The Other Me

(I wrote this poem many months back but just recently found it in some old files. Enjoy!)

The Other Me

Sitting with my head on my hands,

Dreaming of far and distant lands,

Ears open yet hearing barely,

Eyes unblinking and staring blankly,

Body not willing to obey commands.

Wanting nothing really,

Not happy and yet not angry,

As if waiting for novel action,

Or else perhaps a mere distraction,

A state of mind to which I wander daily.

When suddenly occurred a collision,

Between heart and mind a great division,

I was someone else for a split second,

And the strangeness of it did beckon,

Thus I was thrust into a great vision.

The girl beside me appeared to be ruined,

So disheveled, so disheartened,

Her eyes told a story of pain and sorrow,

As if she wished it were tomorrow,

But the unknown rendered her dreadfully frightened.

Then the likeness alighted on me like a sparrow,

Sending shock unto my very marrow,

Was not that girl how last I looked?

Were she not I else I mistook?

The knowledge weighed like a lead-filled barrel.

Was this how people upon me looked?

This dreadful sign too long I forsook,

All the time while wishing to be quiet,

I gave the impression of being overly private,

Repelling them faster than gaining them took.

Did I really appear so disconsolate?

When really I wished only to not upset?

I didn’t have a hard enough life I think,

As to into such a depression sink,

What would have happened if myself I hadn’t met?

Better now than later to regret,

This vision I saw I will not forget,

I will change the way I act and speak,

I will happy and joyful and not so meek,

And a better picture allow them to get.

I’m not and will not be,

That sad little girl my eyes did see,

Sitting beside the other me,

Taught me a lesson did she,

And I am far so far from laughing in glee.

I snapped out of the trance,

Buttoned up my shirt and straightened my pants,

Then at last I knew what I must do,

A firm conclusion then I drew,

I would live if only to laugh and smile and help others all the while.

No more would I sit with my head in my hands,

My mind wandering off to distant lands,

My eyes not seeing and ears closed,

But opened wide for new ideas disclosed,

And learn I would and teach and pray and have many better future plans.

Pick up your feet

Pick up your feet,

Reach for the sky,

Stop pouting and smile,

Aim your dreams high.

It’s time to be joyful,

Not time for strife,

Praise the Creator,

You’re at the peak of your life.

Make Service your motto,

Humility your goal,

Understanding a mission,

Let Love fill your soul.

Friendship’s the key,

And Faith is your guide,

Hope’s a companion,

So don’t let Loyalty hide.

And it all that you do,

Keep your head high,

Be proud for who you are,

Spread your wings and fly.

Alien

Why do you think I'm so different?

Aren't I a human just like you?

Don't I have feelings and emotions?
I promise I have a heart too.

Why do you treat me like an alien?

Like someone from a far off land.

Someone to watch only and take notes.

Someone with the significance of sand.

Or maybe perhaps I'm important!

For studies and tests I'm great.

How far can this strange alien be pushed?

How much farther until it's spirit breaks? 

Does pressure lead to depression?

Does pushing lead to pain?

The results should be very interesting.

After all, this person is not the same.

We're so different but maybe,

you should try to understand and see.

To me you're as much as an alien.

As much so as you think of me.

Happy Mother's Day everyone!

Happy Mother’s Day

Words can’t express,

What you mean to me.

Time can not change,

The memories I keep.

What you’ve taught me each day,

Will never leave my mind.

To laugh, love, and pray,

To be trustworthy and kind.

I’ve learned so much from you,

And you know that I love you,

There’s nothing I’d not do for you,

So now I give my life before you.

I trust you to help me,

I trust you to guide me,

I trust you to lead me,

In the way of the Almighty.

I promise to understand you,

To accept your differences patiently.

But really, we’re more alike,

And only rarely think differently.

Each day I think of you,

And remember I’m blessed.

So on this special day,

I wish you the best!

Understand Me

A little free verse I wrote on my facebook wall and decided to post on my blog...

Can't you
For once
love me for who i am?
Without trying
to get
something from me?
without having
to work
to gain your friendship?
could I
perhaps
be human too?

This is an example of a one minute poem. Sometimes one minute poems turn out, sometimes they don't. A one minute poem is basically on you write in under a minute. It's just throwing your thoughts out there hoping it sounds good.

The Lighthouse

Lighthouse

Is this the place where I once stood,

With pure white dress and navy hood,

To watch the tumbling of the waves,

Bring in quantities of old driftwood?

Wondering if pieces such,

Were from the ship that I missed much.

The one that struck some distant shore,

The one the dreadful wind did clutch.

If only the lighthouse had been lit!

The message of danger to transmit!

Thence the ship would have be saved,

But for the folly of the lighthouse half-wit.

My lighthouse never turned dark.

Here no ship received a mark.

Why was it not on this very shore?

Where it could have turned in a graceful arch.

It never would have hit my land.

Never its bottom would scrape my sand.

Saved he would be, and dreaded not would be the sea.

And closely I would hold his hand, closely ever hold his hand.

No use crying over events of the past.

For it was this place where I stood steadfast.

When the news had reached me swiftly, yes.

That the breath he breathed had been his last.

Thinking, “So long oh shore and lighthouse keen!

Farewell oh ocean and beautiful scene.

For I’ll not return, I’m leaving now.

To deal with the dreadful unforeseen.”

Years have passed but I remember still,

Struggling up the steep little hill.

To release the tears I had kept inside,

Of being taken against my will.

Here the anger held so long,

Here the hope that I held onto, clung.

Was I wrong to return even now?

Then my delicate hands I wrung.

There I stood waiting upon the hill.

Hoping that through the misty veil.

The ship will come sailing, sailing, sailing.

Hoping the ship will come sailing still.

(artwork thanks to Kiana Pieters)

Tree; A Poem

Tree

The tree is tall, which means it must be wise.

For all the branches grown, are experiences from life.

Some have been cut off, those are the painful ones.

And remain scars, of the mistakes once done.

Vines are the temptations, that climb up the tree.

That try to take control, but never succeed.

This poem was written on the spot. After reading the book Touching Spirit Bear by Ben Mikaelsen, our English class had a field trip to a nearby park and we were told to spread out and analyze our surroundings. We were suppose to write about what we saw and what it could mean. For instance a dove could mean peace etc. Knowing me, I wrote a poem. It just came to me as I was looking at an old tree covered in vines. First I took in the details something like the following: 

Tree:

• It is very tall.
• Lots of branches and spots where branches were cut off.
• It is almost dead and covered in vines.

Then I tried to associate a meaning with each detail such:

 It is very tall.

• It is very tall--must be wise since it's lasted so long.

• Lots of branches and spots where branches were cut off--maybe those branches came off because of a mistake or something done wrong.
• It is almost dead and covered in vines--maybe the vines are trying to take over the tree and the tree is fighting back.

Then it was easy to write a poem. It just came while looking at the details I wrote down. I've written a lot this way, taking details first then writing a poem about it. This is a very good way for beginning writers. This poem was the beginning of my love for poetry. I advise you to try it and see what your results are. It doesn't work for everyone. Everybody has their own way. But it's good to try different things. Good luck!

Dying World Poem

This is a poem I wrote in seventh grade. I'm having a lot of fun looking through old works of mine :)

Dying World

Today is a day for sadness,

Yet only the wise grieve.

People tend not to pay attention,

To the echoes of its screams.

How long will the weeping widows cry?

When will the disease of depression die?

Violence overcomes kindness,

As a cloud blocks out the sun.

As a curtain shades a window,

Such is evil when it’s done.

People wait for its destruction,

They put its funeral on hold.

And the flowers they keep ready,
For the slow death of this world.

This poem is one I had to write for a class. It was also my first poem that was not about an animal or object. I liked writing it because it was mysterious. You can't really tell what it is about until the end. I found out that I enjoy writing this way. I just kind of wrote this one without planning so no planning tips for now. Enjoy the poetry!

Tear it apart; Help on understanding poetry

When I look at a poem that I 've never read before I make sure I study it carefully so that I can understand it fully. Here is the way I go about studying a poem:

After I read through it a couple times and get a good understanding of what it's about, I begin to look at details.

The title. Is it intriguing? Does it make me want to read more? Is it dull? Could I come up with a better title?
The format. Is it annoying? Does it go with the poem, for instance a funny poem to have funny formatting? What would make it more visually appealing?
The content. Is the point of the poem clear (it doesn't have to be of course)? Did I feel confused while I read it? If so, did the confusion cause some sort of feeling at the end? Was this written this way to bring across an idea?
Me. What did I learn from this poem? How can I use this poem to help my own poetry? How did I feel after the  poem?

Of course there are TONS of other questions you could ask. This is just giving you a base. When you ask one question it usually leads to another one. So enjoy! My tip is: Read lots of poetry. It will help you write your own.

A Photograph mimic

This is a poem written as a mimic to Margaret Atwood's poem.  This is my first try at free verse (not my strong point)...

“a photograph”

it’s not that old.

the edges are torn

but,

it still looks bright.

at first it appears to

be

a sea of humanity,

kids

with faces glowing and expectant

as if

something will happen.

when you look closely,

you see they are all sitting

in chairs,

you can see how

each child is focused

on someone

at the front.

four are raising their hands,

one of them,

a boy

is looking behind him

as if

looking for something

or someone

a question is in his gaze

“should i?”

the responding face

is that of a

girl

she’s smiling

nodding.

the smile on her face

the the rosy cheeks

in every way

her answer is, “yes”

To write this poem, I first read Atwood's poem and took in all the details. I saw how the line breaks emphasized certain words or certain phrases. I noticed the mysterious theme and how it sounded very good. So then I decided on what to write about. I thought back to what moment in time froze in my head. What 'picture' stayed in my mind? Instantly I knew exactly what I would write about. I was in Sunday school during the sermon at the anniversary of a big church. I had arrived with a couple of my friends but I decided to sit with some older friends not the usual ones. I sat near the back but felt awkward and out of place. I felt like I should be with my new friends but I was a traitor because I didn't. The reason why there were these two 'groups' was that I had gone with my parents to plant a new church so my 'new' friends were from the new church and my 'old' friends were from the last one. Anyhow, back to the poem. I was sitting in the back and my friends up front were laughing and having a good time. When the teacher asked for volunteers on of my 'new' friends raised his hand. But before going up front he looked back at me as if asking for permission or reassurance. I smiled and that's all I needed to know that they didn't think I was deserting them.
So that's what I wrote my poem about. Now for how I wrote it. Hmm I can't really describe that. I just typed and words flowed. That doesn't usually happen to me. I usually have to plan for a poem. But for this one, I just thought about the scene in my mind and began writing. After that I edited and revised and this is my final version. I hope this helps you think about how to write a 'photograph' poem!
P.S. The picture is not the one I'm referring to, but it looks very similar no? I took it maaaaaany years later.

A Girl in 1770

Like I said before, I like to write poetry from different points of view. So here's one I wrote as historical fiction:

A Girl in 1770 (I am in need of a better title)

There’s no dress I love

More than one

With a big ‘ol rip up the front.

There’s no place I’d rather read

Than up in a tree

With a beautiful, huge, comfy trunk.

There’s no hobby I love

Better than riding

On the back of a bucking horse.

There’s no action I

Delight in more

Than jumping into a stream with force.

I do like being a girl indeed.

But why

must I always wear dresses?

It’s quite unfair that boys do romp

Without a thought

of tresses.

They don’t tie bows,

They don’t wear mob caps,

And they aren’t annoyed with stays.

They don’t secure clasps,

Or muffs, or pattens,

And they don’t have to advert their gaze.

I do like dancing

But not learning

The “right” way to take tea.

I like singing

And the harpsichord,

But I don’t like embroidery.

And I enjoy gardening,

But not the tedious,

Task of making cheese.

I like baking,

And candle making,

But not scrubbing floors on my knees.

I suppose I must,

Even if I don’t

Very much agree,

Accept who I am

And what I do

With a bit of dignity.

As a lady,

I can give

Almost as much as men.

I could retell all

The latest happenings

Before they could count to ten.

And I can dance

without ceasing,

When they say they’re quite tired

I guess I have

Even more endurance

Than that in the army required.

I have such precision

In the art

Of the needle and the thread.

That I’m sure

If a rifle you gave me

I could shoot off the enemy’s head.

I suppose

It’s not that bad

To live the way girls do.

But always the

Rebellious desires

In my heart are true.

Tear apart this poem! Comment with any insights or any cool little meanings you found!

Poetry; My Life

When I don't have time to write an entire story, I decide to write a poem. Sometimes I pretend I'm someone else and write a poem from that person's point of view. Sometimes when I'm angry, I write a poem about it. If I'm crazy happy, guess what? I write a poem about it! You get the idea, I LOVE POETRY! I love to read it, write it, memorize it, criticize it, tear it apart and suck the juice from, read about it, write about it (note I said 'about' as in reviews and such), and most of all BE IT. Poetry: a way to express yourself with it sounding artistic and romantic.  Poetry: something that can rhyme or not rhyme, make sense or not make sense. I personally like the ones that are more mystical and harder to understand. That way I can tear it apart and try to find all the little lessons, the pieces of advice, and the possible meaning of it. Poetry: a way to distract yourself and focus yourself, a piece of art. I must say I'm not a very good poet, but I like doing it, and when you like doing something you can, most of the time, do it well. After a lot of practice of course. Yes, poetry takes practice. It doesn't just come to you. You have to test and see what sounds the best, what feels the best, what other people enjoy the most. So that's a little of my insight on poetry. I hope you 'suck the juice' from this post. Enjoy!

Yay! New blog!

Oh yay! I just created a brand new blog! This will be cool. For right now I'll focus it on writing but I might extend it after. Enjoy!