Tag Archive | Poetry

Poem: Her (Edited and Revised Edition)

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I loved her not just for the way she lit up the darkness in night, but for the way her love and presence silenced my demons.

She veiled the darkness around her like the stars she used to cast shadows into paths every which way; the way moon she held like her heart, beaming with a luminescence that made the ordinary appear extraordinary; the way her clouds hung above her diadem, yet she drove them away with a loving kindness, instead of hateful wrath or spiraling fireworks, always ready to burst at a clock’s passing tick; and for the way she voyaged through storms of thunderous obstacles and rainy qualms and always comes to a deeper atmosphere where galaxies form.

Her burning love never fading as she danced with darkness to embrace it with the brilliance she harbored within. A beacon of solitude when the demons seeped from the shadows within me. The fight for the sanity and insanity of my mind, and the fragility and destruction of my very soul. She carries that ethereal beauty inside of her and consumes the shadows in her movements, in the echoing of her breath, the beat of her heart, and in the way her essence mingled with my own -touching every part of my soul- and stripped the demons of their grasps on me.

She silenced my demons and hung angels at my shoulders. She was my keeper, and she nestled the silver thread of dawn in her perfectly imperfect hands. Her love kept the wicked inside of and around me at bay, and I loved her more with every glance and with every thought.

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Poem: The Sun and the Moon

Upon the Moon

You saw the Stars

The Sun’s aura reflected

the pull it held

 

Dawn settled and

Dusk came

The universe expanded

in your view

 

Time stood still

Yet everyone moved

except for the Stars

falling and rising

 

The silver thread weaved

in the design

A lifetime shall pass

another will come

 

And these two

the Sun and the Moon

will rekindle the Stars

etched in the night

 

Healing and burning

gravitating and releasing

The Life and Death of Flowers

These flowers have known decay

They have seen life

taken nutrients from the Earth

felt the rays of the Sun

and grew to blossom.

Their roots have sunken into the dirt

planted and stemmed

rose and stretched their leaves

so they may stand on their own.

A small beauty in a world of chaos

prospered against the odds

have eluded stomping and destruction.

And when they wilt and die

their scents, their essences

their aromas carry on

waffing through the air

filling our lungs.

These flowera have known decay

Thay have seen life

Poetry in the Works

Here are three unfinished poems that I’ve yet to complete. They may be done already and I just don’t see it. But is any writing ever really done, perfect, or complete. There is always room for improvement when it comes to writing.

The first one is about secrets, the second about a girl staring into the night sky, and the third about ghosts in a cemetery:

These walls tell legions,

Contained in their pigments

Memories were absorbed

Emotions consumed.

 

~~~~~~~

 

These eyes did wonder

They gazed upon the stars

Bright, glittering, shining

Into a future yet envisioned

A past that cannot be rewritten

The sun sets on another day

She stares transfixed

As the moon smiles upon her.

 

~~~~~~

 

They shifted in the night

like windblown leaves

coming and going

 

Never really here,

Yet never really gone

 

They observe the passersby

like shadows and phantoms and specters.

Desiring the figures’ vibrant light

 

Void of all life within themselves.

Fine Line: A poem born out of movie viewing

I wrote this poem after I watched the movie Beautiful Creatures for the first time. I found it interesting that a movie and the movie’s theme fired up my neurotransmitters in my brain to create this poem. It’s interesting to me how the little things in life can provoke such a creative and powerful image or string of thoughts in a person’s mind.

Here it is:

Fine Line

 

Darkness,

Hollow and deathly, filled with Turmoil.

 

Light,

Euphoric and lively, pure with Love.

 

The fine line between

A thread that balances the two,

 

An intricate design weaved

Into the puzzle, the mystery.

 

Two halves of the same whole.

Are they not the same?

 

Strong in their intent,

A gray cloud forms at the centerfold

 

But both are lost in the Haze.

No more potent than the other.

 

Both are claimed,

Yet only one is considered

 

Rational.

Sands of Time: a poem

Sands of Time

 

The sands will blow.

They will move and flow

through the times passing.

They will contain in its grains

the memories and impressions

of a life withdrawn from

one era to the next.

 

Skyscrapers and buildings

will stand erect, reaching

up into the heavens.

Flowers will bloom from a seed,

budding and growing from

the roots buried deep within

the foundation of the Earth,

seeking the nourishment of the sunrays.

 

But when the sands sweep over

and the hands of time tick on,

those skyscrapers and buildings will crumble

Those flowers will wilt and shrivel.

In their demise, the grains will

consume their existence

and the cycle will begin again

in the sands they were created and destroyed.

Genre Choice

You ever wonder why you chose to write in the genre or form that you write in now? I have. I’ve been wondering lately why I write young adult fiction and new adult fiction with elements of suspense, mystery, and horror. I’ve taken some practice in trying to write other forms of genres that are more realistic, some historical, and others about regular “people”. The stories turned out believable, and well written, but they just didn’t have that same feel or emotion I got when I wrote YA or new adult fiction with those other elements.

Perhaps it’s because I write only what interests me when I pick up an author’s book to read it. I prefer books that grab hold of me and pull me in until the book is done. The kinds of books I write now are the kinds of books I read as a kid and still read to this day.

Maybe I’ll never understand why I truly prefer to write in this genre and form. Do any of you guys know why you write in the form and genre that you do? I’d love to hear your insight on the matter.

Replacement Poem for Here, Death: A learning Challenge

Writing a replacement poem for “Here, Bullet” by Brian Turner was such a learning experience because I got to learn form, wording, and how to write such complex emotions, action, and diction in only one stanza.

Here is my replacement poem for “Here, Bullet”:

Here, Death

If a soul is what you seek,

then here is life and spirit and mind.

Here is the body-trapped vessel,

the mind’s opened window, the jump

thought stirs at the heart’s beat.

Here is the ironclad entity you crave,

that enraptured aura, that intense connection

into eternity and morality. And I taunt you to steal

what you’ve desired. Because here, Death,

here is where I fight the challenge you set

warring through the storm, here is where I defy

the Reaper’s icy touch, stripping

my body’s force for the vibrancy I contain

inside of me, each spiral of the sinews

spun within, because here, Death,

here is where existence decays, every time.

 

Poetry Workshop: A learning experience

Today was my first poetry workshop. I was nerve wrecked and couldn’t sleep well the night before because I was so worried that I had done the poem wrong, that the wording wasn’t right, and that it was awful compared to some of the poem of fellow writers in my group. How very wrong I was.

They loved the poem, the wording, and gave me great feedback and reassurance. I was pleasantly surprised at how well they thought it was and how sure they were that I conveyed such emotion and meaning. It was honestly the first poem I have ever written and it was so hard, challenging to write, yet so rewarding to see and hear when it was done.

So here it is:

Breathtaker

 

The sand beneath the water

rises and dips

Yellow-streaked light

in the windblown ripples reflect.

 

In our ignorant bliss,

we play–

splashing,

provoking,

crackling.

 

I place you upon my shoulders

above the tide as

we wander and glide,

until I misstep.

 

A deep pocket pulls us below.

Your weight pins me down.

You resist the imminent trepidation

as I struggle to hold my breath.

 

I sink further into the

fog of dense chaos under.

Hoisting you from my shoulders,

I prod you to the hill.

 

Weak with exhaustion,

I swim for the surface–

clawing,

fighting,

suffocating.

 

Penetrating the division,

I force in a gust of air,

look sober-eyed to the sky,

solace sets in.

 

As I reach the panoramic shore

where you wait,

I lull in a daze–

heart racing,

chest aching,

mind swarming.