Stories: A Poem

Written 2/6/09

Just a quick little poem I wrote for fun :)

I opened my window

And heard in a dream

The still, cold air

Speak to me.

And I heard all

The tales of men,

Children, lovers,

Those that had been.

She spoke plainly,

She of the wind

Of the trucks with red

Lights 'round the bend

She wept aloud of

Horrid nights

Like these, but why

Should I be afright?

'Tis only a story,

A whistle, a sound.

And I am safe in a house

On the ground.

I closed my window

And wind turned her face.

Her back is to me,

Her vanity disgraced.

Critique welcome, though it is just a quirky little thing :)

Random Quote: Cry, the Beloved Country

I'm reading Cry, the Beloved Country by Alan Paton for school. It's interesting, and written in a very unique style, which in my opinion gives it an extra golden star. 

But it's also very profound in its ideas. I ran across this today as I was reading it, and it really grabbed me. Well, there were actually a lot of quotes that grabbed me, but this one is my favorite:

The truth is that our civilization is not Christian; it is a tragic compound of great ideal and fearful practice, of high assurance and desperate anxiety, of loving charity and fearful clutching of possessions. Allow me a minute...

This is part of a manuscript written by a son that is being read by his father. "Allow me a minute" is the last thing the son writes before he hears a sound downstairs, goes to look, and is shot. Which, along with being extraordinarily depressing, is also interesting... What awfully beautiful last words to write.

It makes me wonder what the last words I write will be.

Meme: Me! (moved from AyeCaptain)

Thanks for the questions, GirlWiththeBraids!

1. What is your favorite color?

At the moment? Yellow or Teal

2. If you could meet one author in person, who would it be?

Easy! Alison Croggon, author of the Pellinor Series

3. What song describes your life?

This was what took me so long to answer... I have no idea. 

BUT the closest one I could find was Marching Bands of Manhattan, by Death Cab for Cutie. AMAZING band. If you haven't listened to them yet, LISTEN to them!

4. What TV show do you want to guest star on?

Gilmore Girls ;)

5. Converse or high-heels?

Depends on what I'm wearing.. but seeing as I don't actually OWN any converses, I guess that means high heels XD

What about converse-high heels?

If any one else wants to do that, let me know your email and I'll ask you five questions!

Voice of Time

written 2/9/09

Minutes repeat

Like a wavering voice.

But when that voice runs out

of air--

Minutes pause:

"Tick"

Will no longer

"Tock".

We would run in circles

(If we could run),

Alas, time has stopped

(And the world is undone)!

Listen to the pause

In the flickering verse

(In the very least,

At its very worst)

The voice of time,

Hear her shout:

"All is wrong!"

When her voice runs out.

I apologize this one is kind of "all over" and probably confusing and awful. Critique?

My Lamp (poem)

Something a little brighter!
Written 1/23/09

Little lamp, you are strong
and brave
When I grow scared of the hauntings
Outside this room, your soul flickers
And instead of withering shadows,
I see the dust in my room-
On the shelves
In between books
Behind curtains.
Places I should have cleaned.
But what if every once in a while,
It is right to quail before those shadows?
Should I test the brink of nightmares
To experience something new?
Ah, what if the owl is hooting
Merely of a magical place?
And the glint in a beast's eye reflects
Not a prowling ghost,
But a fairy, whose light was thought to be
Hidden?
Perhaps our Lady Moon isn't trying to light up evil things,
But only preening her image in the slumbering
River?
Little lamp, have you tricked me!
Your bravery has become my weakness.

Untitled (poem)

Written 1/22/09

His hand rested on the Bible,
A vow of its own kind
Accompanying the words spoken
His body acted in accordance
With the expected.

His hand rested on the Bible,
Light and sure of accomplishment,
But these accomplishments were not
Would not, stay astride with what
The Bible accepted.

His hand rested on the Bible,
The same hand that, with a flourish,
Would sentence other hands
To strangle a spark of life in a
Newly formed babe.

His hand rested on the Bible,
A broken vow of its own kind,
Accompanying the lies spoken
The soul acted in accordance
With my expectance.

Please refrain from commenting on the political aspect of this poem, rather critique it as a work of poetry. Thank you!