Self Love Poem

I wrote this while pondering the subject of self-love, I decided to write a love poem to myself based on some experiences I’ve had the past 7 years, here is the results:

I Love Me

I walk through the forest called life as
Daisies blossom against obsidian skies
Feet bare,
and grounded into dirt.

A flame ablaze in the distance,
Heart becomes a reflection.

Darkness fades and lunar energy
Lights the path in front of me.

Do I trust the gods and walk forward?

Or, pivot my flesh to walk back into the night?

The glow brings my eyes to a stupor,

I am spellbound.


I am one with the night and
Dance with the deities.


I am ready for
the shaman’s blessing.


It is time to drift from fright
And fall into the universe’s embrace.


Great Spirit cradles me in a celestial blanket;
As the dusk arrives,
So does the love of the divine.


Another day, another opportunity
For a joyous stroll.

~E.R. Buendia

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The Hummingbird Dance

A couple of months ago, I wrote this poem after feeling frustrated with my experiences on Tinder and OkCupid. Yes, I have tried online dating apps for years; much to my dismay, each time with negative consequences and it has taken me awhile to learn how to love and respect myself first…here’s a poem about one of my most recent online dating experiences, you can find it in the Bards Against Hunger poetry anthology on Amazon, link at the bottom of this post. Namaste!

The Hummingbird Dance by E.R. Buendia

Your summer kissed skin glows in the sunlight

As the faint breeze sweeps the sweat off your brow

Hummingbirds fly touching upon tangerine flowers

As though the nectar is a gift from the heavens

The flutter of the hummingbird’s wings

Sounds as sweet as an evening lullaby

On this perfect summer day, with harmony standing nearby
Waiting to send love darts to promising lovers

With your eyes closed, you imagine these darts beaming upon the birds

And fill your heart with hopes of an epic love story

Hope that was lost in the reckless abandon of heartbreak purgatory

Is this hummingbird a blessing?

Is it a sign of divine love?

Is this your soulmate?

Or, are you drifting into the

abyss of hopeless romanticism?

Tragedies of Keats,

of every Romantic poet,

who hoped the same

Is this a love doomed or

an epic love that would last for lifetimes?

So you hope for a happy ending this time.

Pray for an ideal to come to fruition,

And get drunk on the fragrance of infatuation.

Copyright of: E.R.Buendia

To purchase the anthology click here. All proceeds go to food banks across the nation, help us end homelessness and famine in our country 🙂

Alchemy/NaNo Update

alchemy symbols
Image found on Google 

Alchemy has always been a fascinating part of science to me. In the Pagan beliefs, we have the Pentagram which symbolizes the five elements of: Spirit, Earth, Air, Water, and, Fire. Now imagine a world that has a whole caste system where there are individuals who use Alchemy as a form of science, which used to be combined with the use of magic. Now imagine that the magic has been banned so the Alchemists rely solely on the power of science. This is a huge part of my novel.

It’s been a journey writing this novel. I am learning a lot more about myself. I’m learning more about conveying emotions in my readers, and, how to write appropriately in an Active tone as well as an first person POV. Writing a novel has been not only challenging but also extremely rewarding. I look forward to sharing excerpts of the novel once its more polished but for now it’s a very ROUGH draft, it’s okay. That’s where proof-editing comes in!

Anyway here’s a little micro fiction for you, told in the perspective of Prince Sebastien:

The ball was on the horizon, only seven days away and the prince did not want to squander around the castle. He told his closest confidant that he wanted to spend the day as a peasant so he grabbed a nightshade cloak and wrapped it around his collarbones. As he glided down the steps of the proud kingdom, he noticed his father wrapped up in conversation with the leader of the Knights. 

His feet propelled him forward and into the streets of the kingdom. The market was busy this afternoon, filled with hopeful dames, which wanted so desperately to become Nobles. As his cloak continued to fly behind him with his quick movements, the prince carried himself toward the crowd. Through the crevice of a tight alleyway, he squeezed his body through, being careful not to drop the hood of the cloak, so he could not be recognized. 

Square pieces of black parchment paper floated around the sweaty palms of romantic ladies, fantasizing about marrying the prince. He scowled. Unfavorable of his fate, wishing he could be either an Alchemist or a Knight. He craved adventure, danger, and, mostly to be left alone. He was tired of having to please all the Nobles. If only, he could just runaway into the depths of the mountains or into the lands of the djinn. 

He got through the edge of the alley and stumbled into the bottom of a path leading up to the market. And as he slid out, a beautiful girl with laced up boots, olive skin, auburn curled hair and eyes that faded between violet and hues of honey-brown walked in front of him. She was struggling with the weight of the cart that she carried in back of her. Hunched over, doing her best to get it up each stair.

The prince watched as she dropped the cart and it came flying toward him. He lunged in front of it, catching it with his forearms, nearly toppling backward as he caught it. The weight of the cart wasn’t as bad as it looked. And, he smiled up at the girl, looking down on him with rose colored cheeks. He carried the wagon up toward her, despite her protests. He carried the weight of the boxy framed wooden wagon up towards the sky. 

And, he lost sight of her…but hoped that he would see her again…

-Work of: Celena StarVela (E.R. Buendia)

 

The Strange Day

My Halloween gift to all of you (I will be posting microfiction/flash fiction horror pieces all weekend):

The sunlight slanting in through the window, lingered on a bowl of fruit as the day came to a close. This was the last of light which became a treasure to the people, who were frightened, as the end was near. She scurried grabbing her rifle from the shed outside, as the grumbling sounds of the walking dead could be heard in the distance. What started as a peaceful day, ended being the last harmony to be felt to the remaining survivors of the zombie outbreak. The Aztecs prophesied this day would come, that the skeleton people would be the end of human civilization and today was that day.

The kitchen was still sanctimonious, a sacred space, and, Himalayan salt was no longer going to work against these monstrosities. The only hope was this shotgun she had purchased hesitantly months prior. She thought of gratitude for preparing herself by taking shooting lessons. She was not going to become a meal to those flesh eaters. A hideous sound came from the front door, and, she sprinted to the mahogany archway, trying to remember if it was locked.

The sound of bones slamming against the doorway was sonic, and echoed throughout the house. With the rifle in her hand, the young woman opened the door. In front of her was a rotting corpse with hemoglobin parchments drooling off of his chin. She raised her shotgun, and said “not today” as she pulled the trigger releasing a blast through the skull of the dead man.

~Celena StarVela

RePOST from Brave and Reckless..You Were Meant to Know the Night

As the moon dances across the lake Fairies fall into slumber Poppies shine brightly against the darkness Lovers begin laughing into the wind As they prepare for their midnight rendezvous The humidity of the summer winds Bring sweat to the brows of children The lonely ones feel melancholy, While filling their hearts with hope And […]

via You Were Meant to Know the Night Writing Prompt Challenge: ER Buendia — Brave and Reckless

Heat Wave

Admittedly, I have been procrastinating on my outline/NaNoWriMo prep this year but I plan to spend some time this weekend and Monday and Tuesday finishing out the scene-by-scene parts of the outline. I plan on using OneNote to keep track of all of the chapters. It seems like the best program that I own for this novel writing project; as, I cannot pay for Scrivener at the moment. In San Diego, there has been a heat wave this week, so here’s a little poem/microfiction of how it makes me feel:

As the heat burns through my flesh
There’s no escape
My nostrils catch fire
As I continue to breathe in the flames
Hoping the flames will ignite my desires
But instead they leave me lethargic
Parched for water
Crawling on the pavement
Reaching out for help
No Escape. Just humidity.
Santa Ana winds hit my hometown
In a fury and leave me with swollen eyes
And sleepless nights
Drenched in sweat
Dreaming of dancing through autumn leaves
Relentlessly bemused by dry air
On this October night

~E.R. Buendia/Celena StarVela

The Old Man’s Doll Emporium

Hi everyone!

Great news…you can find a sound clip of the story in my previous post up on the Sci-Fi and Fantasy Poetry Association’s Halloween Poetry Reading page this month and I will be featured on the Brave and Reckless blog tomorrow at 3pm 🙂

NaNoWriMo prep is going great and I have an exciting novel planned to write which I believe some of you will love!

Here is another creepy flash fiction piece I came up with during the Story A Day Challenge, enjoy:

   The doll store was conveniently in the middle of two stores which had gone out of business in what seemed to be a ghost town. The owner of the store, Mr. Styles, lived above the store in an apartment and continued to build his dolls. One day, Billy wandered into The Styles Emporium and was astounded by what he saw. Each doll was made of a light porcelain paint, and brown ringlets with sun kissed highlights embraced her blushing cheeks. Each doll with bright blue eyes and ruby red lips which extended in a smirk. The curious part of it all was that all of the dolls had the same face. 
As I looked toward the countertop, Billy saw there an old man, looking out into the sea of dolls, his mind obviously somewhere else. Billy wanted to ask him the question that the rest of the town wanted to know. Why did the dolls all have the same face? For decades, little boys and girls would wander through the Emporium, wondering the same thing. No one feeling courageous enough to pose the question which was haunting the town.
Billy decided this was the day he would break the tradition and find out the longest kept secret. Billy walked closely to the counter, noticing the man had a bald spot on the top of his hair, his gray hair frizzed out as though he had not combed it in weeks. Perched upon the bridge of his nose were clear framed glasses with attached clear beads. As Billy approached the man, his eyes darted up toward Billy and asked, in a grumpy tone, “Yes? What can I do for you, boy?”
“Uh…why do all of the dolls have the same face,” asked Billy, suddenly feeling flushed and wondering why he had done this. 
“Boy, it is a long story. The face of the doll is the face of a daughter that I lost long ago to a tragedy. Her image has been engrained in my mind, unable to forget her, I decided long ago that I would create dolls that looked like her. To this day, I will always love her and never forget my baby girl. A doll creates and maintains an image of a person for eternity. They are sometimes seen as supernatural objects. I did it thinking I could resurrect her memory. But, she remains gone.” 
Feeling melancholic for the old man,  Billy thanked the old man for explaining his story and decided to purchase a doll.
Scrounging up the remains of his allowance, Billy dropped his change on the counter. Mr. Styles said “thank you, come back at anytime, Billy” and winked.
Billy ran out of the store with his doll and a grin on his face. He now knew the answer to the town riddle. 
~E.R. Buendia/Celena StarVela

Frightful Night

It is Halloween season, the merriest one of them all, and as a result, I have been working on a short horror zine (a compilation of flash fiction and poetry pieces) dedicated to my favorite time of year!

Here is a snippet of one of the flash pieces I plan on submitting to SciFi and Fantasy Poetry Association and including in the zine (which I will be selling later on):

The black horse rides through the flames risen from the earth

Samhain is here, the veil is thin,

Children scream and cry… frightened of the headless man

*thump, thump, thump*

The hooves get heavier and draw closer to the town

Screams pierce the dreary night

Fire engulfs the hay as the headless man draws closer

The autumn winds are defeated by the flames

But the horseman does not stop

The only hope is daybreak

But it is too late and the villagers drown in the flames

Destined to haunt on the next Hallow’s Eve

 

The black horse rides through the flames risen from the earth

Samhain is here, the veil is thin,

Children scream and cry… frightened of the headless man

*thump, thump, thump*

The hooves get heavier and draw closer to the town

Screams pierce the dreary night

Fire engulfs the hay as the headless man draws closer

The autumn winds are defeated by the flames

But the horseman does not stop

The only hope is daybreak

But it is too late and the villagers drown in the flames

Destined to haunt on the next Hallow’s Eve

~Celena StarVela (E.R. Buendia)

Note: Pen name is now Celena StarVela for any magical or horror stories I write.

I am excited to continue sharing my work with you all and I plan on submitting some more stuff this month. Finishing up a couple folklore, horror, and poems which have to do with goddesses, witches, and, also prepping for NaNoWriMo! Delving into the steampunk realm this year 🙂

Love and Light

~ Celena Star Vela ~

Mabon Poem

The time is here for autumn. The air is getting crisper, leaves are changing colors and the equinox is here. Its time to embrace the darkness. Here’s a poem of light and dark, its connection to Mabon….

Mabon has arrived and with it

People feast on grains and vegetables alike

The darkness starts to rise from the Underworld

Light takes a slumber as dark skies reign

Feel the crisp air against your skin

Let the moon be your guide

It’s okay to become a part of the night 

Chants are heard throughout the land

Harvest arrives with plenty of food

For the bellies of creatures 

Hibernation around the corner

Persephone. Hades. Animal spirits.

They have come to reign.

Light burning a flame within

Divine light guides those lost back to  their lovely abodes 

-E.R. Buendia

Why I Write…


Why did I start writing and why do I write?While developing an 8 week lesson plan for a Creative Writing workshop that I’m starting at my work, I realized that there was a question that I haven’t answered on my blog and now is the time to answer it!

           My story starts when I was eight years old. I went to a Spanish immersion school that offered a lot of opportunity for creative expression; my creativity was encouraged from a young age. I am grateful that my parents put me in the schools they did so that I could connect with my inner artist and discover my talent. The first piece I wrote was a poem and it was part of a project that we were supposed to do in class to create a mother’s day card for our mothers. I wrote a poem about the colors that my mom wore, specifically her red lipstick, and my mom kept it after I gave it to her and still has it today!

           I always felt out of place with my peers and writing became an escape for me besides reading, it was therapeutic and it was a way for me to connect with my imagination. Some people had imaginative friends, I had my own imagination and creative pursuits. As I got older and continued to enjoy the creative projects that my teachers would assign us, my mom ended up creating a space in the garage where she would post all the art projects on this wall by where we kept our shoes. I cherish that memory as a muse for me to continue to create works of art whether it’s  writing, painting, photography, doodling, dancing, any form of expression.

           When middle school came and I had this inspiring Spanish language teacher, I continued to write. At this point, I was blogging and I had created different websites that I would use to post short stories, poetry, and, journal. Each morning during the week, we would be asked to free write for the first 10 minutes or so of class. And every Friday, my teacher would pick a winner for best writer of the class. I won on a consistent basis and I used this as motivation to continue writing.

           When I got to high school, I was diagnosed with depression at the age of sixteen years old and I started to see an art therapist for a little while. Once again, writing became a form of healing for me. In high school, I continued to keep a poetry journal and would sometimes write short stories. I had a LiveJournal that I would share my work on or I would just vent on there sometimes. In 11th grade, when my depression was getting worse, I decided to submit my poetry to a national contest and I won one of the prizes. I just needed a teacher to sign a recommendation for me but I never followed through. I no longer believed in my talent and my creative spirit started to fade away.

           In my junior year of high school, I wrote half of a romance novel but after my computer crashed and I lost the draft, I gave up on writing altogether and the next few years were filled with different experiences that are now inspiration for me to write. I have always used writing as a medium for healing and expression. At times when I felt like I did not have a voice, I found that voice through poetry or through the characters of the stories that I was telling. I always felt like I could relate to characters that faced oppression, discrimination, or, some kind of bullying. And as an avid reader, it has just added more fuel to my passion for writing.

           At a creative workshop I attended with Juliette Sobanet, she asked us to think about why we wanted to tell our story, the novels or stories we are working on. I guess the true reason is to inspire others and maybe they will be able to find strength with my characters as they read along. The message I want to convey in the novels I write is for young teenage girls all over, to not give up on yourself and to embrace your weirdness…it’s okay to be unique. It’s okay to be creative and pursue your artistic dreams. Everyone goes through some type of darkness, and although some stay, there are others who fight to reach the light. I write to help, heal, and, to inspire.