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.

Beethoven

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.

Heaven
is Maine in spring
your sleeves rolled up,
tentative,
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.

Kelia

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?
Invisible
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.

Kelia

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.

Kelia

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...

??
Kelia

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.

March

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.

Kelia

Poem

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

Ages

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

Kelia

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.

Kelia