Articles written by Sufjan Simone

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About me - Sufjan Simone

30 January 2011

Sufjan Simone is my pen name on this site. If you'd like to know more about me and where my mind goes then visit www.matangmanok.wordpress.com.

This is a big year for me since two poetry books of mine are coming out: Alien to Any

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Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: A day at the beach: 16 of 195

Gulls scythe the skies with their wings and cries Mad from endless journeys on ceaseless seas. Wind whips sand against my face, my hands. Intent on touching waters cold, I go alone, bold. Not everyone is born with a silver spoon. And this is what remains of my numbered days. Bad weather, landscape so lonely, but I do not buc...
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Difficult people: 14 of 135

TWICE BLESSED OR TWICE CURSED? Six years is a lifetime in the clear eyes of the young. Memory begins at half that, and before, we are told, is but a vast white world of forgetting. We had been warned to expect limits to be tested, but nothing can prepare you for the unknown. Each birth is unique, delivered without a manual. ...
Arts & Humanities > Thoughts on Writing Writer's block is only an illusion: 4 of 27

If writer's block is an illusion, how come so many have experienced it? Writer's block is seen by others as an excuse for the loss of creativity. I see it as a case of being unable to find your own way. The illusion is actually the feeling of being lost. I hated Math as a kid. The only time I remember enjoying it was when I ...
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Being overwhelmed: 24 of 149

UNBOUND Far easier to cover your ears in a forest brimming with voices of birds than to seek the one song that will bring you calm. Lose your way, be drowned by sound. Randomness becomes a pattern all its own. Know there are paths Waiting to be found. Close your eyes. Breathe in that thick air and learn to release. Your foot...
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Separation: 45 of 198

In Transit This is such a small room for the money I'm bleeding. Made smaller by the TV on the table, a personal safe, and a fridge that comes up to my knees stocked with drinks beyond my reach. The bed is adequate for someone my size. But it seems as immense as a body of water crossed in darkness. The clock on the table has...
Politics, News & Issues > News (Other) How media controls the presentation of "truth" by what they do and don't show: 2 of 7

Magicians and Bunnies in the Newsroom Magicians are in a trade. They satisfy an audience's craving for the fantastic, the impossible, the breathtaking. They know the best contraptions to use, the best colours of smoke to release, the slightest gesture to reveal and conceal at the precise moment. They suck you in a narrative ...
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Life: 348 of 1104

Yesterday's Nail Yesterday I stepped on a piece of clipped nail. Mine or my wife's? Or from someone else who used to live here on the fourth floor? A nail curved like the moon, sharp like noonday sun, and as silent. It could easily blind a staring eye. For a moment it stuck as if it were clinging for life to the lines of my ...
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Childhood dreams: 10 of 26

Butterflies on Fire for M. L. We're setting butterflies on fire, the ghost of a long lost childhood friend and I. Our fingers are phosphorescent and sad, like matchsticks before the spark. So much for things of the past. I look at her smile, cold white flame flickering. On her shoulder, an abstract of a bird from the last ga...
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Moving on: 109 of 275

Farewell at Yang Guan after the music of Bian Liu Nian The wooden gate is wide open but the fog has not yet touched this last moment, our feet side by side, brother. In utter stillness the roof vanishes from our parents' house. A few more seconds and this world we grew up in will be no more than a garden as narrow as our emb...
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: War: 197 of 494

When it Gets Easier to Pull the Trigger Your Shadow Becomes Mine I volunteer to kill who could have been my brother my sister my father my mother my child Tell me what's inside such a heart?