I wrote this one yesterday, about a picture I took:

- 

about 3/20/19

the sun turns golden at 6 o'clock

burning through everything that

obscures it: chain link fences and

car windows, dead winter tree branches,

even carving a hole in the horizon;

i could be lulled almost to sleep by the

gentle rocking of the car as it carries

us home: new car, fake leather smell.

i could almost go to sleep

(but the starting, stopping traffic lights

and other people going home whisper

promises of things yet to come). 

This is so cool! I knew about NaNoWriMo, but not this! Actually, last year I wrote a tanks every day (or almost that) from April 30 to May 24. Okay, here’s a few of my poems:

Winter

A score of robins fly overhead

Their red feathers standing out against the canvas

That is the winter sky

Their foreign words

Not strange in this land

Mingle with the distant crashes of metal on metal

My kite soars to greet its kin

But never flies

Quite high enough

Bitter cold biting at my fingers

Biting at the tender buds of young trees

Tells me, Leave

Mine is a house without life.

But still my kite dances in the wind

And I reply, There is still life

Buried in the soil.

The cold stays silent

Still gnawing at my fingers.

The First Time

Out in the grass, I hear the wind rustling each blade at my feet

As I stare

Up

How could I not, with such a sight above me?

A tapestry has been woven of shadows and moondust

I am transfixed

Nothing I have ever seen

Is as beautiful as this

I can’t leave, though I hear faded voices in the distance

Afraid

It will disappear if I look away

I would live on the mountain

If only for this

I would wait for hours

To see this appear in the deepest of night

While listening to the mountain’s song

Playing until the dawn

Like a lullaby. 

Leafpool, your poem is beautiful!

Um, for today I'll be writing off of a random word from a random page in my Cricket magazine (it arrived today, yay!). The word is keeper. And again it will be written with no editing, so keep that in mind, please. :)

Keeper

Am I your keeper?

Are you mine? 

Does it even

Really matter? 

Am I his keeper?

Does he know?

Do those around us

Really think

Or even care?

Does this poem

Sound really

Bad?

Or am I just

The keeper

Of my perfectionism?

(and then I'm writing another one because that didn't really turn out the way I wanted it to)

(and this rhyme scheme is based on the poem Marigold (?) is writing and the book Madeline)

(No) Keeper

In a cracked old stone cage in a poorly known zoo

Lives an ancient gray elephant all covered in poo 

Its feet are all brown and its eyes are so sad

For the ancient gray elephant hasn't a lad

A lad or a lassie or any would do

But the poor old gray elephant hasn't a clue

Why none have come helped it (it knows it's a weeper)

For our poor wrinkled elephant hasn't a keeper 

I know the second-to-last line needs a bit of help. :) 

I've been keeping up, but this is the first one I deemed worthy to post.

A Fork in the Road of Destiny

My palm is open, ready to receive,

The creases and veins criss-crossing,

Forming a long-winding, tenfold trail.

I run a finger

Across them and wonder,

Where does the trail lead?

And I answer myself,

It will lead you to your

Fate.

I actually qrote a poem that rhymes and isn't for school! Yay! (The theme was "trees".) Thoughts? 

The Old Maple Tree

Down through the path

Where the sweet lilies grow,

There happened a tale

You simply must know.

So pull up a chair

And lend an ear

Sharpen you attention

And lean in to hear.

On a late summer’s day

When the sun was setting,

A bride and a groom

Were having a wedding.

Their hands entwined,

Sweet as could be,

They were married under

An old maple tree.

Their joy was strong,

The girl and the boy,

For little did they know

They would soon be destroyed.

They skipped home together,

Laughing the whole way

And stayed with each other

For the entire day.

When the sun went to sleep

They thought they should too,

So they lay down to rest

‘Til their sleep was true.

Early next morning,

The girl awoke and then screamed,

For in front of her was

A horror never dreamed.

For the poor woman saw

(and it stung like a bee)

Her new husband was killed with

A branch of a maple tree.

She screamed and she sobbed

As all her friends came by

She felt so light on her feet

She thought she might fly.

The horrific story had

the police’s interest piqued,

For the killer had left

Without one clue.

So, open as a doorway,

The case was kept,

And when the told the poor widow,

It was ugly- she wept.

The whole town whispered

As the widow grieved,

Her love was gone-

Or so she believed.

A year or so later,

With the sun bright as could be,

A boy wandered near

An old maple tree.

Half an hour later,

See the boy filled with strife

As he told tales of a

Ghost calling for his wife.

Looks of fear were exchanged

As the elders were filled

With the tale of a newlywed

Who was mysteriously killed.

So on a late summer’s day

When the sun is setting,

Recall the bride and groom

Who were having a wedding.

So this is my tale

Of a somber mystery

Lost between the pages

Of years of history.

(You’ll hear most of the locals say,

sincere as could be,

That the soul of the man

Is trapped in the maple tree.) 

I wrote this yesterday:

oh yes, it feels like summer

- 

You mention summer, and I think of golden days, twisted around sandalled feet and running in thick grass playing tag at almost-dusk in the field by the parking lot at that church.

I think of standing by the gently lapping ocean and feeling its power feeling it all feeling so real and happy with rocks at my feet and sky above.

Thinking of what other summers have been (with nostalgia for things passed) and of what future summers can be--(with hope of dragging my fingers through the untouched fathoms-deep potential) it glitters bright and sweet. 

Rain

coming down in large sheets

drizzling

sprinkling

pouring

running over the ground

soaking

splashing

quenching

cleansing earth with sky tears 

I read a poem called daayan at gold streak river by Raena Shirali and it was pretty much the first modern poetry I had ever read by someone who wasn't a CBer! Her poem is so pretty and it really inspired me. I've already written a couple poems influenced by that one, and this is one of them.

my peaceful

-

if dawn broke over the ocean water if it split the world, melded it back together like flowing clay

if i sat on the rocks, face misted over if the pink and gold in the sky filled my heart if it

bound me closer to this place if the kisses of morning dew faded into the air if i

watched the water ebb, illuminated by the morning sun if it warmed me, my hair 

dancing in the wind if the birds came out, singing for the new day if the sea was my morning perfume