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Hannah Christina Nov 2018
sky of deepest blue
ethereal starlight dim
wind is soft and cold
trying out lowercase to keep things simple and clean
Hannah Christina Jun 2018
I have a particular fondness for snort-laughs.
They are among the most graceless, horrid, undignified, embarrassing, beautiful truths in the world.

You didn't want to admit that the pun was amusing and give them the satisfaction.

You didn't want to break the societal norm decreeing silence and sobriety.

You tried to hide your innate childishness so condemned.

You needed to keep up whatever stoic, unfazed "cool" facade someone once suggested you wear.

You clenched your jaw against the giggle, but the spurt of it could not be contained and was released as a jovial exhale.
Graceless.
Horrid.
Undignified.
Embarrassing.
Beautiful.
Hannah Christina Mar 2021
Snowflakes hum inside my head,
bumping to and fro.
Stinging sky meets soggy ground and nothing seems to stick.

Each flake is different, so I'm told--
each unknowable and cold, they vanish when you try to grasp them--
fleeting, fragile wisps.

I've spun no story strong enough
to stake my ship upon.
My tears dry up before they're spilled for little lasts for long.

Blankets white I find here not--
that, nor green-clad earth--
only harried solitude inside these biting mists.

Perhaps my blust'ring mind is not
leading me to tread my sought-for courses; I fear I've forgot them
yearning for the drifts.

But elsewhere 'neath the firmament, there are other skies.
There are other thoughts in other hearts apart from mine.

From over where the snow falls
and beneath the bedrock's roots
flames unflinching flicker still through height and depth and width.
Some of my poems come together in a few quiet minutes or an afternoon-- this one's been in the works for over a month and I'm still mulling it over.  I first conceived it when I was driving to a college visit and it started flurrying.

I'd like to hear some criticism regarding the sound.  It's got a specific meter and lots of assonance and consonance, with a few perfect rhymes.  I really liked developing the sounds, but I think it might be a little too sing-song in certain parts, especially since all of the lines are iambic.  I intentionally broke patterns in a few places to make it a little bit disorienting and frustrating while still pleasant, and I'm not sure if I've got the effect quite right.  How would you describe the sounds?  Did you notice them working with with or the themes?  Is it happy, playful, frustrating, satisfying?  (Did anyone pick up on "windy" sounds with all the effs and esses? I was quite proud of that)

Many thanks :-D
Hannah Christina Jul 2018
It's not the shadows themselves that are alive.
The darkened places are where you hide the thoughts you dare not face.

What did you expect?
Hannah Christina Mar 2021
An itchy spider lives in me,
right underneath my second skin.

She's waited, tense, expectantly for something dangerous
to finally draw towards her its claws and scratch straight down her spine.

Her fangs have naught to bite upon, so I must feed her well enough
on nerves, dry skin, and fingernails and songs about a violent sea.

If she dies, I might turn to stone;
an itchy spider lives in me.
Hannah Christina May 2018
the earth spins around
one thousand miles an hour
and we can not tell
A haiku.  I pronounce "hour" as two syllables to keep the 5/7/5/ rule, but I know some people pronounce it as one.  I could have made it "one thousand miles every hour."  ???
Today,
in the tension of living to die and dying to live,
I find myself breathing, laced up with the cords of promise and ribbons of love,
each part of me embraced and none forgotten
Hannah Christina Feb 2020
i need to buy a spaceship and sail it far away
because a spaceship needs a crew and out in space you have to stay
if ur a space cowboy hmu
If I try to say "I'm sorry" one more time I just might wither into nothing.
Why are you so kind?
I'm starting and ending in all the wrong places, but You won't let go.
What does it mean that You're with me when I'm being stupid?
Does it still matter when everything is my fault? Or mostly my fault. Or partly my fault. But still I don't know how to stop.

Teach me a beautiful song.
I might not sound like it fits at first,
but I think you're swaying along
and it's like I've always known these words.

I wasn't made for the dust
I was raised from the dust
I was made for an "us" and a whisper.
The place where we meet
our secret retreat
is where I was born.

I don't know the way in or out, what is up or is down, but I know you--
I'm starting to know You.

What I know is sweet.
What I know is kind.
What I know is more than sufficient to kick down my doors every time.
What I know is wild.
What I know is sure.
What I know won't fail to answer like each of the answers before.
I know that you're more than
an abstract ideal.
I know that you know me.
I think that you're real.

Accept me. I trust You. Without You, I'll die.
I have You. I miss You. I'll tell all of the shadows You're mine and I am Yours.
Hannah Christina Jun 2021
We weren't meant to live in such a large world
where mailboxes aren't special
and we move so quickly
on the highways at night
that the streetlights we pass
could be the same ones all the way, moving with us
and we don't stop to notice which ones are dead.
Hannah Christina Jul 2018
I have a sword, a bow, a knife
A vantage point up high
In front, behind, and at each hand
A different foe draws nigh.

If I could know just what to do,
I think I'd hold them back.
But I've no skill or training
And no plan for attack.

Each villain huddles nearer still
And I don't have a clue
On how to load my mighty bow
Or what a blow would do

I shake and gasp, I can't fight back
my untrained arms are weak
The courage and the strength I lack,
So Your help I now seek.

Refresh my mind, give me a goal
And guide my drying bones.
I need a plan, I need a job.
I can't survive alone.
Hannah Christina Nov 2022
Where did he go, the wily one
who swings from branch-to-branch?
The one with the toes like curly thorns
and spider claws for hands?

How did he whisk you off, away
so far from home and land?
I wish I had heard what you tried to say
as he dragged you along on the sand.

Cry, love, please cry
in a voice I can hear
and I will come near--I will come near.

When did you start to change your mind
about our young family fair?
When did you start to look behind
and step through the weeds and the tares?

What did he whisper when the wood
enclosed around your steps?
What made you ready to answer back
and tilt your heavy head?

Call, love, please call
with your voice aloud
and you will be found--you will be found.

Cry, love, please cry
in a voice I can hear
and I will draw near--I will draw near.
Hannah Christina Sep 2018
I bought myself a kite to fly
I tossed it up and ran around
I tried to pull it through the sky
But found it just dragged on the ground.

It landed in the mud, it was mangled, it was done
And thus concludes the tragic tale of the kite I numbered one.

My second kite was different.
It caught a mighty gale
I flew it well, then let it go
And in the end I failed.

It joined released balloons and leaves, whatever else is there
In the *****, lonely cloudland in the out-of-picture air.

I still had hope and so I bought
My final silken bird
I told myself that I would soon
Unleash it to the word.

The kite's debut date got pushed back and further back until
It found a final resting place untested in its skill.

I bought myself three kites to fly
The first two meet ill fates
The third one has a dusty shelf
Where it keeps very safe.
Of dreams and men.

I'll probably change the title and maybe edit more, we'll see.  This was honestly in my drafts for like over two months.  I wanted to finally publish it.
Hannah Christina May 2018
A crackle of a shell
being torn
cast aside

The flutter of a wing
new and fresh
limp and weak

A squeal from the child
watching close
eyes are wide

The  waiting and the rest
little wings
strength to seek

The wings are now stretched out
orange and black
beating slow

A flutter and a cry
take the air
sailing strong

It lands and then takes off
up again
high and low

It's lilting towards the clouds
out of sight
flies along

Fare thee well, young butterfly.
My family has had a hobby of raising monarch butterflies since I was a kid.  We have had many, but  I still remember when by first butterfly hatched.  It's chrysalis had come detached from the top of the bug habitat, and I thought it might die.  I worried the whole morning, but I made it.  It takes them some time to pump up their wings and rest before they can fly.  Getting out of the chrysalis quite a challenge.  I always felt proud of them after they made it.

You know, even if you have to do something, like school maybe, or getting through a hard part of your life doesn't mean it wasn't an accomplishment.  You are still very strong, even if you felt like you had other options.  Just getting out of bed is a feat sometimes.  Or holding in hurtful words.  Or speaking up when you know you must.  I was always proud of my butterflies.  I am proud of you, too.
Hannah Christina Mar 2019
Cold wet toes hug the sandpaper edge
of the Tall Diving Board, a most terrible ledge
But the plastic and rusted beams buckle and creak
Along with your knees-- they are feeling quite weak.

Everything's swaying, the pool and the sky
Your hands both are shaking and you wonder why
You thought you could jump.  It all seems so silly
You thought you were brave, but up here, you know really

You're just like they said you would be.

You lift you foot trying to face off this dread
right over the edge of the board, but instead
of stepping off, you move backwards.  And then
your other foot follows it downwards again.

Inching back, and hanging your head from the shame,
your feet grip the grooves on the steps just the same

as the last time you thought you were brave.

Then you freeze, and you frown.  All the kids gathered on the ground
could not stop you with mocking from coming back down

But your mom, shouting out from the shade of the sides
speaks to you louder than fear or than pride
"You can do it, I know!"  and you manage a frown
and a stubborn resolve not to walk to the ground

but to swim!  And you struggle back up to the top
the gritty board scraping, the phrase "belly flop!"
taunting you from the children below; and your brow
is furrowed, your teeth clench--the moment is now!

A sniffle, slight stumble, the bending of knees,
You know you can show them--don't belly flop, please!
and you push, one last time-- any time you could stop
at the edge once again, at the diving board top

But you don't!



And it's over.  
A splash is your prize
your ears ring, your nose stings,

But you jumped off the diving board.

And now you can do it again.
Hannah Christina May 2018
It is there in the grasp of the hand of a friend.
It is there in the shade of a tree.
And yet I forget it again and again,
So draw me back down to my knees.

It is there in the tear, in the jolt through the heart.
It is there in the storm that is braved.
And still it pursues me through cold and through fire.
It follows me down to the grave.

It never can die though it flickers in me,
And yet I forget it. I fail to see

Now remember the Source, oh! remember, my soul.
The proof in the pain and the calm.
And cling to the signs, all the proof of that Love.
The fire, the wind, and the balm.
I always have trouble deciding how to title my poems.  I like to leave them open to interpretation, as the content is often rather vague, but I also like my meaning to be understood.  A title can make the meaning clear from the beginning, but also removes some of the openness.  Does anyone have advice?
Hannah Christina Jul 2018
Magazines, newspapers, letters strewn across
every table.
Flowerpots, paperweights, nick-knacks atop
every remaining empty surface.
"Tacky" was the word that first came to mind.
Ledges, counters, and all but one chair are drowned in the mess.
The last chair is the womans.  She used to keep a few other chairs vacant in case of company, but
as she continued to grow slower she couldn't make the effort

and an extra chair was never needed anyway.
Us teenagers thing we're so edgy and tortured.  All this time, the friendless old ladies been the real heavy souls
Hannah Christina Aug 2018
Now I take the long way home most nights
a few extra minutes for back roads and quiet
the first turn faces me directly away from home
and in the darkness I cruise straight down a beautiful road to nowhere
off
and
away
and I am a free, flying runaway
for only a minute
before dutifully turning left.
at that intersection
my eyes always linger straight ahead, on my road to nowhere and anywhere
I could stay on this path and not look back
leaving everything
to be alone

But already I have involuntarily pulled into the turn lane.
My blinker is on, and so there is no way out of it.
I will go back home like I should.  
What
was I thinking?
My home is nice.  My life is good.  
There
is nothing
to run away from.
but maybe...
is there something is worth running to?
Hannah Christina May 2018
My soul cries out for truest peace
But flesh trades rest in mindless ease.

My soul, it yearns for truest love
But flesh says pleasure is enough.

My soul will strain for freedom dear
But flesh holds comfort out of fear.

My soul will long to show pure love
But my flesh decides it's done enough.

My soul wants selfish thoughts to break
But my flesh will live to only take.

"Enough," my soul arose and said,
"I will not rest 'til Flesh is dead.

"It can't be done in just a day,
But I will fight and find a way.

"I'll struggle hard as it holds on
And grapple with in 'till the dawn."

I'm choosing not the path of ease.
Now I will fight for truth and peace.
Hannah Christina Aug 2018
I'm rummaging through my messy-closet mind for the choice bits of delectable emotional pain
The agony that come from being the complex and bitter soul I am

But I'm not finding any

I'm actually fairly happy.
Moderately cheerful.
Not floating on clouds, or manic, or bursting with energy.

Just... pretty good.  Quite alright.

This isn't good for poetry.

Or self pity.

What do I do now?
My life is just SO mildly, boring-ly difficult rn.  My mental stability is driving me crazy!


What did I just say?
Hannah Christina Aug 2018
I am driving back home
my motions automatic
against my will
returning dutifully
to face my life again.

I am doing the right thing, the good thing, the necessary thing.
The obvious, singular choice.

My thoughts of flight are absurd and cowardly, a fantasy created
because my energy is dying,
as is my passion
and even my
love.

...love.
how?? why?? could I let my love grow so stale

In my arrogance I equate flying into the unknown darkness
of lonely back roads
with idealism
denying that my fantasy is born of
pure selfishness.

I am an idle watchman, a soldier idly contemplating desertion before even reaching real conflict.

I am still on the right route, turning stiffly left
now facing fully towards home.
Doing all the right things
on autopilot and
cursing
every
second.
Sequel to "The Second Left."
Hannah Christina May 2018
A shout.  A cry of triumph and all is silent.
The blast rings back through time and foreword to the end.
The chaos of battle, the order of music.

Beside me are others.  The breath erupts through us and we shout or sing through pipes of brass.

Triumph.

An end, a beginning, and all comes together
Now glad in song, now fierce in battle.

Triumph, alarm, and a final blast
From when I have said enough at last.
Hannah Christina May 2018
One
Two
Three
Four
Se conds of your life just passed
Five
Six
Se ven
Eight
Did you think that this could last?
Hannah Christina May 2018
The sun is so bright.
It won't let me be sad.
Leave me in peace.
A haiku, though not a 5/7/5/ one.
Hannah Christina May 2018
I dare me to be happy.
I dare me to be strong.
To not be blown back and forth be every wave along.

I think that I have courage
it might not be enough.
I dare myself to not grow hard while also growing tough.

A tender heart, a gaze that's firm.
Instead of sulking I will learn.

Mature and determined without growing proud,
softly I will pray out loud.

I'm working to be happy,
I'm working to be firm.
I might not be there yet, but trust and pray that I will learn.
Hannah Christina Apr 2022
I don't mean to keep you waiting
for forever and a half.
I just need to finish something
my to-do list
catch my breath.

Always moving, always squirming
I can barely hear you now.
Please stop drilling through my forehead.
Just in time I'll
turn around.

When the last leaf falls
and the twigs ice o'er and the buds come out
I'll turn around.

I'm not ready.
I'm not ready
and I don't know what I look like anymore.

When the last leaf falls
and the twigs ice o'er
and I hear you shout
I'll turn around.

Are you still there?
Still there waiting?
Do you still want me back somehow
I'll turn to stone
or ice
or fire
any second now!

You've been sitting at my elbow
and I feel you brush my back.
Now I'm looking. I've said nothing
and you look okay with that.

Grass grows thicker
petals glimmer
and the Earth accepts my feet.
Was that really
all you wanted
just to sit a while with me?
Hannah Christina Mar 2019
That weight in my head
like honey in a jar
Dripping pain against insides of my skull on whichever side I roll
It's heavy, but floating
like black and sluggish cloud
Dripping, dizzy
Caused by dehydration, maybe stress,
or else the tears I never cried are staring to solidify.
I had a headache.  It's better now.
Hannah Christina Aug 2018
Too much, too fast.
Breathless at a stoplight.
change
fast
must
go
I HAVE NO TIME
everything/everything/today/tomorrow
Always with the rushing, barely feeling, barely knowing where I am.

Now there's nothing.

It's a break, slow and stale.
What do I do?
There are four or five things maybe but none feel right and I can't bring myself to move.
I try one thing,
then another.
No drive,
meaning,
purpose,
feeling.
Not even my eyes can focus on anything.
Skipping, blinking, nothing.
Slow.

Give me back the whirlwind, or give me gravelike nothing.
Nothing is right.
I need power to feel and peace to fight or I am already dead.
Please.
I'm trusting You.
Please.
Thanks so much for reading, it means a lot.

Honestly, I'm not feeling much better for the moment.  Things were getting a bit slow this afternoon and the Gravelike paragraph applied for like two hours, but I pulled myself out of it and I'm okay now.  Let's see how long the feeling of well being lasts this time...
Hannah Christina Jan 2019
How
how could I forget
how could I forget you?
How?

Why did I allow
lies to overwhelm truth
Where?

did my life go wrong
now my conscience seems dead
Now

now I need to backtrack
where these words were last said

Why?
does it happen
over and
Over
Hannah Christina Jun 2018
Have you ever thought that
the weight on your back
might be never-used wings?
Hannah Christina Feb 2020
That
honey, that
starstuff, that
liquefied sunshine
has it's Source in her very core.

Molten gold.

It seeps from her fingertips slowly, near
imperceptibly,
one full drop every quarter hour.

It splatters sometimes when she
claps her hands or
taps her fingers, and if she stays still too long it
pools on the cold ground below.

It leaves a sticky-honey-orange-sunshine mess
and doesn't apologize for it.
Hannah Christina Nov 2018
nothing about this is true and I know it
A lurking suspicion it's too late to show it
I'm aching and cowering I'm shriveled below it
It's pushing so hard that my brain may implode it's

Time to separate out and address the beast directly
Liars yelling pounding orders trying to direct me
Take a breath to yell back but they've stolen it already
They're coming through the mouthpiece in my head I say instead we

Breathe.  
Don't try to speak
Need oxygen
just breathe
For now

— The End —