Tag: revision

Freehand Poem #4: BLOOD (Revision)

Alina H. Hansen Writer & Poet

Free Hand #4 (version one)

The blood that seeps into

Cracks and crevices of rock and stone.

Tile, carpet, wood. Painting painting

Painting the night with a sweetest, irony

Scent. Touch the edge, smear the finger tips.

Rouge the red, on the bathroom floor.

Parts of you, parts of us all, in the blood

On the floor.

(revision)

BLOOD

The blood that seeps into,

the mouth, the cracks and crevices. The rock

and stone, tile, carpet, wood, the back of

the throat. Painting, painting, pain-

-ting the night with a sweet irony scent. Touch,

the edge, smear the finger-

tips, rouge red on the bathroom floor. Parts

of you, parts of us all, in the blood.

 

If you’re reading this Thank You for taking time out of your day to read my writing. I hope you return in the future!

-Alina

Short Story: A Revision of “The Door Part 2”

Alina H. Hansen Writer & Poet

Working on ‘The Door’, this is a revision. I want to show my readers my creative process; what I edit, delete, move or expand. I would also love to develop this short story into something a little larger.

ORIGINAL POST

It swings open slowly.The house is empty and the creaks keep her awake at night. It opens and there is only darkness beyond.During the day, the tea kettle screams. She takes it off the burner, pouring the hot water into a cup, tea bag floating to the top. The groan of the floorboards under weight, echoes from down the hall, she is still and waits, will it shut or open? The door lets in or keeps out, the darkness just beyond. 

Revision (Part #2?)

The house is empty, except for she. She lives there with the mold, the warped wood and ruffled roof. At night creaks echo through the house keeping her awake. The sun peaks into the room, a window cracked open, and her eyelids finally close. It swings open slowly. It opens and there is only darkness beyond. The groan of the floorboards under weight, the shadow creeping closer and closer towards She, towards the morning light. Eyelids open. There is nothing but sun.

The tea kettle screams. She takes it off the burner, pouring the hot water into a cup, tea floats to the top. Pull the string, the bag jolts, up-down up-down, the color swirls to life. She is tired. She does not hesitate, she gulps down half the cup. She lets the hot drink sear her mouth.

If you are reading this Thank You for taking time out of your day to read my writing! I hope you return in the future!

-Alina