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

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