The great Sultan Mahmūd of Ghaza is reborn through me. I shall continue the lineage through conquest and feats.
First I shall conquer my provinces dining hall...Big Mikey’s Burger shack. I sent an envoy earlier this week, my offer of peaceful domination was declined.
So we mount archers in the morning. Place battlements at lunch and attack in the afternoon. Many lives will be shed, it will all be worth it though the first bounty in a line of many.
Dear loyalists. The battle did not go as expected. We had captured the hold and staked our claim. However we did not account for the arrival of a retaliation party known as the ‘police’. Our armour was no match for their ‘guns’. We lost many good men.
Now I am held in their keeps dungeon. I must endure for the sake of my bloodline. I must live.
At the Green Ocean’s Navel
I wonder what place he has
in fish folk-lore,
he who was thrown back in.
They see him swimming around
with a gash in his cheek;
crusted, where the hook tore.
He is somewhat estranged from
the school — it goes without saying
not to talk of the sky.
But every young fishling wonders
what it was like;
what he saw as he choked for air.
Every young fishling almost wishes
it was them.
Title: At the Green Ocean’s Navel
Genre: Free verse
Age range: Any
Word count: 75 words
Author name: Charlie Williams
Why my project is a good fit: This poem is easily accessible but carries a good deal of symbolic meaning for the deep thinking reader.
The hook: I think the hook is in the ending, repeating the word almost will have the reader wondering about the poem after reading.
Synopsis: The poem takes the interesting and hitherto unexplored concept of the fish who was thrown back into the water prior to catching, using it as a metaphor for people in life that have had scarring or traumatic experiences. The other fish (or people) see the victim swimming around, and partly long for an experience that sets them apart from their peers, but not quite. They are not truly willing to go through so hard a journey for a relatively insignificant glory or recognition.
Target audience: sufferers of trauma, poetry lovers, philosophical thinkers
Bio: I’m a twenty year old poet from Sydney who has only started seriously writing in 2020. I have been reading much poetry this year and am currently compiling an anthology, as well as my own first collection of poems.
Platform: I have shared poems on instagram under the name poetoffpaper, as well as owning accounts on Prose and Allpoetry. Otherwise I have been largely undiscovered, and am hoping for a chance to break through!
Education: I am currently halfway through a Psychology and Primary Education degree at Macquarie University, Sydney.
Experience: Inexperienced, but passionate about poetry.
Personality/writing style: I’m optimistic and curious, but also slightly anxious. My writing style is mainly free flowing and attempts to pack ideas into accessible verse. My main influencers range from Ted Kooser, Jack Underwood, Walt Whitman, Les Murray to many other poets.
Likes/hobbies: I like running and reading, going to the beach and learning. I find poetry often comes to me freely when I am in nature. I also love a beer.
Hometown: Northern Beaches, Sydney.
Age: 20 (November 14, 1999).
There comes a time when, after searching within yourself, you find nothing.
There are times when, despite the astounding possibilities available to you — and perhaps because of them — you find yourself empty.
No desires, no motivation, no inspiration.
I find myself here often. Itching to create masterful and cohesive art and writing, but falling short. Not knowing how, not convinced of my ability. Finding myself flailing, apathetic, tired.
Despite doing nothing, I am so tired.
I am overcome by contrasting desires to both become more because I am at present useless and wasting away, and become content because I have enough as it is.
And, in attempting to reconcile these opposing voices in my mind, I shut it down.
At present, I am neither motivated nor content.
I exist in a plane where there is nothing. My thoughts, usually colorful, diffuse into blacks and whites, and my eyes would rather stay shut than find the energy to open.
In this plane, I am weak.
But I am not worthless.
If you find yourself searching within yourself only to find there's nothing inside — if you find yourself blinking into that colorless void — then you are not alone.
You. I. We.
We despair, we mourn, we fade. In moments, we are lost and purposeless and lonely.
And we are allowed to be.
To those who suffer and are not heard,
To those who long for love they think they don't deserve,
To those who wish for sleep despite being awake,
To all those who live in a motionless, monochrome world:
You are no less than anyone else on this turbulent journey of life.
So many of us live with demons, even if they exist only within our own minds.
Invisible hardships do not make them unconquerable.
Feeling lonely does not make us alone.
Feeling helpless does not mean the end.
There is talent and life and beauty burning in every soul.
Your own, my own.
Be willing to find it.
Even if it takes all your strength, all your time, all your energy and willpower.
You don't have to give up.
You are worth the time to be found.
And once you find yourself — it could take days, months, years — when you find yourself, take the time to find others.
Because sometimes they're standing there, motionless, searching inside themselves for something they can't find.