Poem: What Happens?

written 8/4/09

critique welcome.

What happens if my pen stumbles

over words that won't come?

Words that once flew winged to speckle and splatter

a blank page,

what happens if they can't form,

if they don't form,

like they aren't forming now.

It's because I don't have experience,

I know it is.

Don't tell me different.

Don't try to tell me different.

I know my lack of self, of hurt, of love,

is all my own fault.

I know my fear of fear is pathetic.

I know that, if I felt,

I could write again

Poem: Lies

written 8/1/09

Critique welcome.

I've opened a Pandora's box

of secrets

without meaning to.

I've told things normal people

wouldn't tell

and lost affection.

So I kept secrets,

gained trust,

but lost truth.

Poem: My Spotted Socks

writted 7/13/09

critique welcome.

Threaded with pink

and white

and a tiny bit of orange.

Thoroughly worn

and loved

and torn at the toes a little.

They don't exactly keep my feet warm,

But as long as I can look at my spotted socks

I almost don't mind being cold.

Poem: The Porcelain Cup

Written 5/14

Critique Welcome!

I hold a porcelain cup in my hand.

Hand-painted ivy twirls through

Dancing harps—

I can hear their music.

I can speak their language,

Silence.

Its lip curves toward mine.

This side has but slight irregularities,

Only visible when my eye draws it so near,

So very near,

That everything else blurs.

I hold the porcelain cup in my hand,

And ache for it to be complete

As it once was—

But now it is broken.

Even now it is crying,

“Let me be whole!”

Let mine fingers stroke its side,

Jagged and painfully unique

And I will drink my tea.

That awful tea,

From my beautiful, broken cup.

Haiku: Tree

Written 4/21

A bastion for birds

Freckled limbs restrain new life

Crooked, awkward limbs.

Known and Un-Known

Free verse, written 3/27/09

"Ready?" Calls a voice well-known,

Though the face my eyes can't see.

The sky is wet and lined in rain,

But I only know that

Because a half-hidden lamp,

A lonely lamp, can see.

Splash.

"Take my hand!" My own voice cries.

How alive is nature at night!

One aged hand, one trusting hand,

Intertwine as we run

Past a half-hidden lamp,

A forgotten lamp, that sees.

Poem: Flooding

Written 3/23/09

Picayune matters,

Only trifles of life,

Build and build and build.

One day they shatter.

Droplets of rain

Drip and drip and drip.

I search for a ladder

As floods

Rise and rise and rise.

I fall as it clatters.

As water,

As anger,

As despair,

Drown me, drown me, drown me!

(Yes, I realize the last section is different... rrrg.)

Poem: Unnamed

Written 3/5/09

A little more abstract, so don't feel bad if you don't get it... that's just my confused self writing deeper feelings that make no sense :)

Wish for a song

Hope for the words

To rescue the lost

That wave behind you-

"So long"

Forms their lips

Wish for needle and thread,

And make me

Into a puppet

And I'll dance to the song-

"So long".

When you're lost.

Critique Welcome. Especially on this one.

Poem: Wish of a Star

Written 2/13/09

The wish of a star:

To not be afraid

Or feel how alone

They seem to be made

How I wish to comfort

That flickering light-

One bashful part

Of this beautiful night!

Ditto from below.

Poem: Sin or Storm?

Written 1/29/09

What could I have done to anger

This frighteningly alive

Mask over my sun?

Are my sins so great

That even the rain feels the need

To try to rinse me clean?

Why, even the trees whisper

Condolences, at least forgiving 

My unknown trump of nature!

I can't be this awful, I think,

Though the skies, rain, and trees

Seem to protest a differing 

Opinion.

As always, critique most welcome!

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 :)

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!

Dark is Darker

My New Year's Resolution was to write a poem every day. So far I've done pretty well, missing only a day or two here and there. Of course most of the poems are just terrible, but I rather liked this one.
(Many thanks deanna for giving me a journal to do this in!)

Written 1/4/09

Dark is darker when I close my
eyes
"Hope is vain" I say and
sigh
We wait, you and I,
Unanswered,
Like that closeted darkness.
We cry, you and I,
Like a tortured blindness.
Scattered?
Shattered?
Dark is lighter when my eyes adjust.
"He will come," you say, and I
Trust.