elle-ami - Hello Poetry

She discriminates none, no story unread, Tales of magic and creation and death, Some inspire her with happiness, others with dread. She reads Shakespeare's Macbeth, Fairy tales from the brothers Grimm, Luxurious stories stealing her breath. When at last her mind is filled to the brim, She takes up her pen, And writes on a whim. The words spill out, again and again, She tries her hand at jokes, A skilled comedienne. She writes of a forest of oaks, Waiting for the spring, Shivering under their snowy cloaks. She tells a tales of a king, Of a child alone, She writes of a bird with only one wing. As the years fly by she sits on her throne, Made up of hopes and dreams and words The number of stories she’s written is unknown. She says goodbye twice, then comes back for thirds, Her body is worn, but her mind is sharp, She lets go, and flies with the birds. She swims with the carp, She fights with the knights, She listens to the ethereal sound of the harp. Her spirit lives on, she soars to new heights. Constantly busy, Forever seeing the sights.

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Dec 10, 2018

Dec 10, 2018 at 2:56 PM UTC

whim

She discriminates none, no story unread, Tales of magic and creation and death, Some inspire her with happiness, others with dread. She reads Shakespeare's Macbeth, Fairy tales from the brothers Grimm, Luxurious stories stealing her breath. When at last her mind is filled to the brim, She takes up her pen, And writes on a whim. The words spill out, again and again, She tries her hand at jokes, A skilled comedienne. She writes of a forest of oaks, Waiting for the spring, Shivering under their snowy cloaks. She tells a tales of a king, Of a child alone, She writes of a bird with only one wing. As the years fly by she sits on her throne, Made up of hopes and dreams and words The number of stories she’s written is unknown. She says goodbye twice, then comes back for thirds, Her body is worn, but her mind is sharp, She lets go, and flies with the birds. She swims with the carp, She fights with the knights, She listens to the ethereal sound of the harp. Her spirit lives on, she soars to new heights. Constantly busy, Forever seeing the sights.

30

1. pawprints in the snow like a monochrome painting white and white and white 2. the freezing woods sleep under a blanket of frost nothing to be seen 3. the chimney puffs smoke children run and laugh and play eyes and smiles bright 4. cold and bare, they stand trees and grass and plants and sky waiting for the spring. 1. as frost gives way to dew, as flowers begin to bloom, the world awakens 2. the seedlings grow, the trees proudly show their colors every shade of green 3. the rain falls down, the children frown, yet to learn of mud and mess and play 4. time ticks by, good things begin, temperature creeps up school’s out, it’s summer! 1. the sun is always there, a reminder of the heat and life and light 2. the birds fly high, their eggs hatch and grow and learn sweet songs fill the air 3. running and jumping off to camp they go kids enjoy their fun 4. playtime ends and so begins a race to get the best supplies for fall. 1. leaves turn brown and float gently to the ground, a fire of red and orange 2. holidays go by memories and scares and thanks one for every month 3. homework piles up and yet the children find time to romp and explore 4. animals prepare stocking food and finding homes ready for winter.

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Dec 6, 2018

Dec 6, 2018 at 10:26 AM UTC

winterspringsummerfall

1. pawprints in the snow like a monochrome painting white and white and white 2. the freezing woods sleep under a blanket of frost nothing to be seen 3. the chimney puffs smoke children run and laugh and play eyes and smiles bright 4. cold and bare, they stand trees and grass and plants and sky waiting for the spring. 1. as frost gives way to dew, as flowers begin to bloom, the world awakens 2. the seedlings grow, the trees proudly show their colors every shade of green 3. the rain falls down, the children frown, yet to learn of mud and mess and play 4. time ticks by, good things begin, temperature creeps up school’s out, it’s summer! 1. the sun is always there, a reminder of the heat and life and light 2. the birds fly high, their eggs hatch and grow and learn sweet songs fill the air 3. running and jumping off to camp they go kids enjoy their fun 4. playtime ends and so begins a race to get the best supplies for fall. 1. leaves turn brown and float gently to the ground, a fire of red and orange 2. holidays go by memories and scares and thanks one for every month 3. homework piles up and yet the children find time to romp and explore 4. animals prepare stocking food and finding homes ready for winter.

64

She sits. The ocean crashes on the rocks. The memories wash over her. A boy. No. Not a boy. The boy. The one who got her into this mess. The one who stole her heart the moment she laid eyes on him. Her boy. No. Not her boy. Her son. Her son, who knew nothing but love. Her son, the one that turned her world upside down. His father. Her other love. A sailor. She should hate the ocean. But she doesn’t. The water that laps around her feet Is not the same water that took her boy away from her. No. Not her boy. Her son. Her life. A simple trip. Her son. Begging to go with his father, On the big boat. His father. Agreeing, for it was the boy’s birthday. A storm. Out of nowhere. Raging, tossing the big boat around like it was nothing. To the ocean, it was nothing. But to her It was everything. The realization. When she realized that the boat wasn’t coming back. The tears. Flooding every inch of her. Drowning her. Oh, the irony. The waves. Constantly ebbing and flowing. She longed to join them. To be reborn Of sea foam and salt. But she didn’t. She sat. The waves crashing on the rocks. Anger. Anger at the ocean. Anger at her son. Anger at his father. And then Anger at herself. She went home. Slept. Wept. She sits. The ocean crashes on the rocks. A bird screeches. She is drawn out of her whirlpool of memories. She picks up a stone. Whispers. And throws it into the ocean. Letting go. Breathing. Living.

0

Dec 6, 2018

Dec 6, 2018 at 10:13 AM UTC

Whirlpool

She sits. The ocean crashes on the rocks. The memories wash over her. A boy. No. Not a boy. The boy. The one who got her into this mess. The one who stole her heart the moment she laid eyes on him. Her boy. No. Not her boy. Her son. Her son, who knew nothing but love. Her son, the one that turned her world upside down. His father. Her other love. A sailor. She should hate the ocean. But she doesn’t. The water that laps around her feet Is not the same water that took her boy away from her. No. Not her boy. Her son. Her life. A simple trip. Her son. Begging to go with his father, On the big boat. His father. Agreeing, for it was the boy’s birthday. A storm. Out of nowhere. Raging, tossing the big boat around like it was nothing. To the ocean, it was nothing. But to her It was everything. The realization. When she realized that the boat wasn’t coming back. The tears. Flooding every inch of her. Drowning her. Oh, the irony. The waves. Constantly ebbing and flowing. She longed to join them. To be reborn Of sea foam and salt. But she didn’t. She sat. The waves crashing on the rocks. Anger. Anger at the ocean. Anger at her son. Anger at his father. And then Anger at herself. She went home. Slept. Wept. She sits. The ocean crashes on the rocks. A bird screeches. She is drawn out of her whirlpool of memories. She picks up a stone. Whispers. And throws it into the ocean. Letting go. Breathing. Living.

65