Many Poems

Here's a bunch of poems I wrote in February.

Words shimmer as
they dance
by the fire on a cold,
cold night
Darkness creeps in
turns the air
to ice
Come closer
to the leaping flames
crackling red and
glowing gold
watch them
twist and turn
they thaw your hands
that pour out words
glimmering
like frosty stars
just within
your reach.


I'm not sure about this next one...

There's a story to be told
in each moment
of our lives
right now the sun's
reflecting off
the windowpane--
a flash of white
that slowly lessens.
The sun us sinking
it still warms my face
and I close my eyes
in it's brilliance.


Then these next two I wrote while on walks.

Stop a moment--
listen.
Wind rustles,
blows, and breezes
through the trees
all around
A hurried drip
drops softly to the right
A windchime tinkles
glittering
the sound dies away
A bird caws sharply
bursting into flight.
Your mind spills out words
that float away
on biting air
Glad to be free
they sing with the wind
that sweeps all around
Free from your heart
a dark, cramped place,
that only opens up
when you listen to the wind
and drips
and birds
and windchimes,
too.



Sometimes I feel like I live
in a painting.
There's bits of blue
peeking out between clouds,
and dreary leafless trees
motionless in the frigid air
and, of course, the snow
piled everywhere
a nuisance to all
drive five minutes from town
and it shines in the sun
rolled out on the hills
like icecream.


Kelia

Poem

Torn in three
I don't know what
to think or feel
Indecision
rules my world
The only constant:
none.
Not true.
Seas may rage
but a floor is always there
hold on to it
and try to breathe in
water.


Written last thursday (not yesterday) but wow it applies to today.
Kelia

Last poem written while 13

I just wrote this two minutes ago, it's the last poem I'll write while 13 (unless I write another tonight).

So strange to think,
tomorrow
I've aged another year
I'll never be this age again
I'll never play piano again
or write another poem
at thirteen,
a year of black moods
sad moods
harsh words
laughter
roaring laughter
tears,
a roller coaster year it was
of singing
theatre
poems
novels
friendships
broken
mended,
and music
always
music dear
more constant than the
sunlight.
And how I've changed--
no one knows
just how I've changed
inside.
So strange to think
of me at twelve
how different was I really?
How different will I be
in one year's time
writing my farewell poem?
Goodbye thirteen,
you've been a friend.
Fourteen's drawing close.
It looms and glitters
both at once
it holds surprises,
heart ache,
smiles,
beauty.
Sounds like thirteen,
I'd say.


Kelia