I was never the most expressive person in the world; to say the least. It was my way as a child, to observe the world around me and contemplate in my own space. I would sit down and think, to the point that I would overthink, then overthink about overthinking; constantly lost in thoughts. It was not until my teenage years that I put pen to paper to express these thoughts that had played over in my head. That was my first introduction to creative writing: poetry. It became a hobby of mine, it took me on a journey of self-discovery. Over a decade later, in 2019, I committed to being a full-time writer.
My name is Alex Murdock. I’m a Poet and Spoken Word Artist, Podcast (MadPo3t Podcast), and Storyteller. I’ve published three poetry books and three short stories independently.
I first became aware of Writing Room in 2023 performing poetry on stage. One of the audience members from the crowd, who happened to be a writer, recommended Writing Room and offered to introduce me. It has been a pleasure as Writing Room has played an important part in my growth.
I’m currently working on drafting my novel and Writing Room has given great support through Novella Fever and Fiction Workshop courses with author Kiare Ladner to aid my development. I highly recommend them to any writer, as they may prove instrumental in your growth. I had the chance to meet mainstream authors and made acquaintances with a lot of talented writers.
Extract: Let there be chaos
Making a mess,
“Awe yes”
beautiful chaos,
there it is,
stricken in the premise,
precise with the splice;
like I could never miss.
Basking in the reminisce,
never tell a tale,
from whence we kissed,
our secrets are ours to take to the stars,
only the darkness could reminisce,
illuminating is the feeling that I’ve seen it all,
since the dawn of time,
hypothetical like a scientist,
the ensemble is enough to make me tremble,
catastrophic is a knife we use to paint with,
still, I kindle at the uncanny fragrances,
revelling in the art of self-destructive tendencies,
on the outskirts of madness,
manic and frantic,
the ultimate,
yet kindred spirits.
The world speaks to me,
various languages,
I’m faded at the eyes;
the convoluted linguist,
the stars are ours to keep,
if our minds can rise to the occasion,
where we can ride the tides,
I tried multiple times,
but always must come back down to earth,
now and then,
to take breaths,
my mortal thoughts cannot consistently;
coexist,
working on my therapy,
to elevate back into the mist,
there I learned to fly,
speaking words to the birds,
blushing at the mouth,
they would hurry to scurry,
in my departure – they would worry,
but like Alice I get homesick,
hurting at the pit of my fingertips,
my lifeline was not designed,
to exist outside of time.
Patiently;
waiting,
for the day mortality ran its course,
where would we be,
no time like the present,
to rise like the tide,
fulfil the greatness that’s inside,
never to return to the world,
never to feel the mask of our fallacies,
to forever be more,
beyond my wildest dreams.
As my mind collapses,
a star is born,
sworn to protect the light,
from effervescence and frights,
the crooked mourn,
as dawn is born.
The daunting of the cloudy days,
they would appear constant,
witnessing the waves for days,
like amylase,
they burn through my tangibles,
like earth screws,
they fell and crumbled,
now I reign,
waging war through these words;
destined,
I can never lose.