Hope

Trapped far beneath the
Dusty surface of the world
A heartfelt rescue
Summed up in one word
Scrawled on the side of a worn
Blue helment: Vive.

Vacation:)

Well, they are hardly poems but pictures are a form of art and expressing creativity as well so here are some from my trip to Sacramento.

I do not belong

I do not belong here;


Among my friends 
who will finish their race 
next year.


And I, 
who have run part of the race with them-
only to stop just short of the finish line;
I have yet to start at the beginning again
when I could have won already.


They fill their heads
with new ideas - 
the cure for cancer perhaps.


My head harbors only
musty bits of numbers-
integrals, matricies,
what is orthogonal again?


Yes. Numbers and words.
Bits of foreign language
that would hardly be understood.


They have collected so much dust
that you cannot even tell
what colors azul and rouge
originally were.


Not that it matters.
Most people speak English
and my friends are long gone
Away to new places
that I am sure would not even consider
taking me in.


No. I will stick to my 
baking, and my video games
and pretend this is all
I could ever want.

Epic

I found a perfect
Rose; White and pure with verdant
Leaves. But finding it


Is like finding a
Weed when compared to feeling
I've aced my math test

Phlox grows wild as moss on a tree
on the north-facing slopes.

A pink dogwood blooms adamantly
in the midst of the greens and browns
of apple trees attempting to crowd it,
searching for a light of their own.

The evening sun throws thick shadows
on the snow-laden mountain
to the south. It looms larger
than before, the sun-touched east face
a beacon in the growing dark.

Farther down the road,
the pale blossoms of the orchards
are alive with lights, as if instead of bees,
thousands of fireflies have arrived.

The trees glow against the hills
and the deep blue of the evening sky
is puddled in the rumble strips
with the day's rain.

Since a picture is worth a thousand words...

My best easter eggs EVER! ^_^

April 2nd

Waking up to snow
outside; This April Fool's joke
Is a bit too late

Oranged

Gray days are perfect for tea.
Today, I choose one of orange spice,
Its faint citrus scent makes my mind wander
And I find myself dreaming...


I wake up, once again alone,
In a house that is not my home
As the sun warms the 
Crisp December air.
The lack of snow - so near 
Christmas - befuddles me.
Deftly twisting my long golden hair 
Into a bun, I wander outside.
The chill of hardwood floors
Is nothing compared to the damp grass
In the small yard behind the house.
Small flowers neatly edge
The grass, a small pool,
And a pair of flourishing trees
Laden with juicy citrus.
Carving into the tangy, orange flesh, 
I perch languorously at the edge
Of the water to break my fast.


I wake up, 
once again alone,
In a house 
that is not 
my home.

Crocus:)

A small white Crocus
The first fresh flower of spring
God's birthday present

Life

Spinning faster: red,
Blue, green; not a second left
between anxious thoughts

Challah

Softly rising dough
Garlic, wafting through the air;
Simply delicious.

Wrath

Scarlet eyes, flashing fire
Shining gold my hearts desire
Seething brooding ire

Tea

Pomegranate Tea
Nice and toasty, smells good too
Spilled all over me :(

Spring

Fresh frilly green leaves
Hiding under dripping eaves
Winter's chill bereave

Flow

Water flows, o'er rocks
And sand, as birds ride gently
On the glistening waves

For My Nessa

You bounced around in my mind last night- 
The way you used to bounce across
The grass when I met you.
I cried when I found you - 
I was so happy;
I wonder if you will be as happy to find me
If I will still be allowed to visit
As we had planned.
To make that long evergreen filled drive
That dead ends at your house 
Where your children and husband stand
On the lawn with you
Looking like a family from a magazine;
Smiling, happy, perfect.
So now, with my recently drained heart
Full of more joy than it has had
Since I set out on my adventures,
I fall asleep thinking of you - 
And dream of bread.

Villanelle

Tricky... But doable. My friend has to write one in one night for his english class so I said I'd write one with him... And found it surprisingly easier than i thought it would be :) Not the best poem I've ever done, but considering how tricky it is... :D


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The waves crash upon the shore
Beating hard upon the sand
My song is lost amidst the roar


Upon the beach they fiercely wore
Beating relentless on the strand
The waves crash upon the shore


Above the deep my sweet notes soar
A graceful, dark refrain's demand
My song is lost amidst the roar


Ships which travel, the world to explore
Yet some - so cruelly unmanned
The waves crash upon the shore


Fragile board and nail, I implore,
Ferried safely back to land
My song is lost amidst the roar


By sail of wind or stroke of oar
Make safe again, as God has planned
The waves crash upon the shore
My song is lost amidst the roar

Today you can start over

Every summer morning, I awaken
to the whirr of my neighbor’s lawn-mower.
It should irritate me, but it never does.
–––Today you can start over
It purrs through my window, as the stoic
grandfather clock in the hall chimes six.


Every summer morning, I lay in bed
listening to the birds twitter enthusiastically,
And watching the sun waltz across my wall,
keeping time with their effortless refrains
Until I notice the earthy smell of coffee
seeping into the thick aroma of freshly cut grass.


This summer morning, I lie in bed
and hear the grandfather clock chime six,
I hear the birds twittering and
see the sun waltzing across the wall
––– But the lawnmower is silent.
Rolling over, his cologne overpowers
the coffee smell.
My neighbor is still asleep.
-––Today, I can start over.

Haiku Seasons

Spring
Small yellow blossoms
Pushing up through frozen earth
Verdant life grows wild


Summer
Ascending azure
Sky; scorching sun desiccates
The parched earth cries out


Fall
Flames fall from spent trees
Covering the cool brown earth
Doused by deep blue sky


Winter
The barren earth mourns
Snow frosts the frozen landscape
Blossoms sleep below

Lawn Gnomes go Hiking

For Derek and Dan:)
My Northwest Nature Writing teachers ♥


Lawn Gnomes go Hiking
– photograph June 2007 –


They stoop there on the ground beneath the maples,
Frozen in time – like the miniature gnome statues
Old ladies keep in their gardens to amuse little children.


Rain drips from the cool green maples and thimbleberries,
Grounding the mosquitoes that have tracked them the duration of the hike,
Granting a brief respite from their needling attacks.


The one on the left – his hat is on upside down,
And he smirks, as if privy to some witty secret.


The other, on the right, wears glasses.
A pair of binoculars dangles from his neck,
Patiently awaiting the song of another bird.


Some things, they share – blue jeans, folded hands, beards.
Their backpacks lie close, camouflaging long awaited lunches
From monsters more portentous than mosquitoes.


Only one thing is missing from this scene
— They flaunt no gaudy pointed hats.

Light-Keeper

Filling up my bucket, I pour light on each star,
like liquid silver.


Carefully, I tuck my sleepy children into the dark abyss,
coloring them as I go. I decant some deep amber into Capella
and a drop of garnet for Betelgeuse.


Each color is hand-picked, to match the star’s personality.
Last of all, I settle on the hue for Altair
—My icy white diamond.


When they grow stronger, for their amusement,
I shall craft some planets from the leftover dust.


For now, I must keep pouring light on them.
Caressing each one in turn.
Calling its name.

To the Auburn-haired Man on the Bus

Another poem of mine, this time one of my favorite pieces. I did this piece for a creative writing assignment, it's a letter poem. My teacher asked me whether it was about a real person or not, and when I told him I made the whole thing up he was impressed and said I had gone to the next level. ^_^


-------------------


To the Auburn-haired Man on the Bus


Every morning you sit there, in the third seat from the back
On the right-hand side, staring out the window
As the verdant countryside unfurled before you ;
As if what you saw fascinated you more than any scroll
From Alexandria. Despite the allure the window held,
You would always glance up when the doors opened .
Your thick glasses took in every detail of the individuals
Who got on, from the sneakers on their feet and the short bob
Of her hair, to the deep indigo hiding in his eyes. If any person,
Man or woman, were brave enough to meet your gaze, your
Lips would curve into the most genuine of smiles.
That smile always made me blush, and I felt like
I had passed some sort of test —


This morning you were not there when I trudged
Onto the bus. I never had the nerve to speak to you ;
There was so much I could have learned….
I saw your obituary in the paper tonight,
So precisely worded that I knew you had to
Have written it yourself. And that is all I will ever
Know about you : Charles Mallory.

Drugged

So I decided to start out with a poem that I forgot I wrote:)
It's kind of a weird one, lol.


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The pill is a lie.
The minute blue capsule slides down my throat.
There, I've done it.


Driving along the forest's edge,
The woods whisper their joys to me.
Stopping the car, I climb out
Mesmerized by their deep tranquility.
The braches beckon me
With a soothing toss of their leaves,
But my feet remain motionless.
Vines crawl out of the depths,
Creeping over my feet
They envelop my legs,
And inch their way up my torso.
Tendrils branch out,
Slowly taking over my arms
As yet more converge on my neck.
They wrap themselves tenderly around my brain
And take control of my senses.
I close my eyes and give in,
Trying to relax and make it painless.


Some while later, I wake up
In my own bed, the afternoon sunlight
Warm on my legs.