let the strain 
become a broken, dislocated arm.

I walk away from the climbing walls and know that I will return again.
 

Lava restrained so far
lava kept in so that I would not 
hurt.

Patience, effort, agony
to resist the equilibrium it seeks.
No. I cannot let it happen.

Don’t let it pour
keep it in
don’t destroy the
surroundings that keep you
in sync

Don’t destroy the nature that
builds your very being
that you love with all your 
heart

Never hurt
abide by the wishes of the
weather
the earth
of the people
whose homes stand above your existence.

For,
my existence 
should make me feel ashamed
I do not deserve to
live for 
the lives I have destroyed
despite trying so hard to
save what I 
so desperately cared for.

No.
every now and then the lava leaks out
and I cannot control it
and the more I keep it in the more destruction it wreaks when it 

brutally explodes.
a rushing cataclysm of glowing magma.

And so, for the destruction it will cause
I cannot restrain it.
Instead I plunge, pull myself down into a world of
inevitable despair

fighting to accept that the harm I have caused
cannot be worse than what it would be
had I kept it in much longer.

fighting 
praying
that the harm is reversible

that I can regain balance with the weather
the earth
and the people whose homes stand above my existence.

To them
just a force of evil 
of hatred
impossible of love or kindness

Not realising the lava are the volcano’s
tears of despair and anguish

while I keep a strong front for sake of my sanity
while I resist the urge to
destroy myself into pieces of 
merciless self-blame 
on the brink of depression

where I am pulled up by the fire
that makes my existence
because I am not alone.

Only move on.

Perpetual fear-
I refuse to-
mind racing
stop
I beg.
you.

Volcanoes can only be inactive for so long.



Please hold on.

 

(This Poem is from Sad Poems)

She steps into the rain,
hopeless, knowing that no one will help her.
She can't manage but who cares?
She is alone in pouring rain.

Wherever she goes she isn't noticed,
she is invisible, she is a ghost,
when she talks, no one listens, 
and her words go down into emptiness,
the place where no one hears them.

In class people don't notice her,
she hears them, she wants to join them,
but she can't, she is hopless.

She walks around,
she looks for friends,
she looks for hope,
but where are they?

She is alone in the pouring rain,
she is invisible, she is a ghost,
and her words go into emptiness,
where no one hears them,
she looks for friends, for hope...
where are they?

She hears them, she wants to join them,
but she can't, she is hopeless.

My beloved Guardian Angel,
how much I'd do to see you,
how much I'd do to hear you,
I wish someone'd tell me how.

Oh beloved Angel,
how much I'd do to know your name,
to call you each and every time,
my mood becomes a heavy flame.

I know that you are always beside me,
I know I couldn't manage without you,
i know that when I call you,
you answer, and help me with whatever matter.

I know that you love me,
more than anyone else does,
I know that you'd do anything,
to make me eternally happy.

I know that your job is to guide me,
and to give me help when I ask,
but I wish I could see you,
and not talk with an invisible being,
resembling an empty air mass.

I love you guardian angel,
though I have no proof that you exist,
but something deep inside me,
which might be what they call a soul,
is telling me that there is this presence,
that loves me no matter if I do something right or wrong.

Friends.
That's what he said to me,
That we were just
Friends.

OK. Good. Friends.

Only, before you go,
I just want to let you know

That I thought I had finally gotten it right, with you
That I thought I had finally found someone true

And now when you talk to my friends
Or do something nice
It's hard to imagine you couldn't be mine.

You get good grades,
You're cute, and funny
So why does our friendship
Have to be so crummy?

Myabe because it's not supposed to be a friendship
Something more? No?
I'll close that door
But just so you know
Before you go
I'll always be here -always.
Just so you know...
Friend.

Put a smile on your face,
Put some happiness in you heart,
Sadness gone without a trace
To ecstasy you will dart.

Put some energy in your bones
Put some dance in your shoes
Movement does not drone
You won't have the blues

Put some tunes in your brain
Put some music in your blood
Your sadness will drain
Happiness will flood

Put some laughter in your teeth
Put some jokes on your tounge
Sadness gone with an imaginary thief
AND LEAVES YOU WITH...
FUN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Now 'm happy,
now I'm sad,
now I'm angry,
now I'm glad.

I've never had so much moods before,
and brain is going crazy,
because I can't handle anymore!

The most important part of hiking is going to your rythm,
because if you jump an you're running,
you'll never get there.

So go to your speed,
and slow, slow!
and to not stop, and stop,
only stop to eat!

Do not listen to the others,
when they're saying you go slow,
because the rythm that you're going,
is the rythm you've got to go!

Hiking,
we see the mountain,
we see the wonderful view,
we can see how the birds are cheaping,
but go to the rythm of you.

What flowers which such dazling gaze,
What leaves and bright bring me to such a maze,
This funny tree that makes me jump around,
This grass that makes me want to lick the ground.

How is it that the wind swishes by,
How is it that the rain smells like pie,
When the river down the mountain flows,
OH! When during the night the moon glows.

And when the sun did such rays shine,
And when I felt the whole world was mine!!!!
Why is it that mushrooms so colourful looked?
Why is it that that mine chicken weren't cooked?

Such random words I like to say,
Such fun i find it to continue and play,
My brain thus thought that I was crazy,
My sofa simply thought that I was lazy.

Within this poem that i hope you like,
Within the mountain that I will one day hike,
Will you find such nonsense words,
Will I sing them to mine birds. 
 

When someone talks to us,
we listen, we don't leave,
not even if we wanted to.

Why?
Because it's rude, 
and whatever someone might say,
might be important.

So what about when we rush inside,
when the wind is cold and it swishes by?
Why don't we stay for a while,
why don't we listen to it for once?

For nature might want to say something important,
and we just leave!
We hide from it!

There might be a point in the coldness,
but listen to me, 
listen the wind,
to the nature,
and concentrate on making your body warm, 
while you listen to it, at least for a WHILE.

My friend wrote this poem during a game where we asked each other to analyse each other's poems. I asked her to analyse the first stanza from "Such Nonsense Words". Although she was not implying anything as she wrote it - despite what anyone may think as they begin to analyse this - I believe it is a very creative and interesting piece of work. Click read more to read it.
 

This poem is a poem I wrote a long time ago, when I was 10 years old, but I don't think I ever put in haikufeel.

Click read more to read it.

For some reason when I'm really sad,
I read my own poems and stop feeling bad,
and then I find some kind of inspiration,
which is a relief, because not finding any is a fustration.

When I start to write I have to be careful,
and with my words I have to be really gentle,
because if i say anything about something I want to discuss,
I might end up saying something about someone which might be to obvious,
and then everyone will know about who I am talking about,
and it won't be something I'll be able to keep out,
so somepeople might think badly of me,
and that's not how I want it to be!

So now everytime I remember when I write,
I try to be somehow polite,
and try not saying anything bad,
that would end up making someone mad,
although sometimes it is hard to do and I make mistakes,
so remember that everytime my memory breaks.
 

Writing a poem
(A very hard thing to do)
Is very fun
(But difficult too)

Hey! Maybe writing a poem isn't so hard after all!

This is a poem i got inspired by looking at a chair. To see the poem Click read more.

Teardrops, I feel them about to fall,
sadness isn't part of it all,
confusion, stress, and awkwardness,
negative feelings are all part of this.

Someone who i truly miss,
somethings that are similar to this,
exams that i feel coming up,
me that isn't concentrated enough.

I know that there is someone who won't read my poem,
and it's her who is making me feel swollen,
but if she is reading it,
she will know that it it's her I truly miss,
and I hope that one day she'll forgive me,
for the bad friend I could have been. 

I look at our picture and teardrops i feel them about to fall,
I think about it and know that sadness isn't part of it all,
my emotions are full of confusion, stress, and awkwardness,
and just to tell you, negative feelings are all part of this.

I decided to write a poem on how vacations were going to fast, when I found myself writing about school and the other vacations. In the end, I decided to add two stanzas with jumbled up sentences from the whole poem to see how it would sound if school and the other vacations went on during the summer. I hope you like it and feel inspired ;) :P <3

Good morning, early morning
My mind wanders off
Unlock me of this curse-d prison where detachment is of a loss
and here I am
as I have been for weeks
A dreadful feeling I cannot expel
And its curse, an internal battle
Or maybe a blessing, I cannot tell.

My prison is control
The need for things to go my way
It is resistance to the greater truth and path of life that binds me to the battlefield
and all I can do is pray

And yet I pray
And I read
And I try to stand still
And my mind fights and resists because what I want, I cannot comprehend why I can't have
Control keeps me imprisonned when I know I could be free 
if just let go and if I just
accepted the good 
in the bad

The lessons we learn
The mistakes that have brought us to where we are
The things within me I try againn and againn to change...

There is a curtain to my vision
A curtain I cannot unnveil
I've chosen one route when the others could also
serve me well
Somehow I've lost the virtue of patience and
I seek it,
but to no avail.

Haunted I am, by the guilt.
The awarenness of my self-pity.
The knowledge of the insignificance of a suffering
that is unjustified
and incomparable to even to this little grain of sand that in my hand I hold

As I behold the world I live inn
And the greater uncertainty that plagues the lives of others
Annd imagine! All the stories untold.

So you see early mornning,
I greet you and immerse myself in you as an honest attempt
To change
I am unwell and the heaviness and uncertainty of the
daily moment has become too difficult to bear
So today you woke me up before you rose
And I have chosen to wake to your call.

Slowly but surely, oh early morning,
I will rise and free myself of this prison,
And I know I will find myself there time and time again,
But each time I will learnn something more about myself and perhaps 
my days of imprisonement will be shorter, or less frequent
as I take a step forward the right way.

So whatever happens today,
I promise this time
I will accept.

And tomorrow will be a different day,
But when I rise I will remember your call,
And attempt to free myself of control,
What ever come, and come what may.
 

Oh River, dear friend.
How clearly do you know your path.
While I sit here, clueless
Looking for direction
Hoping this apathy will lapse

To be still, to let what must pass, pass,
To trust that what must be, will be,
That in faith I will find my Destiny,
All of this I know and yet
In my heart there is a pit
A void I must fill.

Oh River, I sit beside you in friendship,
For in you I can confide.
My soul finds it difficult to share its pain and
in your presence I hope I may some answers find.

Life has been busy and now 
it quietens down,
In the noise of constant activity,
I drowned 
and forgot how to listen to my deeper self.

But now I Hear.
And what, I do not know.
As I delve into my depths, tell me
Where do I go?
Tell me, how do I reach 
My soul.

My mind is a whirlwind of thoughts I cannot comprehend
The wider picture is missing
The pieces are magic, the whole is perfection
And yet there is a blindness
A could I cannot dispel
But my friend, I have embarked on a journey
And I have faith it ends well.

A journey I undertake to reconnect with my spirit.
And understand the unease in my heart.
Listening to your course and your nature
In my journey I embark 
to surrender
And to let myself be taken by the flow.

A journey I hope leads to my soul.
 

This is a narrative I wrote last year for my English class. Hope you like it! - Yasmin

Days, months, years had passed since it happened. Yet I still live in that very moment, or rather that, this moment, lives on in me, with me, off me. I would be mendacious if I said I had forgotten or if it had forgotten me. How could it, how could I, after all that we've been through. My safe, my saviour, my equal, yet it is the source of so, so much pain and anguish. 

Pulling my hand towards the door, was a force I had no power or authority over. A force that had left me appalled, bewildered... that had left me staring at the contents of a room I could not yet make sense of. It was unspoken of. What was I doing? My mind, submissive in character, was desperately ordering my body to obey the words that I had been told only too often: "Don't you ever dare walk past that door". But I did.

I never remember,
what I dream,
but sometimes I like,
to just make up a theme,
and write about that random subject,
however wierd it can seem.

A chair could be jumping,
up and down,
as a stupid old doll,
could have become a clown,
my pencilcase could have,
jumped on my bed,
my jumper could have,
found my pencil some lead.

As I try to find objects,
to personificate,
I think of a teddy bear,
coming to toy school late.

Darn it, 
Darn it, 
Why am I saying darn it?


Darn it,
Darn it, 
Why am I so mad?


Darn it,
Darn it ...



DARN IT!!