Sunflowers are my favourite flowers. Hands down.
If you were to check my camera uploads, it is clear that I photograph them often. With their bright colour and beautiful form, how could I not?
A little while I decided to write a poem inspired by my the flower, and how we as people, may in some way relate to them.
Like a sunflower we follow light,
we wake at day
and sleep at night.
Some of us stand small,
smaller than the rest.
Others grow tall,
reaching for their best,
to be the biggest stem in the field.
Working hard we grew,
trying to outshine the sun
(something a flower cannot do).
Our fresh petals
burned by its scorching glare,
yet some forget their lesson
and the bravest dare
to go at it again,
to grow how they please,
maybe they will soon be
one day at ease.
Inspiration is an important player when it comes to the game of anything and everything. What inspires you to do something, what drives you to create? Where do you get your inspiration from?
I commonly see these questions, the last one specifically.
Personally, I do not get inspiration from one particular source.
My inspiration is like a thunderstorm, a common occurrence. I get my it from my surroundings such as friends, family members, nature and of course, the goldmine that is the internet. I could be scrolling through Instagram one day, and bam, it will hit me.
That is the thing with inspiration, it can strike you any time, any where. (Like at 1 in the morning, when I should probably be sleeping yet instead chose to write this blog post…)
Sometimes the storm of motivation and ideas is fleeting, yet other times it lasts longer than you originally could have hoped.
Once it passes, it is always such a sight to see that the thunder and the lighting may lead to something, a rainbow. That occasion where your inspiration leads to something beautiful.
Conflicting views and differing perspective are things that we see all the time. Whether two people disagree about the binder colour for the subject of Math, or butt heads on larger issues like governmental policies there is always someone who will see the other side of an argument or issue and try to argue their stance. Of course, when backed by facts, any stance is valid. But where does that leave you, and any others who are affected by the larger issues like foreign policy, universal healthcare, and immigration? And what makes one view better and more valid than the other?
For this poem, I was inspired by arguments on Instagram, debates in the classroom, conversations on TV, and glasses. Around my room I have a few different pairs of glasses, some sunglasses, and others which can be considered “fashion” pairs.
Each pair portrays a slightly different world, tinted pink, slightly darker or distorted. In the image I took, they are all in conflict with each other. It is up to you to pick the one you think suits you best, the one that will give you the best view, the best protection and the best use for its purpose. Based off of the picture, I chose to write “Conflicting Views” which you can read below.
A pair of ideals,
lenses on the left and right,
fighting to make you see
different things in different light.
a resting frame on your nose.
Depending on which way you look,
your opinion grows.
yet each overlaps the other.
All fighting the same problem
with a different fix,
hopefully something better than
a few parlour tricks.
The inspiration for poems of mine can come from many different sources, such as something someone said or an interesting object or photo. Big Box Stores was a poem I had written in Fall of 2017, based on a photo I had snapped at the Screening Room, our local movie theatre. Instead of giving you the poem’s meaning and explaining what it is trying to get at, I will let you try to figure that out yourselves.
Big Box Stores
“The only game in town”
their neon sign reads,
overshadowed by corporations,
taking over with speed.
The bookstores and coffee shops
close in favour of big box stores.
Where people do not think
beyond the deal-plastered doors.
– Sarah Hesp
It has been a while. I have not posted since last year, although it has been less than 2 months since the clock chimed 12 and 2018 began. I wanted to post something special for the New Year as I was hoping that 2018 would be special, exceeding my expectations and being a good year overall. However nothing I tried to write, or film felt right.
Inspiration often strikes me at the most inconvenient times, such as 12AM on school nights before I have to fall asleep. Similarly, last week, I started to write again and messily scribbled down some poems. I decided I liked one enough to share on here, and feel that new poetry is the best blog post to start off the new year with (ignoring the fact that I am about a month and a half late).
One Minute for a Thousand Hours
A delayed reaction
to the slip of paper,
About to be opened,
flashing to what might
You are up on stage
in front of a face-filled sea,
but all that matters is that paper
and what could be.
Once it is opened,
it is all over.
That fleeting moment on stage
is all you have to show for.
– Sarah Hesp
If you enjoyed this poem, check out my Instagram (linked here) as more writing will be popping up there soon. Until next time…
Here is my answer.
Poetry is magical.
Just a few choice words are able to paint murals in the minds of millions, taking readers on emotion-filled adventures. Poems can take ugly truths, big ideas and even mundane daily activities, turning them into something of beauty. Writers are able use words and literary devices to illustrate their ideas, requiring reading between the lines and thinking outside the box to decipher the author’s intent and message. It is able to give humans a sense of fulfillment in whatever lacking, and answers to some of life’s many mysteries.
However, more often than not, poems leave you with even more questions than when you first started reading. More mysteries than when you first opened that dust covered book on a Saturday afternoon, the papers rustling with whispers of merriment.
Recently I have not been writing that much poetry, but the other day I had a little burst of creativity and wrote whatever you would call the collection of words below me. Since it was a first time in a while that I had written something I thought I would share. Here is a bit of writing that you could probably call a poem that is very much a work-in-progress.
I see like a camera.
The little things catch your eye.
Naturally normal, borderline boring.
Then, a change in perspective.
An idea in focus.
Suddenly the leaves on the trees
are not what they are
but what they could be.
The bright wall splattered with paint is
an escape from reality.
The people walking by are not simply that,
but the stars of short stories
captured in RAW format.
A flick of a wrist,
a hint of a smile.
Red scarf in the wind,
Converse on her feet,
a look of wonder and fear
both trying to compete.
Someone’s movement and magic
captured in time,
ready to keep going
if we use our mind’s eye.