Tuesday, December 9, 2008

Maybe poem?

So this morning, with utter shock and horror, I remembered. That I forgot to write a poem last week. O_O O_O O_O I might have come up with something though... I went through all my emails and took things I wrote during the week and made sentences into a poem. I really have no idea if it works or if it even sounds like a poem....?

I woke up this morning and looked outside...
It was snowing.
We only have half an inch now,
that's okay with me.
No shoveling yet!

It's so beautiful.

I really don't want to have missed a week though, that would be horrible :(

Friday, December 5, 2008


Three people: One storm

The sky is crying
The clouds are growling
The wind is howling
The sea is roaring
The rain is pouring
The world is dying.

Rain drops spin and twirl
From sky to earth
They catch the light
And throw it
In to the air
Each drop a dance
Celebrating life.

Tear drops trickle down
The window pane
Your forehead’s leaned
Against the glass
Your room is dark
The sky is black
You watch the rain.
‘It all will pass,’
You tell your self
As tears pound down
And lash and scream
For day to come
For day to come.

Does this poem work? I'm not exactly sure. And also, which do you like better, the version of the poem I posted last, or that poem like this?

Night, has painted it’s wings black
And hidden the moon tonight
Trees, quiver and sway
Back and forth,
Wind, shivers and sweeps
the sky away
The stars are gone
Moonlight is memory
and nothing more
Earth, it splinters and spins away
A sight that empties and fills your brain
Till all you can see is black

Erin read the first version and said it didn't read well, she thought this was much better. What do you think?

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Night has painted it’s wings black
And hidden the moon
Trees, they quiver and sway back
And forth, the wind it shivers and sweeps
The sky away
The stars are gone
Is memory and nothing more
The earth, it splinters and spins away
A sight
That empties and fills your brain
Till all you can see is black

Is black too boring a name for this? This is an extremely random poem I wrote for my nano.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

November Ghosts

November Ghosts

November ghosts
oh what on earth
are they? you say
November ghosts are these
they're spirits of the trees
of leaves that twist and twirl down to the ground
of flowers withered, fallen, hanging dead
November ghosts are winds that howl
through the skies and moan
November ghosts are times when you feel sad
and so alone
they haunt the places you would play
when summer would abound
they're trees that flail against the wind
their arms skeleton bare
they're memories of spring, of crickets
all the summer's sound.
The world is poised
it waits for snow
but in it's stead
November ghosts
they creep in slowly
stealing warmth
stealing color.
They're people huddled inside their houses
their blankets curled around them
November ghosts
they steal the heart of the world.

This end has problems. Should I just end with Sound? I can't figure out how to fix the end....

Sunday, October 26, 2008

Yes, I am updating

:D And I have still been writing poems! I don't know why I haven't posted any of them. Anyways NaNoWriMo is right around the corner, and I'm very very excited. Last week I wrote a poem for one of my characters in my yet to be written novel, this is it. (You might not get all of it, but just know that it's about a character who is a ghost.)

Lilith's Song
Breathe in
don't die
the world will end
before your eyes
breathe in
don't cry
the world will end
the world will rise...

The moon will burn
the sun will fall
a sea of black
black flame
you watched him die
you watched him burn
don't be surprised
you're not the same

You try to save them all
you can't
you can't do everything
you can't
stay here and right this wrong
you can't
watch silent as they fall
you can't give up, you've fought so long...

Breathe in
don't die
the world will end
before your eyes
breathe in
don't cry
the world will end
the world will rise...


Tuesday, September 30, 2008


The Flood

The night is dark
so dark outside
my heart is bursting with song
I see the world
in my minds eye
the world is waiting.
So long, old life,
the world is waiting so long.

The wind is fierce
so fierce, it moans
my heart is burning with pain
I see the world
in my minds eye
the world is covered.
So long, old life,
the world is covered in rain.

The beach is smooth
so smooth it shines
my heart is peaceful and still
I see the world
in my minds eye
the world is empty.
So long, old life,
the world is waiting to fill.


Monday, September 8, 2008

Poems Galore!!!!

So like I said in my last post, this book of poetry I've been reading has been inspiring me to write poems. I had no idea how true that was until Friday night when I wrote four!!!! So in all, this week I've written eight poems. Yay!!!! This is seven of them, I already posted the Lady of the Lake one.
The first is very random and came out of nowhere.

When he went away
she stood there at the stairs
watching his graying hair
fade away
until the memory was gone,

The Quilt
The quilt swirled off her lap
and billowed onto the floor
the room was full of roses and ferns--
a peice of summer that never died
and guarded against the bitter cold.

If I could write poems
all the day long
with an occasional break
to sing a silly song

and a piano right there
to plunk out a tune
and a great big backyard
to look at the moon

With family nearby
and friends all around
and a place to escape
all the joyous sound

Why, I wouldn't need money
or sleep, or even bread
for I'd ben in heaven
and already dead!

My Love
Where is my love?
Where is he now?
Is he on land or sea or air?
Who is my love?
I know him not
know not if he is dark or fair.
I know only
that through my life
on edges, hovering, he's there
He's like a star
shining for me
and when we meet, I'll join him there.

I might as well write
another poem tonight
four will be a record
for one day -
but what to say?
My mind is full of poetry
flowing in and out like a stream
like a half-remembered dream
the words fall- they flow-
they don't know where to go
they tumble, they grumble
like and unseen bird
nothing's ever been hear-
it's too absurd-
maybe I shouldn't
finish this poem tonight.

But I'll never have
this moment again
my soul is drenched in words
overflowing with thoughts,
ideas, that only I can write
I don't know what to say
the day will soon be over
the sky is dark and my
eyes are heavy
and I wish this night
could last forever.

I can't sort anything out
I have no idea what this poems about.
Do you know?
Didn't think so.

What should I do about this poem? Halfway through it switches styles. O_O Anna said I should change it so it's all one style or the other-- but that would ruin it. And take ages. Does it work like this?

How Many More Nights
How many more
nights like this will there be?
With this book upon my knee?
I can read it again
and again and again
But then
I'll be so different then
Will it still make the words start
and not stop until my heart
is unburdened, free?
How many more nights
like this will there be?

A love burns in me
deep in my heart
a love for my friends,
my family, my art
A love for afternoon
light in the fall
a love for the sea
and the wind's lonely call.
A love for people
who suffer so long
and can still raise their voice
in life's joyous song
A love for music
that comforts the soul
A love for writing--
but, on the whole,
A love burns in me
that no one can name
So deep-- as I change,
the love stays the same
This love within me
is peace in a storm
a refuge - and slowly
the love takes a form...

A love burns in me
something more than mine
exuberant - free-
this love that will shine
I open my eyes
and see.

And then this last one, should I end it with form or see? I can't decide which I like better.

And there you have it!

Friday, September 5, 2008


So Mom was looking through some of Dad's books, and she found some ones of poetry. So I've been reading Classic Poems to Read Aloud, which I love. All the poems are so good! And I've found, when I read poetry it often inspires me to write some. This poem I wrote yesterday I wrote because the Lady of the Lake is a character in the story I'm writing.

The Lady of the Lake

Would you be a lady
with a lake to yourself?
A place to swim
and a place to sing
and a place to take the moon
and put the starlight into jewels

to adorn a sword
made out of ice
and the light of early morning

Would you be a lady
with a life to yourself?
You'll swim forever
oh and you'll sing
the days away

the hills will know the sorrow
of a life full of mystery
you're something more than a lady
made from lake-water-- moonlight--
you will change history

You have no choice.
You'll spend your life


Sunday, August 24, 2008

I wrote this a week ago, but I just got around to posting it now...

God is here
that's him in the trees
can you hear him in the wind?
The sunlight dances
reminding me
that God is here.

Wherever you see beauty
in nature, in music,
in life
God is there.
He's there in the still of night
in the crashing of waves
whenever you need peace
he'll be there for you.

I don't know why I
didn't always see it
so many times
I blinded myself with anger -
self absorbtion -
and I couldn't hear
his peace in my heart.


I can hear him in the wind
God is here.

Oooor I could do the ending

I don't know why I
didn't always see it
so many times
I blinded myself with anger -
self absorbtion -
and I couldn't feel
him in my heart.


I can hear him in the wind
bringing peace to the world.
God is here.

Which do you like better?

Monday, August 4, 2008


So I wrote this today... thoughts?

The music thrums
You can feel it’s beat
In the soles of your feet
As you sway with the drums

The music whirls
You can feel it fly
See it reach for the sky
As you dance, as you twirl

The music slows
You can feel the pain
Flowing soft like the rain
But before all’s despair

The music grows
You can feel it build--
Something new, something filled
With wonder is here
As you move to the flow

The music thrums--
The music whirls--
It slows--
It grows--


Wednesday, July 23, 2008

Two New Poems

Here's two new poems, I wrote the first on Monday and the second yesterday.

is opening the mouth and letting
everything out
thoughts, feelings,
unexplainable joys
untellable sorrows
you can hear it all in the notes
the relief
to be getting away from life
the bittersweetness of life
as you sing your heart out
you want to shar it with all the world
so you work, and work
and sometimes lose the reason for singing
but it always comes back
on a gray day when you sing out of havit
and find new meanings in the words
more beauty in the song
than you've ever heard before.
And you stop and listen
to the raw delight
the aching loneliness
and you forget about that stubborn note
the difficulty over your break
you forget everything except the need
to give your heart a voice
and you sing
like never before.

Night falls
I stare at the object draped in shadows
thatI've seen so mant times before
it speaks of silence and perseverence
its stood as the years have washed over it
jostled from place to place
always persistent in it's silence,
in it's peace.
As the world whirls around--
comings and goings
fights and laughter
hugs and tears and anger and joy--
when the world stops spinning
it stands here in the darkness
waiting for me to fall asleep
so it can sing it's song
of silence.


Monday, July 7, 2008

I know, I know

But it's only been three weeks! That is a long time, but it doesn't feel that long for me because I've only written three poems. Oh well.

I just wrote this poem, I like it but somehow I don't think it flows right...?

Dreams are funny things
they fly in and out
full of imressions,
sometimes bringing
story ideas with them
that flourish and blossom
while you're sleeping
filling the night with
You breath fast when you wake
and stare into the dark--
remembering the dream
that painted your mind
with such possibilities.
Will it shrivel when
the morning light hits it,
or will it strengthen and hold?
The question doesn't
even cross your mind
as there, in the dark,
a world unfurls before you.
This night has brought a gift-
fragile - like and egg--
it will either break or hatch.
For now you hold it close
of what's inside.

Aaaaaand a very silly one I wrote last week. I was not in the mood to write a poem.

What I Would Say
If I Kept a Journal

It's 4 aclock
it's raining out
if my handwriting's messy
it's because my eyes are closed
I'm trying to go to sleep
it's not working
but try I will
while the rain patters,
splatters down
and time ticks away
into oblivion.
(That was rather eloquent,
don't you think?)


Monday, June 16, 2008

Poem! Finally!

I have been still writing poems, they just haven't been very good or have been too private too put up here. So finally I wrote one that I like.

The theatre is dark
light spills in
onto empty seats-
the shadows retreat
and quickly cloak the rest
in mystery.
You step between light and dark
and listen to the quiet
a resting quiet
it speaks of long-lost voices
and memories of songs.
Playbills, posters catch your eye
as the darkness softens
tributes to past plays
and actors who have danced
on this stage.
You climb the steps
catch a glimpse of back-stage,
turn away and look out
at read leather seats
that will soon be filled.
You let a note go
hear it ring in the darkness
it fades away and is gone
swallowed up like all the others
you sit back and listen
to the memory of an echo
as the door opens
and light and laughter
washes over the past
and into now.


Friday, May 9, 2008


And here is yet another poem. It started out as a haiku, because it was Monday night and I really needed to write a poem, but it got longer but still in the format so it's kind of a four-verse haiku. Except that there is no such thing!

Life is a whirlwind
of tornadoes and sandstorms
dust flies in my face

and I cannot see.
I try to remember
what the sky looks like

when no clouds fly by
but the memory is wrong.
Friendship comes from clouds

from the rain that drops
on a parched desert waiting
for life to arrive

and grow.

The only thing is that the line 'I try to remember' is only six syllables and not seven. I could change that and do 'I wish I could remember', but then that would imply that I can't remember instead of just trying to...? And I'm thinking of naming it The Desert.


Friday, April 18, 2008

Beethoven and Spring

Yesterday evening and this afternoon I wrote a poem, so that makes three for this week! As you might have guessed, the first is titled Beethoven and the second is about Spring (once again.) I really like both of them so I want to make them better.


What was it like
to sit down and hear the
burning, passionate rage,
the yearning melody
so clear in its longing,
for the first time?

Would it have been like angels
singing down to earth
putting the melody in his ear
already perfect
except for a few minor changes?
Or did he grapple with the sound
discordnated plunks
startling people walking by
while he searched for the right note?

What was it like
to stand up and hear his
work performed for hundreds
already played so many times
in his little room-
did his heart still soar with the cello
and sing with the violin
knowing that the world
was hearing it
for the very first time?

This second one's shorter, I wrote it outside on this lovely afternoon.

is Maine in spring
your sleeves rolled up,
waiting to see if its real.
The sun is strong
on recovering grass,
soil warm beneath your feet,
everything is beautified
by the way the air moves
against your face
and the sun dances
down through the trees.
A breath of wind-
your hair flies
and you feel beautiful.


Wednesday, April 16, 2008

May day

Our library always has a big May Day event. This year Mrs. O'hara is getting people from book groups to dress up as fairies, then go around spinkling fairy dust. I found out today that we also have to recite a poem. Instead of reciting one from those little fairy books I decided I might write one. So I wrote this, but is it really fairy-ish enough? It certainly is springish, but not that fairy-ish....?

The sun is setting through the window
April's drawing to a close,
the day is dying with the sunset
but the memory of warmth
keeps me outside until the
sky is dark and air is chill.

A flash of something catches my eye
I turn to look and wonder,
was that a bug or something different
something full of mystery?

That flits and lies
throughout the night
and loves the spring and flowers?
by morning light
the moon reveals its powers.

And even if I was mistaken
and no fairy has flown by,
I'll still be watching May's first sunrise,
watch spring awaken flowers,
watch the magic of the world
slowly spring to life again.


Saturday, April 5, 2008

Poem of the week

EDIT: Its sooooooooooo cool!!!! I sent this poem to the author, Katherine Marsh, and she wrote back!!

Wow. Kelia, that's a beautiful poem and captures the heart of the story perfectly! Thank you so much for sharing it with me. Perhaps you'll write me a poem about the second book in the Night Tourist series when it comes out next year? Hint: it's about love.
All best,
Katherine Marsh


I havent posted in a while because I've been waiting for my poem of the week. So here it is! I wrote it after reading a book called the Night Tourist, which is about ghosts and is kind of a take off on the Orpheous story. I dont think its very good, but oh well. Its from the veiw of a ghost. Its also maybe the longest poem I've written! Isnt that sad? :D

The Night Tourist

I stream out of a fountain
And shoot up towards the stars
The sky is full of ghosts
Who chatter and laugh
And wish they were alive.

People walk by beneath us
Never once looking up
Only dogs sense our presence
And bark at things not there
Or so the people think.

The night is here before us
We could go to the theatre
Or the play in the park
See all the tourist sights
Or go to the poet club.

But when the sky starts turning
And blue merges into pink
Back to the fountain we go
And sighing descend
To a world of gray shadows.

Not once can we see the sun rise
Not once can we feel its warm rays
They try to tell us we would
Disappear, but still in our hearts
We wonder.

We wish we could laugh
With those firmly on the ground
Having a regular boring life
Where things are always changing.
We wish we could live.


Monday, March 31, 2008

What do you think?

Today I wrote this poem. And I really dont know what to think about it.

First version:

The music plays
a casual background song
that I've heard many times before.
But when I stop reading or talking
stop to think
the music wraps me in its spell
and my mind is free to wander.
Cliche's dont seem so bad,
tragedies seem romantic,
and all is wonderful in this world of mine.
My words dance
as they start to flow across the page
my heart soaring as the music sings.
And then
the music starts to fade
I grasp at the last notes
but already the air seems stale
my words harsh
and the real worlds glares at me
in muted colors.
All is silent and I feel like crumpeling the page
for with the glory of the music
has flown my inspiration.
Then the next song starts...

So then I tried to re-write it, turning up with a very strange very different second draft. The beginning of it each verse kind of does its own thing, but to somewhat of a pattern. Then the end is pretty much like the first end. But which do you like better?

Music plays,
in the background,
it distracts
me from my book,
draws me in,
the notes bind me,
and I am
under its spell.

My heart soars with the crecendo
my pen flies across the page,
words alive they dance to music
music full of joy and rage.

I feel like singing
I feel like shouting
I feel like writing
it all down,
all the soppy lines
all the crazy lines
and the ones that
do not rhyme - at all.

And then
the music starts to fade
I grasp at the last
dwindling notes
but already the air seems stale,
my words harsh,
and the real world glares at me
in muted colors.
It feels like my heart
will never sing again.
And then the next song starts...


Saturday, March 22, 2008

Experimenting Poem

I've been thinking a lot about pattern and rhythym in poetry and all that stuff. So this afternoon I wrote this poem. I'd like to know, can you see the pattern? Does it really have a pattern? It's free verse.


The trees quiver with unseen wind
Their arms flailing against the blue, blue sky
A blue thats icy paleness
Startles me awake
Every time I look outside.

The sun prepares for spring
The wind ravaging against the change
Clinging tight to winters hold
On this cold
Unchanging world.

This was my original second verse:

The sun is getting stronger
As it creeps up on spring
But the wind ravages against the change
And clings tight
To winters hold on the world.


Friday, March 21, 2008


Here is the poem I wrote the day before my birthday. I was doing it for the number of syllables in a line.


Old years
young years
every year in between
play away
the days of their youth,
Gray heads
light heads
every shade in between
caught between
fantasies and facts.
Wise eyes
wide eyes
try to look in between
years that
flying from a crash,
Soft words
loud words
every noise in between
moods change
and you find
that this year's the next.


Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Here is another poem I wrote recently, I'm not going to go in order anymore I'll just do what I feel like. So I really like this poem but if there's any way I could make it better...?

The piano sits across the room
its cover closed so as to think its sleeping.
But I can still hear an echo of the song
feel the smooth keys beneath my fingures
and that quiet peace is still there.
A peace like the sunset
or rain on a summers eve,
a peace like the sea and the
clear, blue sky.
Its like trying to catch mist
or holding light in your hands,
describing peace.
Its one of the few things that poetry
cannot put into words.
And so we come back to music
time and time again
songs that make us feel wonderful
and in the depths of despair.
But always the peace is there.
The piano is still closed - apparently sleeping.
but all around it - I can see it clearly now -
are not the echoes of songs, but joy.


Monday, March 10, 2008

An introduction of sorts

Hello all people who will be reading this! This is a blog for my poems. At the new year I challenged myself to write one a week, which so far I have kept. But I'd like people to read them and give me advice, because I really dont know if they're good or not. So thanks!

The title of the blog is very random, I just did the first thing that popped into my head. But it is related, when I was little I wanted to write a book of poems and have it be called To Live in a Rainbow. No idea why! But here it is on my blog now.

So here is the first poem I wrote in the new year. It was kind of based on a memory, all advice is appreciated.

Afternoon light streamed down through the trees
and rested lightly on me, perched on a rail,
surveying the yard like a new vantage point
made me a queen.

But the light made me look up--
Golden light that shone in beams among the green leaves
light that turned the whole world into a place
of magic and well being.

The crunch of my apple was the only sound
but no, there was more. The wind in the trees,
the chirping of birds filled the place with the
unmistakable sound of joy.

If I had been hurrying to the car or quickly
or doing some chore or other, I would have missed it.
Missed this moment, in a war torn world, of peace.
And if I would let my heart reflect that peace
that came with the light, I would have peace too.

Thank you!