In one month I will have graduated High School.
I will have said goodbye to my teachers.
My grades will all be finalized;
and I'll have to really start organizing
for college.
A college I so want to go to,
but I am still scared.
Which is only natural,
I suppose.
I hope that, in college,
I will have enough room to
bring all the books that I need
to find comfort.
I have summer reading.
Something that some may
grumble about, but something
that I love, am grateful for.
In one month,
I will be nervous.
But in one month,
everything will still
be okay.
(c) May 2012
Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts
Saturday, May 12, 2012
Saturday, May 5, 2012
Searching
She searches,
in and out of each silver door,
for a safe haven, where she can
finally have peace,
breathe, relax,
maybe even dream.
Many silver doors hide monsters,
and she shuts them frantically,
unable to find one where she feels
safe.
I whisper to her,
but she motions me away,
and continues her search.
I like to think of her as
Alice. I enter a silver door,
and I find peace.
When I come out, she is
nowhere to be
found.
(c) May 2012
in and out of each silver door,
for a safe haven, where she can
finally have peace,
breathe, relax,
maybe even dream.
Many silver doors hide monsters,
and she shuts them frantically,
unable to find one where she feels
safe.
I whisper to her,
but she motions me away,
and continues her search.
I like to think of her as
Alice. I enter a silver door,
and I find peace.
When I come out, she is
nowhere to be
found.
(c) May 2012
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Little Things
I often feel as though I never have the time to do the extra things I love (i.e. ukulele & knitting). I need to get off the computer and do them when I don't have work.
I always say that, but I'm really going to make it my goal to get away from technology more... because that is when I am happiest.
I also need to eat even more fruit. Because I love it so.
____
What Once was Sun
Effervescent- she is.
Children run in and about the
playground, perfect,
pinacle, of innocence and charm.
A mother's heartbeat as her child
lays on her breast,
ba-bum, ba-bum.
Over and over.
All that is left now is a
photograph album,
dusty from years of
neglect. Years have gone,
she cannot say what happened.
Yet she knows and remembers
that day, in the sun.
(c) April 2012
I always say that, but I'm really going to make it my goal to get away from technology more... because that is when I am happiest.
I also need to eat even more fruit. Because I love it so.
____
What Once was Sun
Effervescent- she is.
Children run in and about the
playground, perfect,
pinacle, of innocence and charm.
A mother's heartbeat as her child
lays on her breast,
ba-bum, ba-bum.
Over and over.
All that is left now is a
photograph album,
dusty from years of
neglect. Years have gone,
she cannot say what happened.
Yet she knows and remembers
that day, in the sun.
(c) April 2012
Monday, April 23, 2012
Knitting (and more)
I'm learning how to knit. Which is crazy-awesome, even though I'm mediocre at best, but I'm learning, and that's what matters.
I've also decided on a college, which feels weird. It wasn't my first choice, I almost didn't even apply there. But I've fallen in love, and while some small part of me still says "what about the others?" I know I will love this college. It may not have all the fancy traditions of some of the others, but it's beautiful and everyone there is so nice and lovely.
I also only have about 26 school days left (not weekends). I'm terrified. Really, honestly. Now that the end of the year is this close, I don't want it. I'm going to really miss some of the people at my High School.
This post is turning into something quite random, but two weekends ago (4/15) I saw The Cabin in the Woods and it was one of the most fantastic pieces of film that I have seen in a while. I can't say anything about it, but go see it! (Unless you really, really can't stand anything even sort of scary).
___
Visions of the Woods
The birds flit down from the clouds,
holding petals and pieces of
worn-out parchment.
The girls dance in the meadows within,
carrying laurel and roses, bouquets
for the lost.
The trees are just beginning,
seeds showing their leaves,
from the ground.
And the rain comes--
a flood, before anyone can
escape, it takes them.
The petals float among the gray
waters, until they become
sodden and torn.
(c) April 2012
I've also decided on a college, which feels weird. It wasn't my first choice, I almost didn't even apply there. But I've fallen in love, and while some small part of me still says "what about the others?" I know I will love this college. It may not have all the fancy traditions of some of the others, but it's beautiful and everyone there is so nice and lovely.
I also only have about 26 school days left (not weekends). I'm terrified. Really, honestly. Now that the end of the year is this close, I don't want it. I'm going to really miss some of the people at my High School.
This post is turning into something quite random, but two weekends ago (4/15) I saw The Cabin in the Woods and it was one of the most fantastic pieces of film that I have seen in a while. I can't say anything about it, but go see it! (Unless you really, really can't stand anything even sort of scary).
___
Visions of the Woods
The birds flit down from the clouds,
holding petals and pieces of
worn-out parchment.
The girls dance in the meadows within,
carrying laurel and roses, bouquets
for the lost.
The trees are just beginning,
seeds showing their leaves,
from the ground.
And the rain comes--
a flood, before anyone can
escape, it takes them.
The petals float among the gray
waters, until they become
sodden and torn.
(c) April 2012
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Perchance
Perchance, a rainbow
lives beyond the clouds,
where the little girls and boys
want to
run to
so that they can be happy.
Perchance, there exists a blanket,
so warm and
so soft that
it's worth analyzing
for English class.
And Perchance, there is a day
just cool enough
to warrant the use
of a sweater,
but not too cold.
Perchance there is a teacup,
filled of tea
warmed just right,
sweet, but not too sweet.
Perchance.
(c) January 2012
lives beyond the clouds,
where the little girls and boys
want to
run to
so that they can be happy.
Perchance, there exists a blanket,
so warm and
so soft that
it's worth analyzing
for English class.
And Perchance, there is a day
just cool enough
to warrant the use
of a sweater,
but not too cold.
Perchance there is a teacup,
filled of tea
warmed just right,
sweet, but not too sweet.
Perchance.
(c) January 2012
Friday, December 30, 2011
Illumination in the early hours
Early morning light
illuminates the bedroom
sheets mussed, cups of tea
on the floor, candles and books by
the bed.
She's in the bed, hair spread out
across her flowered pillow,
eyes shut, just beginning to flutter,
under the quilt that
keeps her warm, covered in
fauna and flora.
The animals surround her--
creatures from her childhood,
and some new,
even though she's far older now,
she still holds them close,
holds memories near.
She doesn't think about all
that troubles her while she
sleeps,
it's only 2am.
She's in places of her imagination,
places that teach her about life,
give her guidance,
give her inspiration.
She loves the lands of dreams--
her own Neverwonderland.
She won't age, not here.
She'll be forever 8,
unless she chooses otherwise.
Until the beepbeeepbap of the
alarm goes off, she'll be happy.
always and forever.
(c) December 2011
illuminates the bedroom
sheets mussed, cups of tea
on the floor, candles and books by
the bed.
She's in the bed, hair spread out
across her flowered pillow,
eyes shut, just beginning to flutter,
under the quilt that
keeps her warm, covered in
fauna and flora.
The animals surround her--
creatures from her childhood,
and some new,
even though she's far older now,
she still holds them close,
holds memories near.
She doesn't think about all
that troubles her while she
sleeps,
it's only 2am.
She's in places of her imagination,
places that teach her about life,
give her guidance,
give her inspiration.
She loves the lands of dreams--
her own Neverwonderland.
She won't age, not here.
She'll be forever 8,
unless she chooses otherwise.
Until the beepbeeepbap of the
alarm goes off, she'll be happy.
always and forever.
(c) December 2011
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Whispers
The pages of the books whisper
stories, of lives not real;
of places imagined.
Yet we, she, he, they
all travel, we go into these
fantastical worlds of
literature, where we meet friends
and travel to places our passports could never
gain us entrance to.
The little girl reads in the corner of the library,
alone, yet not alone.
She giggles as she meets her new friends,
her very best friends--
only illusions, and yet so real to her young eyes.
She never wants to leave.
(c) December 2011
stories, of lives not real;
of places imagined.
Yet we, she, he, they
all travel, we go into these
fantastical worlds of
literature, where we meet friends
and travel to places our passports could never
gain us entrance to.
The little girl reads in the corner of the library,
alone, yet not alone.
She giggles as she meets her new friends,
her very best friends--
only illusions, and yet so real to her young eyes.
She never wants to leave.
(c) December 2011
Monday, November 14, 2011
Missing Lock
I had this key,
slightly rusty and about the size of my palm.
I never found out where it led to.
I like to think it was the key to Wonderland,
or to the Wardrobe that in turn
leads to Narnia.
Being almost eighteen,
I know this to be false.
I want to recapture my childhood
without sounding angsty,
without writing faux-philosopical
poems (which I am doing).
I want, want, want.
To be, be, be.
Just Emily.
Age 8, maybe younger.
Before the computer, before the pains
of young adulthood.
I wish to be Alice, in my own
Wonderland. Without a care,
until I choose to blow the cards
away.
(c) November 2011
slightly rusty and about the size of my palm.
I never found out where it led to.
I like to think it was the key to Wonderland,
or to the Wardrobe that in turn
leads to Narnia.
Being almost eighteen,
I know this to be false.
I want to recapture my childhood
without sounding angsty,
without writing faux-philosopical
poems (which I am doing).
I want, want, want.
To be, be, be.
Just Emily.
Age 8, maybe younger.
Before the computer, before the pains
of young adulthood.
I wish to be Alice, in my own
Wonderland. Without a care,
until I choose to blow the cards
away.
(c) November 2011
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Falling
"It's all lies" they whisper around her
"you made it up, it's not real"
The land she loved, the friends she made,
all fake? all false?
She wonders how this could be--
the cat, the rabbit, the mouse, the crazy man--
she loved them all, though where she went
was scary, sometimes.
She couldn't believe it, yet she did;
until it was no longer safe for her,
until she was near death.
Then she crumpled the deck,
she played the checkmate move,
and she fell out.
Into the real world,
and, worst of all,
she grew up. Now she can't
go back.
But she knows that it was real,
she knows and she believes.
(c) November 2011
"you made it up, it's not real"
The land she loved, the friends she made,
all fake? all false?
She wonders how this could be--
the cat, the rabbit, the mouse, the crazy man--
she loved them all, though where she went
was scary, sometimes.
She couldn't believe it, yet she did;
until it was no longer safe for her,
until she was near death.
Then she crumpled the deck,
she played the checkmate move,
and she fell out.
Into the real world,
and, worst of all,
she grew up. Now she can't
go back.
But she knows that it was real,
she knows and she believes.
(c) November 2011
Friday, October 28, 2011
Mother, Wife
She is blind to what is all around her.
She cannot see, though they tell her.
"Don't." She cannot fathom the truth,
unable to accept what the fates have bestowed
upon her. Sin, oh what sin!
To have committed the acts that she has!
What shame! horror! blasphemy!
She did not want to believe--
he, her own son-- blood and life,
now father-- her daughters and sons--
born of sin, of lies, of soiled blood.
Oh! Jocasta! Why did you not see?
A dead husband, mourning,
only to bed your son soon after.
And now she walks, to the room,
of life, of matrimony, and she pulls
out the rope, running it through her
fingers. Rubbing it between her
fingertips, and she ties it.
A perfect knot, and she wraps it
around her pale, thin neck.
"Good-bye my son, my beloved."
(c) October 2011
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
The Edge
She walks along the bridge's edge,
above the dark water.
She wants to fall in,
to fall into the freezing currents,
to be swept away to a magical place,
and just before she's dead,
a golden dog will save her,
just like that story about
the red-haired french girl.
But this isn't Paris,
no one is around,
no one hears the splash
after she jumps. Her eyes close,
and she wishes, to be saved,
her eyelids flutter, her teeth chatter,
her dress far too heavy for the waters,
pulling her under, not into any world
she ever wanted to go to. Until she feels
two hands on her shoulders, pulling her back into
the light, the real world.
"What are you, crazy?"
(c) October 2011
Friday, October 21, 2011
Once Upon A Time
She runs,
she stumbles,
through a forest,
a land of fairytales,
where nothing is what it seems,
where childhood stories are real,
each and every
last one of them.
The evil, the valiant,
the pure, the corrupt,
faeries, evil queens,
handsome princes, magical animals.
She'll never wake up.
(c) October 2011
she stumbles,
through a forest,
a land of fairytales,
where nothing is what it seems,
where childhood stories are real,
each and every
last one of them.
The evil, the valiant,
the pure, the corrupt,
faeries, evil queens,
handsome princes, magical animals.
She'll never wake up.
(c) October 2011
Monday, October 17, 2011
Bliss
She runs
her fingers through
the lake,
trailing little waves
behind her.
She removes,
all her clothes,
save her underwear,
and
She jumps,
into the water,
holding her nose
and squeezing her eyes.
She holds,
her breath in,
until
She breathes
it all out, and opens her eyes,
sees bubbles before her
She counts--
1, 2, 3,
9, 10, 11,
so many bubbles,
She returns,
finally,
to the surface,
She smiles,
only nine,
with a missing tooth.
She is,
Innocence.
(c) October 2011
her fingers through
the lake,
trailing little waves
behind her.
She removes,
all her clothes,
save her underwear,
and
She jumps,
into the water,
holding her nose
and squeezing her eyes.
She holds,
her breath in,
until
She breathes
it all out, and opens her eyes,
sees bubbles before her
She counts--
1, 2, 3,
9, 10, 11,
so many bubbles,
She returns,
finally,
to the surface,
She smiles,
only nine,
with a missing tooth.
She is,
Innocence.
(c) October 2011
Saturday, October 15, 2011
The Key
Trying,
to find a place,
to fit in,
where she belongs,
she wonders sometimes-
is she even real?
Who she is?
where did she come from?
what is she meant for?
why do others keep on
hurting?
All for her,
to keep her safe,
away from those who want to take her,
take her and place her
into a lock,
an act that would
destroy the entire world.
(c) October 2011
to find a place,
to fit in,
where she belongs,
she wonders sometimes-
is she even real?
Who she is?
where did she come from?
what is she meant for?
why do others keep on
hurting?
All for her,
to keep her safe,
away from those who want to take her,
take her and place her
into a lock,
an act that would
destroy the entire world.
(c) October 2011
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Passing Thoughts
Sometimes,
she wonders
about things like
time travel
and
magical genies that grant you
three wishes
she knows just what her wishes would be,
she's thought this through,
planned them out so that nothing can go wrong,
so that she will be happy,
alive once again,
calm, at peace,
she wishes
she could live in those lands-
the ones where fairytales are real,
with witches and princesses and
animals that you can talk to.
but she knows,
she knows,
none of this is real,
not really.
(c) October 2011
she wonders
about things like
time travel
and
magical genies that grant you
three wishes
she knows just what her wishes would be,
she's thought this through,
planned them out so that nothing can go wrong,
so that she will be happy,
alive once again,
calm, at peace,
she wishes
she could live in those lands-
the ones where fairytales are real,
with witches and princesses and
animals that you can talk to.
but she knows,
she knows,
none of this is real,
not really.
(c) October 2011
Friday, September 30, 2011
Dreams
She sits,
on the windowsill.
She looks,
outside.
She wonders,
what her life will become.
She dreams,
a wedding,
a cream dress,
rose petals,
perfect hair.
Like a fairytale.
But fairytales are not reality,
she worries.
Of abuse,
debt,
no children.
And so,
she jumps.
(c) September 2011
on the windowsill.
She looks,
outside.
She wonders,
what her life will become.
She dreams,
a wedding,
a cream dress,
rose petals,
perfect hair.
Like a fairytale.
But fairytales are not reality,
she worries.
Of abuse,
debt,
no children.
And so,
she jumps.
(c) September 2011
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Storytellers
The graves,
they tell stories of long ago
of times past,
other lives,
other worlds,
some short,
some impossibly long,
some gone before they began,
like storybooks,
whispering the stories,
fueling imagination,
horror stories,
love stories,
until they call you
to join them.
(c) September 2011
they tell stories of long ago
of times past,
other lives,
other worlds,
some short,
some impossibly long,
some gone before they began,
like storybooks,
whispering the stories,
fueling imagination,
horror stories,
love stories,
until they call you
to join them.
(c) September 2011
Friday, September 23, 2011
Autumn
Fall is without a doubt, my favorite season. I love everything about it- the clothing, the weather, the changing leaves, the holidays (Halloween!!), and more!
Today is the equinox. For those of you who are not aware, the autumnal equinox is the day that it officially become fall. (Thus, today is one of my favorite days of the year.) It's also almost October, which is my favorite month of my favorite season. So I am happy.
Hopefully soon, once the leaves begin to really change, I'll go for a nice walk and take lots of fall photographs, because that's something that helps me to relax and also I love nature.
As a culture, we rely far too much on technology and now we have started to ignore the pure, unadulterated beauty that is the outdoors. We sit inside our homes, on various social networking sites, caught up in narcissism and screens. We ignore the world outside our doors, the world that has been here for far longer than we have, the world that we have begun to destroy the pure world.
Sorry to get all depressive about humankind, but it's just a thought I often think, and isn't this blog all about thoughts?
Fall poem, one of possibly many to come:
Candlelight,
the world starts to yawn,
to change,
to color itself,
like never before,
like Autumn's sibling seasons forbid themselves to do:
Sister Spring says: I must be pure, only pinks, greens, and pastels...
Brother Summer says: The days grow long, and I must remain fresh, green, sweltering, to please...
Brother Winter says: Now the world is going to sleep- only white and muted browns may cover this world...
But Autumn, she is strong,
she rebels,
coloring herself a myriad of colors-
reds, oranges, browns, greens, yellows...
allowing children to jump
in her leaves,
favorite memories formed,
until,
all too soon,
she gives away to barren life.
(c) September 2011
Today is the equinox. For those of you who are not aware, the autumnal equinox is the day that it officially become fall. (Thus, today is one of my favorite days of the year.) It's also almost October, which is my favorite month of my favorite season. So I am happy.
Hopefully soon, once the leaves begin to really change, I'll go for a nice walk and take lots of fall photographs, because that's something that helps me to relax and also I love nature.
As a culture, we rely far too much on technology and now we have started to ignore the pure, unadulterated beauty that is the outdoors. We sit inside our homes, on various social networking sites, caught up in narcissism and screens. We ignore the world outside our doors, the world that has been here for far longer than we have, the world that we have begun to destroy the pure world.
Sorry to get all depressive about humankind, but it's just a thought I often think, and isn't this blog all about thoughts?
Fall poem, one of possibly many to come:
Candlelight,
the world starts to yawn,
to change,
to color itself,
like never before,
like Autumn's sibling seasons forbid themselves to do:
Sister Spring says: I must be pure, only pinks, greens, and pastels...
Brother Summer says: The days grow long, and I must remain fresh, green, sweltering, to please...
Brother Winter says: Now the world is going to sleep- only white and muted browns may cover this world...
But Autumn, she is strong,
she rebels,
coloring herself a myriad of colors-
reds, oranges, browns, greens, yellows...
allowing children to jump
in her leaves,
favorite memories formed,
until,
all too soon,
she gives away to barren life.
(c) September 2011
Friday, September 16, 2011
Thoughts currently in my mind: Sylvia Plath
I feel like I should be posting this on her birthday.
Then I thought: I can post some on Sylvia now AND on her birthday, because I can chose to do whatever I please on here. Then I felt very powerful and now I want to celebrate by drinking tea and watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer but I can't, because it's late and I have school work and college work to do.
But I'm listening to a song by Amber Benson, which is a compromise.
So, Sylvia:
Here are some photographs of her. (The one on the right is of her and her younger brother).
Because I am tired I shall only write a poem about Sylvia. I will write more about her on October 27th (what would have been her birthday).
Here goes nothing...
Then I thought: I can post some on Sylvia now AND on her birthday, because I can chose to do whatever I please on here. Then I felt very powerful and now I want to celebrate by drinking tea and watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer but I can't, because it's late and I have school work and college work to do.
But I'm listening to a song by Amber Benson, which is a compromise.
So, Sylvia:
Here are some photographs of her. (The one on the right is of her and her younger brother).
Because I am tired I shall only write a poem about Sylvia. I will write more about her on October 27th (what would have been her birthday).
Here goes nothing...
Sylvia,
oh Sylvia!
What a young face,
what an old mind.
You saw,
you lived,
you were,
too much.
And so you stopped,
long before you needed to,
far before you should have,
and with such tragedy.
A snack,
and then,
did they say "I love you Mommy"?
Did they cling to your skirt,
give you hugs and shampoo scented
kisses,
show you real love?
Show you how life wasn't always bad?
Did they cry when you didn't return for them?
Call out "Mama!"?
Oh, Sylvia!
(c) September 2011
(c) September 2011
Thursday, September 15, 2011
In another world...
another time,
another place,
this might've been different.
she might've been strong,
she might've been brave,
she might've been free.
but she's not.
she's stuck, nowhere to
go. no one to
go to. nothing to
live for. she's working,
each day, far more than 9 to 5
in the mill, with the other children,
with the man who runs them,
ruins them.
(c) September 2011
another place,
this might've been different.
she might've been strong,
she might've been brave,
she might've been free.
but she's not.
she's stuck, nowhere to
go. no one to
go to. nothing to
live for. she's working,
each day, far more than 9 to 5
in the mill, with the other children,
with the man who runs them,
ruins them.
(c) September 2011
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)