Rain Pummels

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I lean into the wind

Soaking in the feeling

I throw back my head

And simply breath

Rain

It pummels

Heart beating in time

Close my eyes

Feel the wind

Supporting me

Keeping me

Wind slanting rain

It goes with me

Mouth open 

Rain falls in

Feeling amazing

So sweet and clear

A smile appears

So I stand

Rain hits my head

Feeling like a hand

Stroking my pace

And I wish

It would never end

Poem 21 ~ 5/3/2011

Masks

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I look in the mirror
What do I see?
Myself as I am?
Me as I appear?
The outer shell, 
That contains nothing?
The inner core, 
Shining out?

I look into your eyes. 
What is there?
Muscle, tissue, 
Chemical reactions?
The soul staring out
Through tinted panes?
Beauty pooling through
Yet, still contained?

Maybe it is but a farce
Faces may be just masks
Hiding our souls, 
From us, 
From them, 
And those we love. 

What would people think 
If our souls lay unmasked
Or perhaps I should ask
What would we be?

Poem 59 ~ 12/14/2012

Song of Spring

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I twirl

Feasting on the sun. 

My arms outstretched

Brushing over the grass.

So tall it tickles

And claws,

At my spinning arms.

I hum along

To the melody.

Of the birds, the bees,

And the tree frogs.

I listen to the harmony

Of it all.

It is like a symphony.

Every sound

Plays a different tune.

Yet, all work.

Together.

Making the song

Of spring.

The interlude

To summer.

Poem 27 ~ 2011

The Blushing Sky

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The moon steps down off the stage

The birds begin to chirp 

They twirl and sing their intro music

For the sun and earth

The sky is glad they love the act

So she smiles and blushes

Showing her emotions to all

The trees begin to wave their hands

For they do love the morning 

The sun begins to come on stage

The sky's blushing cheeks

Giving off their hues

And the squirrels call it

The pinks and reds of morning

And the bats think of it as fire

Chasing them back to their caves

And as the sky blushes

Her shadowed dimples cast in purple

Begin to become apparent

And all the world is bright

And joining in the smile of the sky

With singing hearts

And smiling faces

And a gratitude for life

Poem 17 ~ 4/29/2011

Pushed Into Flight

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     I say tweet tweet in the wind,
     The new bird can fly
     Mama bird gives a worm to eat
     I sit and think
     Brother bird sings a poem
     Baby bird sleeps.....

     This is the first poem I ever wrote.  I have no memory of writing it.  I declare that it is my first based off of the fact that my mother remembers writing down my words, and that my Grandpa wrote it down for himself.

     When I had just turned 13 my Grandpa gave me two sheets of paper.  Both together contained a grand total of three poems.  He and I sat together on his lazy boy (myself sitting on my arm rest perch).  He read me the poems with tenderness in his voice.  I listened. When he finished I asked him where they were from. He looked into my eyes and told me that they were my very own words. He told me that when I was 3 my mother called him and read to him these poems.  Careful to get every word he typed them up on his laptop. Now he was showing them to me.  His eyes showed pride.  Pride in me and these poems from the child I had been but don't remember being.

      A couple weeks before this moment, I had been under the impression that I had written my first poem.  It was a silly one, but the rhyme was good and the meter rather fair.  Now he told me that it was actually my 4th poem.  After 10 years of keeping it on his computer he wanted me to have a copy.

     "What for?" I asked.  "Why is this important?"

     I wish I could remember his exact words... but I cannot.  However, the condensed version I retain is, "These poems have a child's emotions portrayed in a natural setting.  Feeling is portrayed.  That is where the beauty lies. In the emotion."

     Only a little bit latter he died.  It was raw emotion. It was pain. And it reminded me of what he said. That beauty lies in the emotion.  And so, I wrote. I wrote my 5th poem. One full of love, longing, pain, and missing. The emotion pushed... and my wings unfurled.  I was pushed into a flight of expression.  A flight that sheds many poems, and helps me process the things I feel.

     Scraps and fragments
     Only pieces are good
     These 200 poems
     They hold shattered, scattered lines
     Scattered lines of beauty
     Pens have wasted ink
     I hope they except apologies
     However I'll keep wasting them
     Because I need to
     I'm a slave to emotion
     Pens, I am sorry
     But you shouldn't be
     So keep working
     Until I need you no more
     Which will be when I stop feeling