BizzleWrites

Australia

I'm Issy.
I'm 13 and an aspiring artist and author.
My Instagram is @Bizzledoesart : )

Message from Writer

Remember to write even if you think you are bad at it, you're not

Published Work

Pocket Poem

Love and Hate

Some say love and hate are separate 
But this I don't believe
There are no stone-hard concepts 
That from files we retrieve 
Love and hate are something else 
An abstract concept I think
Love and hate are so entwined 
That there is no brink
You can't be on the brink of love
it just doesn't follow
There is no true and even
Between love and hate
Most love to hate
Some hate to love
The are not set in stone
Love and hate 
Are not like siblings
Clearly set alone
Love and hate is more like mist
With breeze 
Together blown

Writing Streak Challenge Week 9

writing streak week 9 day 1

It is pride month in eight days, I am drawing a picture for the first day of June.

My entry for enchanted forest poem #LBC12

This forest is enchanted
I know it to be true
The trees sway 
In a beautiful way
Like dancers
Under the deep sky of blue
A kangaroo hops away
Like a spirit
Through the trees
A wombat borrow 
A secret spot
People are rare to be seen
The enchanted animals are not
A flash of blue
A sharp hard beak
A kookaburra sings from her tree
This forest is enchanted
The animals I see
A white feather
A cockatoo
It's yellow plume so bright
This forest is enchanted
I knew it from first sight 

Another covid-19 poem because I felt like it

This time is bad
For many at least
Many are sad
Covid-19's a beast
Destroying lives
Ruining things
You cannot high five
And you fill with panic
When the doorbell rings

It's okay to be sad
And it's okay to cry
Just stay as strong as you can
Or just make apple pie
Remember to connect 
Online or on the phone
Just remember there's good
Even if people are stuck at home
Animals thrive 
In places unlikely 
You can see the city
From the bridge near my house
And a good friend of mine
Made a toy mouse
So good things can happen
Even in dark
Just don't give up hope
Remember to take heart

Covid poem

Oh to go outside
How longing we are
To go live our lives
Not just from afar
How boring it is
How tremendously treacherous
To be stuck inside

To be stuck at home
However nice the home
It's only one place
How longing we are
For a familiar face

When troubles at hand
When we're stuck at home
Just remember the time
It took to build Rome
Just remember that all this
Won't seem so bad
When this is all over
So don't be so sad
Remember to talk
Even over the phone
For there are things that can be done
Even while stuck at home

Enumeration

SOme numBeRs

In my life are many numbers, these to name a few
One pet dog
Two sisters
Three best friends 
Until the end
Four best friends parents
My sister best friend and I's
I was five when I met her
Six I don't even knows
Seven at my sisters party
And eight years I've know her

The story of an orange cat

As I walk down the garden, to lounge under the picnic table, that is under the tree, I see something odd. A black and white cat sits on the picnic table already.
    Naturally I hiss and arch my back. But the stranger pays no notice, gazing intently at something behind me. I may not have much respect for this cat, but curiosity overcomes me and I turn around.
    There, on the lush lawn, beside where my owner is playing with one of those ghastly fluff-balls, is a dog.
    The dog is some sort of terrier cross and seems to be having a staring contest with our cowish friend.
    I decide that there is only one decent course of action in this sort of situation; I get the hell out of there and save myself.
    My paws pound on the stone steps as I bound down them. I can hear that...

Challenge Completed

So, one of these is not a ten second essay, I don't know if my writing streak still counts but I am doing it anyway.





I drift of to sleep, in a small cave on a tiny rocky island, lulled into a doze by the song of the rippling waves. The storm has calmed now, so, only a light wind and a sprinkling of rain remains.
    Harper turns over beside me, gripping onto me in her sleep and mumbling something about how she is not a child, not a child. 
    I am nearly asleep on the cold hard ground of the cave, but it is hard not to think to much. From what I can tell the others all fell asleep a while ago. 
    Harper's copper hair is tangled and crusted with salt from our impromptu swim. Her hands grip my shoulder and she mutters incomprehensibly. I sigh quietly and try to clear my...

One For Sorrow

I sit on the park bench, head in hands, my heart aching and body shuddering with sobs.
    You can never know how much losing a person you are close to will hurt until it happens. I haven't even lost her forever really, Lucy only moved country, but as a fourteen year-old losing her first Girlfriend it feels like she has fallen of the face of the earth
    I earn a few strange glances from passers by for my trouble, but they are all to busy in their own worlds to pay much attention to a teenager crying her heart out on a bench in the park.
    Someone walks up to me. I can see them in the corner of my eye, but I refuse to look up until they actually shake my shoulder.
    "Mia?"
    I gasp a little, someone recognizes me? Looking up I come face to face with a...

writing streak week 7 day 4

Never criticize peoples art if you do not make art, for they had the guts to make it in the first place. 

One For Sorrow

I sit on the park bench, head in hands, my heart aching and body shuddering with sobs.
    You can never know how much losing a person you are close to will hurt until it happens. I haven't even lost her forever really, Lucy only moved country, but as a fourteen year-old losing her first Girlfriend it feels like she has fallen of the face of the earth
    I earn a few strange glances from passers by for my trouble, but they are all to busy in their own worlds to pay much attention to a teenager crying her heart out on a bench in the park.
    Someone walks up to me. I can see them in the corner of my eye, but I refuse to look up until they actually shake my shoulder.
    "Mia?"
    I gasp a little, someone recognizes me? Looking up I come face to face with a...

Solidarity

Covid-19 poem, (I am not a poet but drastic times call for drastic measures)

Out the window are no people
On the streets or in the shops
Out the window are no lovers
Out of hope when all is lost
But all is not lost
All is not gone
We can 
We will 
Carry on
Send cards
Play games
We must stay together 
Even if we are apart
Our hearts connect us
Our homes protect us
Even in our darkest days 
There will be light
There will be love
Out of my window sits a dove
Living still and loving still
A magpie warbles in a tree
There is good for all to see
So stay together
Don't break apart 
For we will are still together
In our hearts  

writing streak week 8 day 3

Never end a story with 'it was all a dream'. Just don't.

Writing Streak Challenge Week 8

writing streak week 8 day 1

Art is not about knowing how to draw, it is about knowing how not to draw. 

Writing streak week 8 day 2

I drift of to sleep, in a small cave on a tiny rocky island, lulled into a doze by the song of the rippling waves. The storm has calmed now, so, only a light wind and a sprinkling of rain remains.
    Harper turns over beside me, gripping onto me in her sleep and mumbling something about how she is not a child, not a child. 
    I am nearly asleep on the cold hard ground of the cave, but it is hard not to think to much. From what I can tell the others all fell asleep a while ago. 
    Harper's copper hair is tangled and crusted with salt from our impromptu swim. Her hands grip my shoulder and she mutters incomprehensibly. I sigh quietly and try to clear my head. 
    I hear a noise outside and my senses peak, fear of the unexplained is the greatest fear of all. 
    
 ...

continuing from my short story

The rock grows closer, jutting out of the water like some obscure pirate ship.
    "Guy's, we are going to crash into the rock in ten seconds." I don't know how we intend to get home if we are shipwrecked.
    Avery counts down the time until we hit the rock. "Nine."
    I don't think I can handle this.
    "Eight. Seven. Six."
    I rush over to the others and we huddle together, bracing ourselves.
    "Five. Four. Three."
    The four of us who are sitting on deck bunch closer, if we are going to shipwreck, we are going to shipwreck together. I'm worried about Avery though. I think she is counting down so we are all prepared, but what about her?
    "Two. One!"
    The ship jerks violently as our bow collides with the underwater part of the rock.
    I wonder something, "Avery, why...

Writing Streak Challenge Week 8

writing streak week 8 day 1

Art is not about knowing how to draw, it is about knowing how not to draw.

writing streak week 7 day 6

The storm rages on, our boat becoming more and more bashed up with every gust of wind, every icy wave.
    "Well at least you tried," Ebony consoles. She is not exactly great under stress, confidant most of the time but not great under pressure.
    Harper bites her lower lip, "What should we do now?" The question sparks a tidal wave of hopelessness inside me. What should we do now? 
    Avery has worked out which way is north by the position of the sun, but it turns out while I was asleep the main sail broke at the hands of a particularly strong gust of wind, so, we are left with nothing but the spinnaker which isn't going to be enough to get us back.
    The four of us, Harper, Ebony, Krystal and me (Ruby), sit on the deck, dad and worrisome. Avery told us to sit and rest for a while, she...

writing streak week 7 day 5

The icy water seeps into my clothing, making me even more cold. 
    I force myself to open my eyes under the water. I can barely see a thing and the sea is so cold that my heart is racing.
    I trained myself to be able to hold my breath for a long time but in the sea it is hard. The sand swirls around my like the storm above. I look around and can just see the compos sinking to the seafloor. I dive down toward it using all of my strength. 
    The silence is defining. I can hear my heart and little more.
    I make a grab for the compos. I don't think I can stay under much longer. The compos brushes my hand and I clutch at it, hope surging through me despite how worn out my lungs are.
    A massive wave creates an underwater-sandstorm and I have...

writing streak week 7 day 4

The boat lurches, it's deck sways and swerves, it's wooden floorboards soaked with icy water. I don't know how long I've slept for but it's nearly dark, or is it? I glance up at the sky, shocked by its colour. It is dark grey, covered in clouds, rain pores in buckets, soaking my hair and cloths so they cling to me, sopping wet. I realize with a start that Ebony and Avery are awake. Ebony is shaking Krystal with a force almost matching that of the roaring wind. I jump to my feet to help.
    "You're awake! Go wake up Harper!"
    A very powerful gust blows and the boat almost capsizes. On the small deck the others all seem to be doing something useful, I decide to help Avery with bailing out some water that has collected on the deck. 
    Krystal shouts for once in her life, "Guy's! We must have drifted a long...

Haiku's

I have written some haiku's.

My sister makes masks
They are pretty flannelette
Masks for everyone

Ciara makes us pies
Pies with apple and pastry 
They are tasty pies 

 

writing streak week 7 day 3

The five of us walk along the pier toward our vessel. The day is clear with only a few fluffy clouds skidding across the cerulean sky. 
    "So do you think anyone will notice our absence?" queries Krystal, nudging me from my right.
    Ebony looks over her shoulder to the dock behind us, "They might, but we won't be gone for long, it will be fine." She tosses her ebony hair, and walks of down the pier toward where the others are just starting to board the boat.
    "Harper!" calls Avery, lugging our freezer bag onto the boat. "Grab the other bag and stow it away."
    Harper does as she's bid, before we now it our small 'borrowed' sailing boat is sailing round the point.
    "So here is the plan," Avery states, "We are fishing for flat-heads, we need to get around that point there," she gestures to fisherman's point, "Because...

writing streak week 7 day 2

"Who are you?" the woman with seal fur asked brushing a lock of soaking auburn hair out of her eyes.
    The man widened his eyes, "I am a human, my name is Abraham. But who are you?" 
     The woman moved her feet, splashing lake water onto the shore. She glanced down, brushing water of her seal fur cloak. The man awaited her answer in silence. a cold wind ruffled their hair, The man shivered but the woman didn't seem to mind.
    "I am a selky, my name is August, I am the mother of your child." 

The Brass Owl

An afternoon of camp activities is enough to wear anyone out. Archery, canoeing, wheelbarrow races, it gets tiring. So, I am extremely pleased to be given a half-hour of free time. 
    As I walk into the cabin that I share with Elizabeth and Marlene I glance up and check that The Brass Owl hasn't moved. It's a strange thing, I first spotted it on our second day of camp, I could have sworn that is wasn't there the first day yet here is is. When Elizabeth and I first saw it we thought is was real, before realizing is was only a brass statue, still, I'm sure it moved it's head.
    Inside the cabin Marlene is already here, lying on the bed reading. She looks up, "Hey, has it moved?"
    "Nope, still sitting being creepy."                                                                                                                
    "Alright, well tell me if it moves," she says in mock seriousness.                                            
    Elizabeth walks in...

Five Line Fiction

chocolate biscuits

The cat settles in my lap. Lavender smiles sincerely at me, from across the picnic rug.
    "You know, Foxy seems to really love you." She gestures to the silver cat curled comfy in my lap. My heart warms, the sunshine floats down through the dappled shade, chocolate biscuit crumbs litter the pink checked fabric beneath us.     Lavender reaches out and touches my hand softly, clasping it in her own. maybe there is hope for us after all. 

Open Prompt

Elizabeth's Travels

I walk into the kitchen, my skirts brushing on the narrow door frame. The kitchen is small, just large enough for me and two other cooks to bake the bread, prepare the tea and cook the meat.                                                                           
    "Mr Addington wishes to see you Mam," Carol says, biting her lip.                                  
    "But there is bread to be made, I shall not leave you and Dorothy to do it on your own."        
    "We can manage Mam, he was very specific that you must come today."   
    Despite a rather uneasy feeling about this I walk down the staircase, towards the west wing where Mr Addington's study is located.           
    "You wanted to see me Sir?" I bow.
    "Yes, I have become rather distressed by the, er, rodent problem."                                                                              
    "Do you wish me to let one of the terriers loose again Sir?"                                                                                        
A minute smile noticeable on his face, the man...

Names, Names, Names

Names of things

A breakfast joint: Williams Wacky Waffles 
A new smartphone: Blueberry I-Phone 
An eyeglasses store: So you wanna look like Harry Potter
A dog pound: Lily's no-kill shelter; from Labs to Lakeland Terriers 
A highway: On the beaten track Highway
An island resort: Zeus's Island Paradise 
A new constellation: The Cartoon Dog
A pet polar bear: Lemonade 
A nail polish color: Pond-Slime Green
A new butterfly species: The Round-Bellied Green Butcher

One Day

Frida Kahlo Day

Frida Kahlo Day would fall on the sixth of July, which is Frida's birthday.

The day would be about making the best of any situation, it would be about art as well.

Frida Kahlo day would be a time to celebrate what Frida brought to the world, and how a bad thing can inspire good. On Frida Kahlo day families and friends would do activities such as learning to paint, because anyone can if they try.

The last important thing to acknowledge is that Frida's uni-brow was a symbol of how being different is a good thing, and that you should never be afraid to be yourself.

over all Frida Khalo Day would be a time to celebrate what you love most.

Open Prompt

Elizabeth's Travels

I walk into the kitchen, my skirts brushing on the narrow door frame. The kitchen is small, just large enough for me and two other cooks to bake the bread, prepare the tea and cook the meat.                                                                           
    "Mr Addington wishes to see you Mam," Carol says, biting her lip.                                  
    "But there is bread to be made, I shall not leave you and Dorothy to do it on your own."        
    "We can manage Mam, he was very specific that you must come today."   
    Despite a rather uneasy feeling about this I walk down the staircase, towards the west wing where Mr Addington's study is located.           
    "You wanted to see me Sir?" I bow.
    "Yes, I have become rather distressed by the, er, rodent problem."                                                                              
    "Do you wish me to let one of the terriers loose again Sir?"                                                                                        
A minute smile noticeable on his face, the man...

Writing Streak Challenge Week 7

writing streak week 7 day 1

The city buzzes with energy, it's buildings and lights taking on a life of their own with every car, every person excitedly chatting, every street lamp lighting up the Melbourne night sky almost as bright as daylight.                                         
    My phone buzzes, it's familiar tune lighting a spark in my heart at the thought that Layla might have responded this quickly. I glance down, flooding with disappointment, it's only Mum, telling me to be back to the hotel soon.                   
      For a girl from the country side of England, holidaying in Melbourne, I am already getting good at navigating this city. It's the opposite of that old song; the streetlamps don't beat a fatalistic warning, they beat with the heartbeat of the city, pulsing with life excitement and the never-stopping feeling that something amazing could happen, despite the fact that unless you count accidentally letting thirty cattle out of our neighbors farm, nothing that interesting ever happens to me. ...