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.

Listen.

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.

Listen.

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

Which do you like better?
Kelia

Guess

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--
Disappears.


Kelia

Two New Poems

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

Singing--
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
inanimate
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.

Kelia

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,
colors,
sounds,
sometimes bringing
story ideas with them
that flourish and blossom
while you're sleeping
filling the night with
anticipation,
potential,
beginnings.
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
dreaming
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?)

Kelia

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.

Kelia

Poem......again

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.

Kelia

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