Poetic Warriors

I fight with the believers, the everyday creative writers,
who crave poetry’s immortality
and who set word bombs that explode every
time readers read them throughout the centuries.
Listen to the echoes of the booming–
the booms and the booms of millions
of warriors who disintegrate
within whispered heartbeats.
Listen to the echoes of word corpses–
the damaged meanings buried deep within us,
the writers and the readers.
Together we raise a flag of black and white.
We are fearless in our fight
for poetic freedom.

Gray Humility

When I walk the gray sidewalks

with no make-up on, tangled hair,

and cheap sandals

I want to remain faithful to humility.

I don’t need to carry anything of value.

No ring. Nothing flashy.

I just want people to notice my gray blur

and to forget me or faintly remember me.

I want to remain the gray-scale outlines.

Let others color me in

their sadness, their longing, their purpose.

 

Thanks for reading!

Love, 

Andrea (Andy Agua)

I’m really loving this poem :)

On the dentist, following your heart, old journals, and “writer’s self-doubt”

Dear World,

It’s time for me to go to sleep but I’m waiting until it’s time for me to take my antibiotic. It’s sad how I waited so long to go back to the dentist because my teeth are not in a good shape, but hey at least I braved up and went today. Anyway, I’ve been trying to simplify this blog and just overall trying to make it look better.

One of the issues I’ve been grappling with lately is that of following my heart versus doing what someone else thinks is best for me. I don’t want to go into specifics. I just want to say that it bothers me. It bothers me so much that we set up standards and dreams for others instead of letting them be. It bothers me that people want to do what is expected. Deep in my heart I know myself. I know what I need and no one is going to tell me what they think I need. No one knows what is best for me. Haha. This may look like a tantrum, but I’m speaking from my heart. I’m speaking from my inner fire, the one that knows, that has that intuition and who can decide for herself. Well, I’m probably going to end up writing a poem about this. 

Earlier I went through my old personal and poetry journals and to be honest my intention was to throw them away but I can’t. I just can’t seem to rip of the pages and get rid of them. Something in me just said it is not the time to get rid of them yet. And I just wonder when will be the right time. Will the right time come after I learn something from my journals?

I’ve also been dealing with something that I don’t entirely want to call “writer’s block”, it’s more like “writer’s self-doubt.” But I found the cure for my self-doubt. Instead of telling myself that I might run out of writing ideas I’m just going to use one word to inspire me to write. I have been posting poems on Instagram and I participated in the word challenge where I use the word of a day to write a poem. And tah-dah! Works wonders. So call this a simple lesson. I love simple lessons that lead to major impacts. 

Thanks for reading!

Love,

Andrea

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Self-enhancing Sophistication

Wake up without any plans in mind.

Wash my sandy, dreamy face—contour

ablaze. Dress my body in exotic,

patterned material. Conspicuous.

Sit in front of a nice wooden desk

with a cup of something strong nearby.

Surrounded by a cloud of worldly

and thoughtful inner expressions.

This is my self-enhancing sophistication.

I reread and rewrite with freedom

and when I’m done I look as if I

can read something better. I know I

can write something better. Create more

sophisticated dauntless expressions.

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On worldsuck, reading The Great Gatsby, and the invasion of my tiny garden

Dear World,

I haven’t felt like posting lately, but I keep coming back because I’m taking the next year off from school and I need to continue writing. I posted an essay on an O’Connor short story earlier this month. You see, I really enjoy writing but sometimes I get lost in the “worldsuckiness” as John Green puts it and I “forget to be awesome”. I really don’t mean to do that, it’s just that as I get older I seem to lose track of my dreams and I don’t want to lose track of them. I also think that as I gained followers here on WordPress I began to need some sort of acceptance from you for my writing. But I forget that this blog is actually a platform of freedom in which I share what I want to share without limitations. And I also realize that if you are following this blog it is because you like the content, so I know you are probably thinking that there’s really nothing I should worry about and I’m going to stop worrying.

I’ve been reading The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald. This book takes place in the roaring twenties and simply is about a man, Jay Gatsby who is trying to regain the woman he fell in love with when he was young. He does this by establishing wealth and by trying to impress and accommodate his lover, Daisy. It’s much more intricate than this, and I won’t go into details because this is just a blog post and not a book review. Anyway, I am really enjoying this book. It has the perfect chapter and page length. What impresses me most about his book is that I’m not overwhelmed with details. I want to rent the most recent Gatsby movie on Redbox, but I keep telling myself that I will do that as soon as I finish reading the book. I don’t know if it is just me but I have already seen the movie and I might be blinded with the elegant and graceful quality of the movie that I’m not finding faults in the book. I absolutely adored the movie’s soundtrack, the costumes, the performances, etc. People usually find Gatsby’s repetition of “old sport” annoying but I don’t. Not really. The characters are also arrogant and that has not made me like the book less. Maybe I’m just blinded by what I think is a beautiful movie.

On another note, a few days ago I found an invasion of one of my baby zinnia pots. I think one or some of the neighboring children cut them but I’m not quite sure. My other pots were left untouched. These other zinnias seem to want to dry out and so as I mentioned earlier this put me more in a funk because I haven’t gardened in a few years and seeing those zinnias bloom is a special dream of mine. My mom told me that I once cut flowers from my grandma’s flower pots and that my grandma told her not to chasten me. I wasn’t mad or anything that a child or children might have rip of the baby plants, but I was disappointed. I just put more seed in the pot and added dirt. I guess.. to tie this all up, I am the type of person that doesn’t give up. Sometimes I forget that and sink low and don’t write, but I promise I will write more often.

Love,

Andrea

 

Also, if you would like me to check out your blog please leave a comment. I really enjoy learning and reading the most random stuff. If there’s a post in particular that you’d like me to read send it my way. As always, thanks for reading!

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Pristine Love | Poem by Andy Agua

The old man has alert eyes.

His glasses are prepared for fine print.

 

An African-American girl plays hopscotch.

She giggles while she hops.

 

Gray birds sit on top of a red wood fence.

They flutter and flaunt their royalty.

 

We sit on the porch; We share kisses.

City dwellers walk past our slanted heads.

 

Thanks for reading!

Love,

Andrea