Intermittent

I wasn't sure what poem to write today. I wrote a couple, played around with words, finally just decided to write this because I need to post something today.

There are a couple of other poems in the back of my mind but I just can't quite get them onto paper. Tomorrow is a less busy day, so maybe then I can work on them some more, pull these wanna-be poems out of my brain and stick them into ink. Or maybe I'll just ramble out some more words about words. You never know.

Intermittent 

I read the dictionary sometimes,
at night when I can't talk to anyone,
or don't want to,
and school is too much pressure,
and I don't want to think.

Words sooth me,
how they run down my throat
like hot soup on a cold day
until they fill my brain
and I cannot worry any longer.

Tonight I am reading the letter "I"
"Intermittent: coming and going;
ebbing and flowing; periodic."

Last time I read the "I"s I hated them,
just "I-N..." "I-N..." "I-N..."
but tonight I hang on every word
and go on for pages at a time
before I fall asleep.

The power of the words and me
comes and goes, ebbs and flows.

My Demons Look Like Stars

I found this on Pinterest and traced it back to this place.

Today's poem was inspired by this picture. I have this Pinterest board full of writing prompt pictures, and sometimes I go through the board and write one sentence for each picture. It's  a really good practice for me, because as a novelist I tend to want to say so much more about my topic and have a hard time writing anything short. Sometimes my one sentences don't stay at just a sentence. Sometimes, like today, they turn into poems.

My Demons Look Like Stars

My whole body holds untold stories
like birds afraid to migrate.
They are huddled
inside my head
and their eyes show a thousand stars
glowing in the midnight of my mind.

I am afraid
if I do not walk slowly enough
they will unleash-
pull the blood from my veins
up through strands of the hair
on my head and,
in a flurry of hateful cries,
they will carry me away
until I, too, am only stars.

Perfection

Hallelujah, Christ is risen! I am so amazed today at what my Kind did for me in taking my sins upon his shoulders so that He could die for my wrongs and come back to life, victorious over death. I spent the day in a flurry of flowery dresses, Easter eggs, chocolate, and cute bunnies and lambs. I love Easter and the idea of Spring and fresh life and new starts.

Today I have a poem about Easter. I'm not actually all that happy with the poem, but the formatting was a lot of fun and such a powerful reminder. My God is everywhere, and in everything, and crazy as it seems He cares about me and my silly struggles through college. He goes through them all with me.

So, here, a poem to my Best Friend, First Love, and the King of my Soul: Happy Easter!

 I'm Perfection

 Imperfection

the gap pulls apart, tears Creator from creation

Eternal life falls away at a sin that brings death

 and a people once loved are abandoned to fear

Until He comes

Light becomes 

man with no sin

Faces death to

cross  the  gap

Bring the  light

back   into the

darkness.  sin.

He  is  victory

Death  has no

power  to kill.

           

Shadowed Pride

It's funny. I think three times today I sat down feeling crazy-inspired to write today's poem. I even had a title in mind for one poem: "Duking it out with the Devil" but as soon as I sat down in front of whatever writing device my brain just sort of dried up and all I wanted to do was take a nap.

Probably  didn't help that I washed my sheets and my bed is freshly made. It's been begging me to come sleep all day.

I learned a new board game today, called Wonders, and even though I was so confused and completely lost, I think it's a pretty fun game and I'm excited to try again at some point when I can actually stop and think about strategy rather than just trying to figure out how to play.

I also have an almost idea for the Shadow Whispers now, and I'm thinking maybe before summer comes up I'll have something to work with as a new attempt at making Shadow Whispers into a publishable piece of work. I'm not sure yet, but my brain has been pointing me back to the Whisperers an awful lot lately. 

Here, a poem in honor of them, it's not very good, and doesn't tell much about the story or the Whisperers or the changes I've considered bringing up, but hey: it's kind of a sonnet.

Shadowed Pride

We tried to beat them on our own.
We thought up plans, and trained our minds,
and waited, hid behind the stone,
until we could unchain the binds
that held our world in darkness caught.
we formed a team, courageous, strong,
and swift, unbeatable. We thought
our victory would end in song.

 And then our pride brought death like air
a silent paint that drowned us all
we cowered under made up stares
while waiting for the sword to fall.
And yet the Shadow gave us life
and saved our world from pride's dark knife. 

College Hugs

Poem number three. I actually wrote a couple with unsatisfactory results, and I'm still not quite happy with this one, but I need to put something up and this comes a little bit close. I think part of why I don't want to post this one is because I hate saying that I'm homesick again. I don't want my mom to read this and feel sad for me or worried about me or sad because she misses me too.

But I am getting through college and it's good. Today got up to the sixties and the sun came up and the wind went down and I walked down to the lake and sun-bathed with a few friends beside the lake. It was nice. It's good to know Spring is coming, even though tomorrow is predicted snow. Still... warmth is coming, and I have hope that the cold won't last too much longer.

I'm also getting closer to coming to terms with the classes for next semester even with a few anxious moments of classes not being offered and favorite professors leaving. I think next semester will be a good one anyway as far as classes go. And I got registered for housing, which is fantastic considering about 100 people got stuck wait-listed because my college doesn't know how to count.

Anyway, here's a poem for April 3rd.

College Hugs

I made a blanket today.

It doesn't feel much like home,
but it's soft,
and I can curl up and pretend like it's a hug.

Of course I don't want a real hug
from a real person
and I kind of pull away from touch today,
like I'm afraid of emotion.

I guess sometimes a mom-hug
just is not the same
and all I have is this blanket.

The Sky Has Holes

My boyfriend once told me: "If wishes were kisses there'd be no room left in the sky for the stars."  This may not make sense to people other than me, but I love this quote so much and the thoughts that it provokes and the poem that it is.
For my Creative Writing Class this semester I get to choose fifty poems to hand-copy into an anthology, and I have two or three favorites. I noticed that most of my favorites have a line hidden in them that talks about stars."Girl" by Lisa Zaran, "Sleeping in the Forest" by Mary Oliver, "Preface to a Twenty Volume Suicide Note" by Amiri Baraka, "Do Not Stand at m Grave and Weep" by Mary Elizabeth Frye, "i carry your hear (i carry it in my heart)" by e.e.cummings, just to name a few.
There's a good chance I'll be posting some of those on this blog at some point,especially "Girl" or "Preface to a Twenty Volume Suicide Note" because I love them so much.

Anyway, all those these mentioned poems have some line about stars. I love stars. I love the way the night sky looks. So anyway, I wrote a poem about the stars. Enjoy! 


The Sky has holes.
Someone stretched Sky over a light too bright
for our fragile human eyes.
We didn't want to see,
so we closed our faces like blinds
and built the night sky to hide the shine.

In the day we pretended not to notice,
focused on the ground,
and the leaves of trees that shivered at us
and the clouds, we watched the clouds
and turned our backs to the sun.

But at night the light blinded the crickets
and silenced the frogs,
and we did not want to see anymore.
So we built the sky.
We stretched all that blackness above our heads,
a perfect canvas that could not be painted,
and we found pride in our alone-ness.
The darkness hung there and we slept.

Now the sky has holes.
Years wore on and the seems began to rip,
little spots of string pulling away from the stitches
one by one, almost unnoticeable
until one overzealous flyer pulled the sky a little too hard
and the strings fell out
and the holes opened up
and the light shone through.

Oh the light.

It filled us with emotions that mixed like vinegar
with the baking soda of our thoughts
and we felt fear and we felt longing.
We could not sew the sky again and so we left it,
and the light pierces the fabric
all the way down to our hearts
and we are helpless to the power
we cannot understand.The light
pushes in through our bodies and drips out
of our lips or hands and falls on paper
waiting to one day reach up
and tear the sky away. 

April Means Poems

Hey folks!
Guess what? Today is April First! (As marked by the dressers stacked in front of my roommate's closet and the stuffed version of her sitting on the bed with a ransom note for kidnapped stuffed animals.)

However, aside from pranks, April First means the beginning of Poetry Month. Last year I wrote a poem a day throughout April and then missed April 29th and was devastated. So this year I'm giving it another go, but with one pretty big adaptation.

I will be posting a poem a day onto this lovely blog. So most of the time I'll post whatever poem I wrote that day. But there's a good chance I'll write something I really like and may even consider publishing, in which case I will not put it up. On those days I'll probably put up another poem from some published poet to replace my own work, because there are just so many beautiful poems in the world.

So anyway, without further ado, the first poem of April 2015:

Growing Up and Doing My Own Laundry

I

Am alone today,

Just me and a camel, owl, knight, lizard, lego-ninja

Sitting here in this messy room

Wishing we could just stay kids.

Everything in adult life

Feels much too complicated,

Trying to eat dryer sheets

While I fold myself inside the washer

I never could quite fit.

But today there’s a list,

One of the many I scribble out every day,

To do today:

What I need to get done:

Work:

Homework:

Do These:

And I have

Three out of twelve crossed off

And don’t want to do the rest.

I need to wash my clothes,

But three dollars is so much

And the basement is so far from the second floor.

I’ll do it tomorrow,

Or the next day.

Maybe this weekend.

It’s funny that a poem

Counts as work for this list,

But I guess I can’t complain.

I’m alone today,

And stuffed into adulthood

 that doesn’t fit

And that’s just how life is

And I don’t get to play with toys

And be a little kid.

I just have to watch the camel

And write this poem.