It’s Poetry Time: The Sky Beyond the Library Window

nerdfighters rules Hello Fellow BookNerds!

Exam season is upon us – or me, at least – which means less time working from my comfortable bed and more time trying to make myself comfortable in the stiff, poorly cushioned, library chairs. I take pleasure in being surrounded by books for hours on end, but I usually prefer them to be books concerning topics that I find fascinating; Advanced Calculus and Microbiology don’t exactly scream “read me, read me” to me. Although I am sure they would be fascinating to some, I must digress. 

I would like to share with you all a poem which was inspired by nothing more than the view from the fifth floor window of the university library. Why, you ask? Well, I like to think that there really is no logical rationality behind poetic expression; the reason comes from something beyond our mental comprehension. As I look at the sky through the cobweb laced window pane, something inside me demands for the beauty of what I see to be captured and preserved within a poetic connotation. Poetry is one of humanities greatest mysteries, one which we may never come to fully understand.

So, without further ado, here is a poem for your enjoyment, and possibly a window to more than just a scenic view ^_^


                                         The Sky Beyond the Library Window                                                                                                                               By Emily Manns

At first glance, I see naught but cirrus and cumulus.

Shades of white and grey.

Fluctuating specks appearing and vanishing in quick succession.

Their cries deaf to my ears.

Man made structures hindering our fiery star from reaching through those windows.

Providing light for our eyes.

Intricately weaved patterns torn into strands by the unconstrained winds.

Spiders have long since gone.

The silhouettes of students burdened by books block my view. 

I return to my studies, hoping to see that world beyond the window once again before it is stolen by the night, for no beauty can compare to the sky beyond the library window.

Just as the poem tells, I must return back to my studies. If you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, then I encourage you to let me know in the comments. If you didn’t like it, I encourage you to comment on it all the same. I like to encourage honesty, for if we cannot be honest with others, how on earth can we expect to be honest with ourselves? So comment away, and until next time, happy reading!



It’s Poetry Time!

nerdfighters rules Hello Fellow BookNerds!

I felt inspired to indulge in a little bit of poetic creativity after watching a few episodes of the anime “Glass Mask”, the story of a teenage girl who goes through many hardships, all the while striving to become the ultimate actress who will one day take on the role that her acting teacher had once made famous in her youth; The Crimson Goddess. It’s one of the stories that makes you want to cheer on the protagonist, because she is working so hard and overcoming barriers which, in real life, would appear as impossibly hurtles. In this episode, the girl is being made to spend a week living in the shoes of the character she will be performing the role of, simply to see if she has what it takes to stay in character.

This is what has inspired my inner poet, although I should remind those of you who don’t know that I am not, in any way, a poet, nor do I pretend to be good at poetry. I simply admire the art form and sometimes feel a need to use it as a means of channeling my inner creativity. Still, I hope you enjoy it ^_^


shattered-mask Shattering the Mask

I stand alone on center stage, the masses hidden within the shadows of the dazzling lights.

Whispers fade to silence, broken by the sound of blood rushing past my eardrums.

My heart is pounding within my chest, threatening to break through,

A single drop of sweat rolls down my cheek, falling silently to the floor at my feet.

The lights dim, the spotlight flickers on, and the world as I knew it disappears…

“What new evil is this which plagues our land!?”

A voice rings out from my throat, but it is not mine … whose is it?

“Never before have I had to bear witness to such devastation.”

The voice grows louder, full of passion, sadness and a seething anger … but what is the cause?

“Everything has been burned down to the very root, so that nothing may grow ever again.”

Yes, I am a poor woman whom the town sought vengeance from … but is that my true face?

It was only moments ago I had been a modern girl in high school, well off and beautiful.

Why, then, am I wearing this tattered dress and turning the burnt soil beneath my feet with a rusted old hoe?

I look out to where the audience should be, but see only wide open fields and the deep red glow of the sun just beyond the hills.

I continue to speak, the words pouring out as though the flood gate within me had been raised, yet the words were still not my own … or were they?

Perhaps that girl I thought I had been never really existed; how am I to know?

I was certain I had set foot on a stage, but the world I see bares no resemblance to the one I had known;

There is no stage…

There is no audience…

There is no spotlight above my head…

Then, the light suddenly disappears from all around me, only to come on once again and reveal the dimly lit faces I had nearly forgotten.

People are holding hands with me on either side, heads bowed low, smiling as a wave of sound erupts from all sides. 

As the curtain falls, the mask shatters, and I am me once again.


I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it. As always, any comments or critiques are welcome, but keep in mind that I write poetry simply for the joy of it, and not because I plan on making a career out of it.

That’s all for today. Until next time, happy reading!



My Poetry Corner

nerdfighters rules Hello Fellow BookNerds!

I apologize for my post arriving so late in the day. I am in the midst of a midterm study blitz, which requires isolation from any possible distractions… well, I tried. My brain was already distracting me, so I figured I might as well take a few minutes to jot something down to show that I have not forgotten about you guys.

This poem, which I literally came up with on the spot, was inspired by the talk I attended this weekend on the Reality of Man, given by Dr. Mehrdad Ehsani at both the University of Ottawa and the Baha’i Center of Ottawa. The principle concept that I gleaned from his talks was that whether it is from a scientific perspective, or a spiritual one, our existence seems to be based on the same conclusion: we do not really exist. Trust me, it’s not as scary as it sounds. I’ll be summarizing the lecture tomorrow, but for today, enjoy a little taste of my procrastinating, yet philosophical poetry ^_^


I am Nothing, Yet Everything

My fingers dance across the keys in front of me, tapping out a familiar tune.

The words blur across my vision, forming strange patterns I cannot comprehend.

I try to commit this nonsense to memory, but to no avail.

There is so much to learn, so little time to learn it in …

“Why must I memorize this?”

A voice intrudes upon my thoughts, distant yet familiar.

“What purpose will it serve?”

I continue to tap away at my keyboard, distracted by these intermittent thoughts.

“Will my life be better if I know this?”

I shake my head in frustration, the voice becoming more pronounced.

What meaning does this knowledge give to my existence?”

I push the keyboard away, sighing, sore eyes cast towards the ceiling.

“If I did not exist, would this knowledge still exist?”

Darkness looms over my eyes as they close, blocking out the world.

“If people did not exist, would anything exist?”

I feel the pull of sleep tugging at my consciousness …

When I sleep, does the world still exist …. do I exist?

We are nothingness, but within this nothingness, everything exists.

I open my eyes and returned, blurry eyed, to my computer, the voice finally silenced as I returned to reading about other people who existed, or still exist within the all encompassing nothingness that is our reality.

I hope this didn’t confuse you guys too much. Sometimes the things I write don’t even make sense to me, but connecting even the most random of thoughts into a poetic pattern helps me to refocus my brain when I’ve been studying for three days straight.

As always, I welcome any comments, questions or concerns, and until next time, happy reading!



Poetry Time!

Hello All!

As you may have noticed, I neglected to post on the weekend. With midterms coming up, and essays coming due, I don’t have as much time to post as I would like. This being the case, I have made the difficult decision to only update my blog on weekdays. If I happen to suddenly get struck by spontaneous inspiration on the weekend, and I have a spare moment to indulge myself, then I will post something on the weekend. Otherwise, I will remain in a two day hibernation cycle until the end of the semester.

Alright, with that business out of the way, let’s get to today’s topic.

I don’t know about you guys, but I thoroughly enjoyed dabbling in the poetic arts last week. In fact, I enjoyed it so much that I decided to make it a permanent weekly segment. Today, my poetic inspiration derives from the ecstasy I felt as I laid eyes upon the falling snow.


If I Was a Snowflake

I would shine and shimmer,

                  Gleam and glitter,

                               Bright like the noonday sun.

I would travel for miles,

                     Carried by the wind,

                                 Moving without a sound.

I would be entirely unique,

                       One of a kind,

                                  No one would be able to compare

I would flaunt my beauty,

                 Show off my crystalline figure,

                                  And seek out the spotlight

I would sit on people’s hats,

                              Refusing to melt,

                                          And then be on my way once more.

I would travel to London,

                                   See the sites,

                                            Dance on the pedals of a rose.

I would seek out celebrities,

                Like Benedict Cumberbatch,

                          And spend some time on his nose.

If I was a snowflake,

                 This life would be ideal,

                                  But alas it cannot be.

For the life of a snowflake is temporary,

                    Fleeting, and completely beyond my control.

                               On second though … I don’t want to be a snowflake!

Just in case any of you were wondering, I don’t tend to follow any of the conventional poetic structures. I’m a free stylist, always have been. I have nothing against structures writing, but I find that it can become kind of boring and redundant to read haiku’s and quatrains all the time, even if the content differs from one to the next. I prefer things to be more spontaneous and abstract. It also helps when it appeals to my inner nerd, hence the Benedict Cumberbatch reference.

That is all for today. If you have any comments, questions or concerns, feel free to jot them down in the comments. Enjoy the snow while it’s here, and until next time, happy reading!

Cheers 🙂

Poetry Time!

Hello All!

As I wait for my professor to resolve the technical issues that inevitably occurred this morning – I have yet to experience the entire hour and a half of this particular class – I felt compelled to write out my frustration in the hopes that I would be able to channel some of that frustration elsewhere. Now, I don’t pretend to be a poet, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the art form. People sing even when they are tone deaf, or they dance even if their feet are lacking any kind of coordination. Why? Because it’s fun! It’s just one of those things that people do, usually without cause, and being able to do it well or not does not matter in the least.

So, using my grade twelve English poetry skills, I present to you a poetic tale of a university student who tries desperately not to make a scene.

State of Flux

I sit here, butt sore from a hard chair, eyes blinded by a blue screen.I wait … and wait … and wait …

Chatter, clatter, and a vibrating phone in my pocket.

 I continue to wait … and wait … and wait a little more …

The teacher speaks, and I look up in expectancy … only to face the disappointing glow of the blue screen.

To my great displeasure, I am forced to wait yet again …

The lecture flashes briefly on the screen, igniting hope that it will finally commence!                                                                          

The moment arrives, and passes just as quickly, replaced by that glaring blue screen.

Should I continue to wait?

Apologies and excuses, after a mind numbing 30 minutes, and a slowly numbing butt.

Can I continue to wait?

The screen goes from blue, to green, to blue once more.

I’m not waiting anymore.

I open my mouth, frustration and fatigue controlling my cognitive functions.

As I prepare to protest … Oh, she has begun the lecture.

I sit back and stew in a metaphorical puddle of my unreleased anger.

I detest being in such a state of flux.

I hope that was able to give you at least a little bit of an idea of how I felt this morning. I’m the kind of person who actually smiles at the prospect of going to school everyday, so experiencing this level of frustration is a rarity in my case.

That’s all for today, and as always, happy reading!

Cheers 🙂

A Poem for Love

Hello All!

In yesterdays post, I mentioned how we needed more love in the world so that there can be less room for hate. To show you all how firmly I grasp to this idea, here is a poem that I just wrote this morning ….


Love and Be Loved

We may love our cars, our clothes, and our rings,

But no love is reciprocated by these material things.

We may feel anger, hate, pain, and sorrow,

But our loved ones will be there for us from today to tomorrow.

We may only have eyes for the evil things in life,

But there exists a beauty that goes unrivaled by this strife.

Seek out that which gives you comfort and joy,

And know that there is hope for every girl and boy.

Life may be fleeting, but love can endure.

Love and be loved.

                                                                                 – Emily Manns


There are days where it seems impossible to find a glimmer of hope for the future of humanity, but we cannot give in to such disparaging  thoughts. So long as we all have something to hold onto, something that we hold dear to our hearts, there is still hope. Perhaps these are the ramblings of a person who still holds on to the naive thinking’s of a child, but sometimes children are able to give the best insights into the world. Their hearts have yet to be tainted by prejudice and hate; they are able to see the world for what it is and not as others make it out to be. If we all thought along the same lines as the most naive among us, then perhaps the world would not be filled with so much bloodshed and tears.

I hope some of you were able to find some comfort in my words. If not, then leave your criticisms and/or opinions in the comments below. Everyone has a different perspective to offer on life, and I would be more than happy to hear them. Until next time, I send you all my love in hopes that it may bring your to a brighter tomorrow.


Macbeth Inspired Poem

This was written during our high school study of the play Macbeth, and is basically a poetic description of the battle that occurred at the end of the play between Macbeth and Macduff, where Macbeth finally met his inescapable fate. It is rather violent, so just like my horror short story, if you cannot stomach violence and gore, do not read! Otherwise, enjoy at your leisure 🙂


God of War

By Emily Manns

Blood curdling, muscles burning,

Teeth jarring, strength waning.

Horses screaming, metal sparking.

Warriors falling, children bawling. . .

War is a blood parade.


The sky does frown upon the ground with blackened clouds.

Acid tears soaked into the trampled crimson mud.

The flesh of man becoming one with that upon which they lived.

Such an appropriate end to an inappropriate beginning.

For men’s creation of violence hath doomed civilization.


Women screaming, baby’s crying,

Houses burning, flames flying.

Lightning flashing, thunder rolling,

But all to what end?


When this battle is fought and won,

Will the pain and suffering truly be done?

Shall man’s thirst for blood ever be quenched?

The power of rage and pride feed the dark beast within,

A creature we all possess, but that no one can see.

Violence brings out the worst in all of us. . .


Wind howling, stomach lurching,

Lungs cramping, wounds swelling.

Heart pounding, lips cracking,

Veins pulsing, bones breaking.

Fear overcomes all hope. . .


Macbeth wanted what his destiny denied,

It was his yearning to survive and earn enough to feed his greed.

Swords are his words, blood is his strength. . .

Death to all that defy the King of Scotland!