SCRITTURA CREATIVA elaborazione progettuale Prof.ssa F. Mauro
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SCRITTURA CREATIVAelaborazione progettuale Prof.ssa F. Mauro
Theme: And time goes by. I see trees of green, red roses too,()I see skies of blue and clouds of white, the bright blessed day, the dark sacred night () I see friends shakin hands, saying: How do you do!" They re really sayin I love you. And I think to myself What a wonderful world. ..Just the words of an old song or the future I want for me?
I Premio VBs: Belluomo AlessiaPoesia: Ravenous Beasts
I Premio IIICc: Di Senna NataliaProsa: A pocket full of colours
II Premio VFs: Domizio CiroPoesia: Building certainties
II Premio VCs: Arena AlessandroProsa: The pilgrimage of a young prophet
Ravenous beastsCorrupting the glorious nature,Reckless we proceedBlind we pursue fleeting joysAnd banish all our friends,Eager to gain pleasure as if we will not endLeave this blindness!See the truth!In the lush fields under the starsAdmire the infinite beauty of the worldSeek for love in the clouds,Seize the wings of freedom And merge your soul with the Universe
A pocket full of coloursWhen I was just a little girl I heard them say Dont let it slip away, this sunrise, this sun, this moment. I didnt realize at all what they said until my heart felt empty for the first time. Do you know what its liketo feel empty? The sky is not the sky anymore; the world, what is the world? Its just a place somewhere. Your name, whats that? Its just a mixture of letters. I had a lot of colours in my pocket ,I got them in every place Ive been: happiness, loneliness, fear, safety, family. I was so proud of them, because they kept me alive. But then the sun faded away and I lost them. It happened when I left something unsaid, when I looked myself in the eyes and I didnt see him. I lost the battle, but then I am, screaming at the top of my lungs, like no ones hearing. Does this make me alive? I dont want to be alive. A lot of people think that breathing is enough: well, its not for me. A bird can be happy of flying continuously, the sun can be okay with shining over everything everyday, but medo I just want to breathe? Thats why I feel empty, I see missing chances, wasting lights, broken mirrors. I dont want to be alive: I want to live. I dream of Paris in the rain and London in the sun, when Naples will be calm. Second chances, eternal smiles, free hugs. Then I see nature pure perfection- and I say to myself: This is real. This is possible. How can you just ignore it? I see a wonderful world out there. Sometimes I just feel like McCandless: I wish I had his courage and straight to leave this all behind. Dear Santa, I want that for Christmas, this year I write every year. But hes not going to satisfy my desire.Have you ever felt empty? I have. And it sucks. But theres a sort of irony in life: you feel empty, youve lost your colours but thats the moment you feel youre living the most, because every part of your soul says I want my colours back!. Thats the future I want for me: red roses, blue skies , green trees. I want my colours back. -Dont let it go.-What?- This life. Let me tell you something.Ive lost myself hundreds of times, and Im going to lose my mind again and again. But that wont stop me from getting my colours back, everytime. Search for your colours. They might not be the shinest ones, but theyre yours. Look for your colours: in your mothers wet eyes, when shes crying because she doesnt know how to carry on, in the drunk man sat at the corner with a battle of whiskey in his hands, ready to get drunk all over again. Find a colour for the beautiful smell of a new book. Create a new colour, made of yellow and green for the amazing sensation that you feel when youre about to leave for un unknown place. Paint it black, when youre alone and you dont have anyone. When you fall in love, get your hands dirty of passionate red, ready to paint your heart. Take the seas blue for the moment in which you realize you can do it, when you see your true potential.Losing you colour is beautiful, because everytime you search for them you find yourself too. Ive learned how to let it go, my skin is full of scars. Time goes by. Im healing, still hurting. Dreaming of a wonderful world, where no colour could be lost, it gives me hope. Breathe, even when you cant, when the air is nothing but dirty and unsafe. Breathe. It makes you alive, and sooner or later youll learn to live too.
I don't see trees of green,I don't see red roses tooand skies of blue are really a dream for me.Life is full of uncertainties,not always sounds sweet melodies.Many people think I'm pessimistic,but they don't know how I'm realistic.I don't want to sleep today,Can I try to run away?No, this is not a solution for me,my future is the greatest uncertainty of this short lifeand I have to build it, to build it in this time.
The pilgrimage of a young prophet
The clock-alarm rang three times in the room, hitting the wall and his head. Hunter sat on one side of the bed. He was quiet dazed and confused.Ill hardly forget what happend last time.Pieces of broken memoirs came slowly out from the fog of time.The moon was shining high in the sky, enlighting the earth and his eyes. Lying under a tree, Hunter was watching the ocean of stars beside his head. The frame of thoughts soon became dust, flowing between the fingers, flying throughout the wild breeze.He watchd the lighthouse in the deep sky, wondering what there was on the dark side. She sudden tinged of a bloody red, when the sun raise over his shoulder.The chough of the crow echoed all around. Shiver on his back, presage of death.And the clock three times rang again.Hunter woke up then, nay face he saw in the mirror reflex. He wore his clothes, and his hat.Goodbye dear mother-He said, like the ancient mariners.Watch yourself, honey, dont be late.And he felt strange that day, something wrong was going to happen.A carpet of fog was covering the city. He could not see the deep blue sky, the long skyscrapers covered it now. The moment slackly ticked away, Hunter lonely wandered in an off-hand way, waiting for someone or something to show him the path.He ran for hundred of miles, he made it to the desert, his foot treaded on the hot sand of his soul. No voice around, the roaring monster cars were far away. A dead tree was all he saw, shaking his arms blowed by the wind. Hunter was lost in his own dry wilderness. Again he wandered round aimlessly.I hope Ill find the way.Was time passing? Or hath is blocked now?The sun was burning hot. Hunter arrived to the ocean, he was desperate and wanted to leave.The crazy diamond shone on the sea, drops of stars floated on the water and showed him the right way.So good to see you, Ive missed you so much. Thus glad its over, so happy you showed me the way.Then a wave suddenly came, hit Hunters jaw, delivering him long wings, destroying the roots on his feet. He walked on that blue floor and high he flew on the horizon. He watchd the depth of universe and his white holes. He saw the whole world like no one has never done and decided to come back and share the key to the lock of the chains he saw everywhere.The sea was as calm as a millpond, he spotted his face over the reflex shore.Then passed the desert back again and found the tree he has already seen. Red flowers were growing on his arms, singing armonies of joy and love. He ran awry from that place out of time and arrived to the jungle where serpents of smoke crawled between the clouds.Hunter went in a noisy crowd, where empty people were walking watching their feet.In the center of a square he started to shout:Ive travelled in myself for a long time and found that life is just a ride! I found that life is but a dream, Ive walked in my own confused and insecure delusions.Sweat was dripping from his head, he was afraid and excited.Free yourself from that chains, which tie you all at preconcepts. The world will be saved just when youll realize youll just need ourselves. No money, no jobs, no effords. Let our inner universes clash together and well explore space together, both inner and outer, for ever, in peace.No one heard him, people were still walking around, watching the ground.And the crow sang again his dark melody, presage of death. Then Hunter was stripped and stabbed by faceless man coming from nowhere.Time has gone by since then, Hunters voice was killd again and again.But sometimes is seen a strange spot in the sky, a human being who was given fly and he shows the right path to people who still watch the sun and the moon.
A.S.2010-2011Theme: To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, thats all.(O.Wilde)
I Premio VBs: Tortora Anna Maria Poesia:A birds life is a wonderful thing
II Premio VBs: Laino Daniele Prosa: Rush of Love
II Premio VDs: Romanetti Claudia prosa e poesia: A life to be lived
A birds life is a wonderful thing
What do you think we exist for?,a bird asked with great fervor.Maybe, another bird answered, to improve and encourage human souls,their sensibility can appreciate the enchanting singing of the airs fowls.So we dont simply exist, I suppose;our existence is aimed at a precise purpose:doing for other something beautifuland, sometimes, even useful.Even if so useless I usually feel,And I realize for nothing I live!Everyday on different window-sills I perch,And I never find a living person in my research.Some people in fact watch me indifferently,And take a break from their task, just momently;Then they resume their activity,And never watch me again, with great antipathy.By my singing others seem to be bored:They drive me out, completely annoyed;Then others the window rapidly close:Shut up, shut up!", they repeat, they impose!But how is that possible?!", the other bird exclaimed,A