Your Creativity

black_magnolia wrote:

Zilknitha wrote:

Tatoo design i came up with durring the dark hours. It is currently sitting in one of my drawing module sketchbooks for collage. Any useful tips appeciated

I love the design! and it's perfect as it is, wouldn't change one bit of it.

That's really pretty! ^.^ I love it as it is.

That drawing would make a very good tattoo! Love it!

I'm curious..What program did you draw it on? Or was it drawn on paper/scanned in/computer edited to define the lines? The lines look really neat.

raidohaglaz wrote:

Oh, great art! And a wonderful website, too.

I like the use of alliteration, knumpcy. Could you give us some explanation about the poem? I have a little trouble seeing through some of the metaphors, since English isn't my first language.

This was written on the 11th of March and I really can't remember what brought forth this poem, except it was my first week living in Michigan and I could have just been sitting here watching a film or something on the tele that brought this about. Then again that is how most of my works come about.

This is a short story we had to throw together in ten minutes for my Writer's Association.

Whistling Man By S.L.Simpson

I never knew where he went or what he did, but I always wondered about the Whistling Man. You would hear his cane click on the sidewalk and a faintly whistled tune float through the air, but when you finally got to your window to catch a glimpse, he was gone.
Most of the kids of Tunney wondered if he was a murderer or someone equally heinous, but in all actuality we never knew. I decided it was up to me to find out when good people in our town started disappearing and then showing up dead.
Meg and I would normally be playing in my tree house about now, since it wasn’t long after school was released, but I was over in the bushes scoping out the Whistling Man’s front door.
It was the only broken down house on the block shrouded with dead lawn and a withered old maple in the front yard, it didn’t make it easy for my butt to hide, but being a small sneaky kid helped.
“Whatcha doing?”
I started to screamed, but a baseball glove covered my mouth. Meg always got the best of me since I learned all my sneakiness from her. I pushed the glove away with too much force and I had to push her upright.
“I was trying to see what the Whistling Man was up to.” I hissed in her ear. “Mayor Ford died yesterday and they said he was perfectly healthy. He just up and choked on a chicken bone. I think it’s his fault.” I thumbed at the house and Meg’s eyes went wide and her mouth made a small little O.
Meg tried to hide behind me when the door swung open. I stared intently on the Whistling Man’s face, but couldn’t make anything out in the afternoon sun glaring conveniently in my eyes. Even though he paused, the whistling started ever so faintly and the clicking of the cane proceeded.
We backed away slowly and double backed to the alley to follow him. Meg pulled on my red tee shirt, but I ignored her and pressed on.
“I want to go home and eat dinner.” I smiled at her whining, but shook my head.
“You don’t want to choke on chicken bones.”
She punched me, but we pressed on.
I heard the scream through the trees before I noticed the whistling stopped in front of Mrs. Garner’s house. Her husband had serious heart problems, but it wasn’t him that died. It was my piano teacher for the last five years. She was so sweet, but I couldn’t figure why she would have died at all. By the time I made it down the long street with Meg crying, we were too late, and I saw the coroner wheel her away.
The tan coat caught the corner of my eye going up Johnson’s street. Meg stayed with Mr. Garner and I headed off to catch the Whistling Man.
I knew it was foolish, but my house was on that street. I had to make sure that my family was alright. He didn’t even turn around to look at me when I made it up to the top of the hill.
I crept closer and saw myself playing basketball in my driveway.
The screams were my own, but they were not coming from my mouth. They were coming from my other self.
It can’t be.
I watched the Whistling Man kill me with just a look. Across the yard I still couldn’t see the expression on his face as he watched me die.
The basketball dribbled over to where I was standing in the corner of the yard. I witnessed myself clutching my throat with one hand and reaching out for the Whistling Man with the other. He lifted his cane to my chest and pressed lightly. I didn’t feel a thing, but I watched myself die slowly with blood seeping from the cane mark in my chest.
After he looked at by body, when my last breathe left me, he proceeded up the street with the normal tapping of his cane and the twinkling tune of his whistle. This time it was unusually happy.
I ran over to my bloody corpse and flung myself across it. My parents rush out the front door and started to cry out to God, wondering why I needed to die. There was nothing I could do to let them know I was there. My father cradled my body in his arms, but I lay face down in the big congealing puddle of my blood. I stood up screaming in the shock that I wasn’t covered in blood and looked totally normal. I spun around, catching Meg out of the corner of my eye in my crazed stupor.
Meg walked up to me from the Garner’s with a sad smile.
“Johnny, I’m next.”

This is a dragon I've made with another woodcarver in 2007 at Saint-Jean-Port-Joly for kids in the festival of snow! It was 12 feet hight by 24 feet long!

Your's truly!