Novel & Cerita Poem On Daily Life

“But I’m having writer’s block at the moment and can’t think of anything.” “Why don’t you write about Addy’s new job?” Shea asked, biting into her bagel. Brooklyn looked thoughtful, then looked at Addy and asked, “Would you mind if I did? It might give you some exposure for the future, too.” Addy nodded, finishing her coffee. “Sure,” she said, standing up. “Let me know if you need anything, but unlike the two of you, I’ve got to get to work. Luckily, I’m only working half a day.”

wouldn't hurt. I may sound pessimistic, but I like to call it realism. Many people come daily with the best words of encouragement anyone could hear, before those words brought me hope, now? Frustration, disappointment, annoyance and sadness. I feel the pressure on my shoulders as if it were my duty to stay alive when the disease gradually degenerates without being able to do anything about it other than follow the treatment to the letter and wait patiently for it to work, and in many cases not even a strictly regimented treatment can ever work.

Once upon a time, there was a meaningless life waiting to be lived. Once upon a time, there was a meaningless life waiting to be cherished, because that is a life for, isn’t it? What about those people who spend their lives complaining about the things they had and they don’t have? What about that life that was given to them to be lived as they pleased but preferred to look into other people’s lives to see what theirs are lacking?

Fast. The clacking of the keyboard and the overflowing ideas were typed on the white surface, the black letters vividly seen on the screen. Then the music matched the words and the feelings. I smiled at the words I put on, accurately matching the lyrics of the song. “If ganito lang din buhay ko, edi sana ayos lang ako” I smiled while looking at the screen.

More through ordinary Octobers, in fact. Because most of the time was ordinary. Most of the path was not the threshold. Most of it was the road between thresholds. And the road was not lesser than the threshold. The road was where the real living happened. Where the fire actually tended itself. Where the conditions actually built. One ordinary day at a time. I got up. The October morning continuing outside.

She spoke about partnership and creativity and building a life that honored both people's authentic selves. Then it was my turn to read. I stepped forward, holding the small book of Mary Oliver poems. "Miguel asked me to read 'The Summer Day' by Mary Oliver. It is a poem about attention. About choosing how we live deliberately instead of letting life happen to us." I read the poem slowly, letting the words settle. *"Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?"* When I finished, I looked at Miguel and Diana. They were holding hands, both crying, clearly understanding what the poem was asking them.

I let the question hang in the air until it felt heavy. Then I chuckled bitterly, my chest aching as memories of my complicated life with Henry surged through my mind. I swallowed the tears threatening to choke me and said into the microphone, “No, it’s not worth it.” "There’s no such thing as normal life. There’s only the life you choose, and the life that’s forced on you. Money doesn’t make you lonely. Poverty doesn’t make you happy. Those are just illusions we create to comfort ourselves.” Murmurs of agreement rose among the crowd.

Maybe it was then that I developed my abnormalities, but at such a tender age how could I have imagined? So, was I just an abnormal girl leading a normal life? I sat back, legs propped up on my centre table, lazing in my living room with the TV on but not watching anything. Reflection usually led to writing, but I hadn’t been writing much lately. Truth is, I think I am lacking in the inspiration category. I was tired of starting poems and not being able to finish them. When I think about it, maybe my life has gone to normal, so normal it might be considered boring. Routine: go to work, come home, straight to bed if I had a heavy lunch, if not, stop at The Tasty Place’s, read and munch on wha

Diving into a pool full of horse shit is way better than having memories of someone you never made up with. Life is a fucking whore, but it never gives you a good fuck. Anyways, let’s begin today’s confession. LIFE IS HARD THEN YOU DIE THEN THEY THROW DIRT IN YOUR FACE THEN THE WORMS EAT YOU BE GRATEFUL IT HAPPENS IN THAT ORDER  DAVID GERROLD

I loved them. I kept walking. It seemed like I had walked 10 miles. I stopped, hearing noises in the distance. I listened as hard as I could, and there it was. It was the sound of people talking. “Today was another dreadful day at the farm.” “Did you not get as much food from the harvest as you had hoped?” “No, and we needed the food. The queen does not give us much. We depend on these crops to survive.” “Our queen and king need to be replaced.”