A Poem About WordsA Word on WordsA Poem About Words1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
I’ve never been very good with words.
I spend so much time searching for the right ones,
For that one perfect phrase to describe a feeling.
Slippery as a sunfish it incessantly escapes me,
Or gets hooked upon my lip.
It’s difficult to say what I mean,
Let alone mean what I say.
And words make it so much harder;
Ineffectual, impersonal and imprecise as they are.
I might say I love a steaming pot of tea in the morning,
Or a big cozy sweater on a winter’s day.
But sweaters and tea don’t quite add up to how I feel about you.
You might say a rose is pretty,
Or a sunset.
But I am hardly a flower or a sinking star.
I wish there were a way to pinpoint these feelings,
To let you know exactly what they are.
Instead I tread water futilely,
Drowning in the vagueness of language;
I simply choose silence.
Perhaps worst of all about words,
Is that they can lose their luster so devastatingly quickly.
I want meaning to permeate time; to last forever
My Grandpa As A CharacterAssignment #3: Character DescriptionMy Grandpa As A Character1 year ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Milad Bessada is seventy-five years of age and stands at a stout five feet and four inches. He has dark sunbaked skin and prominent wrinkles around his eyes and mouth – evidence of a lifetime of expressive conversation and warm smiles. There is a distinctiveness and authority to him – with his still-full head of snowy white hair and dark, intelligent eyes, he remains imposing despite an ever-more protruding pot-belly and hands he finds not quite as steady as they used to be. He speaks in carefully chosen vocabulary with a peculiar Arabic-British accent.
Milad was born in Cairo, Egypt, into a family of seven. He was not the oldest, nor the youngest, but one of the forgotten middle children. As a young man, Milad left his home and went to Cambridge University to study economics. He learned two imperative t