Sitting here
On my carpet made of wood
Rooted down
As sturdy as any tree
that ever stood
I've been shaken by wind
Cross water has left me still
Yet here I remain, Not burned for warmth
Or eaten by a quill

Summer’s time has come and gone
The walls, floorboards release a yawn
With nine months then to recoup, recover
From being a home, just for the summer.

Eloquent memories freshly remain
Of friends who nestled within her frame
A cabin of bunk beds, cubbies, fresh air
Where girls unwound with little a care.

Her crevice now holds a left-behind letter
Whose parchment hardens with winter’s weather
Yet the season’s sleet knows the warmer reflection
Of late night secrets and encouraged imperfection.

Spring has sprung most slowly for some
The evergreens exclaim a harmonious hum
Her wooden steps defrost, and patiently await
The coming of campers to the cardinal state.

Fall, winter, and spring all pass
Warm rays have woken the mountains at last
Each cabin’s frame stands taller, *****
While girls, all ages, reconnect.

Anna Blake

It's obvious, isn't it?
When two similar planets pass by
each other
and get caught in
each other's
gravity.
It's obvious what must happen here.
The words not said
scream loud enough to
bridge the hundreds of miles,
and we still don't
say them.
Not yet.
It's obvious we haven't been here before.
Into uncharted waters,
we move so
very
slowly,
careful not to create waves
before we meet in the center,
careful not to misstep,
so that we can
do things right
for once.
It's obvious.

there was no past
to remember,
and forget,
there is no future,
to long for,
and wait,
there is no present,
to consider,
and let go,
there is nothing
to honestly think about
anymore,

yet when you walk past,
my eyes wonder,
did you hear my desire
in the sigh of breath
that left my lips
and make their way
to yours

you make no sense,
but you are fire
and I've been cold
for far too long.

I was calm,
And then,
You.
You showed up,
With your warm brown eyes,
And your dark brown hair,
Your constant smile.
I never see you frown,
I never want to see you sad.
You’re beautiful,
But, you don’t know me.
How creepy am I,
To write of your attractiveness?
It doesn’t matter,
You’d never notice me.
But, oh,
How red I get when I see your face.
And, oh,
How heavy my breath gets when you are near me.
I long for you every day,
I long to know you,
And to touch you,
And to love you.
And I hope you would, in turn, love me, too.
How do I end such a creepy poem?
I just wish,
One day,
You’ll notice me.