Match Girl

August 1, 2010 at 8:50 pm (Poetry) (, , , , , , , , )

Little girl

Playing with fire

Spreading it all around her

All she knows

Is that it keeps her safe

And warm

But when it is gone

She shivers in the cold

Dreaming of the fire

Wishing it would return

Wishing it would spread

Little match girl

Lost in the cold.

***The only thing I wanted from my grandmother when she passed away was a doll.  The little match girl sat in her living room for years, and now she is in my bedroom as a reminder.  I named her Etterene…after my grandmother.

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Creators of Worlds

April 26, 2010 at 3:03 pm (Poetry) (, , , )

Authors, you creators of worlds:

William Shakespeare; playwright of love, war, comedy, and tragedy.

Sir Walter Scott; author of knights, archers, and chivalry.

Jane Austen; lonely lover of romantic unlikelihood.

Oscar Wilde; decadent, Hedonist, misunderstood.

Edgar Allan Poe; troubled author, poet of lost, lovely faces.

Douglas Adams; holistic genius of strange cases.

H.G. Wells; leader in fantastic, futuristic imagining.

Ayn Rand; objectivist, atheist, architect of capitalist adventuring.

J.R.R. Tolkien; innovative weaver of the world of humans and hobbits.

Neil Gaiman; spinner of unique tales and sometimes magical misfits.

George Orwell; political satirist, down and out.

Authors, you creators of worlds,

Inspiration, ideas, and doubt.

***This is a poem that I wrote for a class. It is very close to my heart though because it talks about all the things I love about my favorite authors, as well as giving voice to my doubts about my own writing skills.

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What Love Is

April 15, 2010 at 9:11 pm (Poetry) (, , , , , , , , )

You cannot tell me what love is,

I already know.

It is talking and trusting.

It is helping and healing.

It is listening and

Leaping.

Taking a leap of faith.

Love maybe patient and kind,

but it is honest and hard-hitting.

I know what love is.

So let me tell you

What we both already know.

***I did write this with a specific person in mind, but as I read over it again and again I keep thinking that maybe my hand wrote something different than what my mind wanted. Maybe my heart took over for a little while, if that’s even possible.

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A Metallic Sea

April 6, 2010 at 11:35 pm (Poetry) (, , , , , , )

Wind swept parking lot

Vibrant Mustangs and Hondas

A metallic sea over sand

Of black and yellow

People adrift

People with purpose

Coming and going

In reverse

Or straight forward

Sunlight glares from windshields

Painting the scene in oranges and reds

Purple clouds as the sea goes dark

Pairs of spotlights

Lead the way

Of whom?

To where?

Let the asphalt take you away.

****Forgive me for messing with the colors of the words, I was just trying to have some fun. Really though, I was inspired by a parking lot near sunset. The thought of a parking lot as the harbor where your journey begins struck me as interesting. There is something deeper here though, I know, but do you?

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