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Lily 16h
I was sixteen when the machines came.
The letters “C-A-T” screamed at me from across the street
As the harsh yellow tore at the roots of the
Cherry trees across the street.
Of course the orchard had never been mine,
I had not planted the seeds and curated the
Beautiful blooms through their short lives,
Picked the cherries off the trees myself.
But what about all the photoshoots I’d done
Among the gorgeous white blooms,
All the times my friend had walked through
The rows of trees to get to my house and
Left paint splatters of cherries across the kitchen floor,
All the sunsets I’d seen through the leaves
That made me nostalgic for things
I had never experienced?
What if I’m growing up and moving out
And can’t seem to wrap my head around the fact that
These plants that have smiled at me from my
Window for over a decade have returned
To the Earth?
What if these days the
Weeks are crying when they should be glowing and
The absence of trees is simply the target of
One of those odd tricks that sorrow shoots out of the mind
That remind me that change is the only thing that’s
Permanent?
I wish that the emptiness of the field could be replaced by
Happy little white blooms
But instead the CAT machines screech and moan
And all I can feel is
The ache of old nostalgia and the
Peculiar nostalgia of the unknown.
a reworking of "I can now see beyond the cherry orchard" from almost two years ago!  Time flies when you're having fun, right? :)
Jun 19 · 953
summer
Lily Jun 19
girls like you
deserve a love that
always feels
like summer,
a love that
sings like waves against the sand
feels like freckles and anklet tanlines
smells like sunscreen and
Mackinac Island Fudge
dripping down your chin—
a love that never ends
like those rays of sun that
spray over Lake Michigan
and tickle heaven.
you part your lips
to speak and
just like that
my world
becomes
lyrical—
dipping and twisting
like a kite in the sky
flowing freely like
your baby hairs coming
out of your braid,
like your laugh as it
echoes down the
quiet shoreline,
around the chambers
of my soul.
girls like you
deserve a love that
always feels
like summer—
I pray that
your summer
never ends.
happy summer everyone! <3
Apr 2 · 748
wishing for a war
Lily Apr 2
Sometimes I wish for a war
So I could hold your velvet hands in mine
Wrap my arms around you maybe for the last time
Have an excuse to tell you how I feel-
Tell you that your smile is sometimes the only reason I’m still here
That your kind words light up every part of my soul
That you are what makes me whole.
I want to hold your face and say your name
And tell you it will be okay
That even though the world around us crumbles,
I will stay.
I will listen to your fears,
Hold all of your tears,
And love the heart you wear on your sleeve.
Sometimes I wish for a war
So I could hold your velvet hands in mine
Wrap my arms around you maybe for the last time
Have an excuse to tell you how I feel-
You are
What makes me whole.
a reworking of something I found in my drafts.  enjoy :)
Mar 18 · 426
Anxiety (a reverse poem)
Lily Mar 18
I will always be scared.
I cannot say that
I have always been nervous
Although
Now I know
This is just how I am.
I have nobody.
It would be wrong to say
Someone would care,
If I destroyed myself again with my thoughts
I am just a worthless wreck
Nobody can convince me that
I am a warrior.
Needless to say, this past year has been insane, but my current English teacher has challenged me to start writing poetry again, so I hope you enjoy my debut of 2021!  (Don't forget to read it backwards!)
Sep 2020 · 1.1k
cleave
Lily Sep 2020
Waves cleave the cliffs
The birds ride the wind
The night fills the soul
I cleave to you

The sand polishes the toes
***** tango in the sand
Stars perform ballet in the black
The fire sparks against the stillness

Waves cleave the cliffs
The birds ride the wind
The night fills the soul
I cleave to you
another product of my English class
Sep 2020 · 974
why?
Lily Sep 2020
When
    did I become an acquaintance, an object you pushed to the side, only used when necessary?

When
    was I not the first person you texted with news, not the first person you would say hi to in the morning, the first person on your mind?

When
    did you cut me off with rainbow bruises and lightning scars, and the thunder of your footsteps left me alone?

When
    did you create that perfect storm, that hurricane, that took me away, so now I don’t even know you anymore and I don’t even know what I would say to you now?

When
    did you stop loving me and

Why?
this is a product of my english class
Sep 2020 · 414
giraffes
Lily Sep 2020
Silent and so calm
Heads peeking through leaves and trees
Bright eyes stare, yearning
inspired by a trip to the zoo
Sep 2020 · 730
art
Lily Sep 2020
art
Perfectly curled caramel hair
Cascades down her shoulders,
Bouncing in time with the music.
He can’t help but savor every
Fragment of her movement as he
Traces the camera around her frame,
Capturing the dance.
She’s an actress in every sense of the term,
Her eyes sad yet powerful,
Her body hurting yet beautiful.
The music ends and she stops, breathless,
Her hair that has fallen in front of her face
Flowing up and down as she catches her breath.
“Did you get it?”
She asks him,
And suddenly he’s back to himself,
Back from the world her dance took him to.
“Definitely,” he says, and when
Her dimples break her face open,
The camera is still rolling,
For he doesn’t want to miss a second of her beauty.
She isn’t just poetry.
She is art.
poetry girl pt. 5
Sep 2020 · 294
free box
Lily Sep 2020
The free box lies in the
Corner of the garage,
Where the crickets and the
Spiders and the raccoons live,
And the doll is slouched in the corner,
With more dirt on her than the garage floor.
Her hair is without color,
Her eyes without life,
As she stares up at the innocent
Garage salers who rarely give her a
Second glance.
She’s in the free box;
Why would anyone bother?
She’s been abused and neglected,
Despised and rejected,
And she’s finally done with it all.
She’s in the free box;
Why would anyone bother?
this was written at a time when I wasn't in such a good place; I am doing much better now and I'm hoping to write more :)
Jun 2020 · 2.4k
shot of July
Lily Jun 2020
What I’m craving right now is a
Shot of July,
Fireworks flying high
Over this town that everybody wants to leave
But I will never get over,
Never get over his smile,
Friday night,
Pulling up in my drive,
His voice so full and alive,
Making me want to dive
Right in,
Right into the lake that’s too cold
But I’m too old
I guess, to laugh out loud,
Do something just for fun,
Be happy for no reason,
Be optimistic and cherish hope for a
Better season-
I’m supposed to be already
Battle-hardened, war-ready;
I haven’t reached twenty but I know
There’s evil in the world.
That doesn’t mean there still isn’t good.
I’m craving a shot of July when
I’m not old enough to take a shot,
But I’m old enough to take a stand,
Lend a hand,
Understand,
Witness injustice firsthand
And use my voice to try and mend.
So please.
No more gunshots in July,
No more mothers wondering whether
Her son is going to survive the night,
No more human skin grated against concrete,
No more hospital beds surrounded by weeping,
No more lives lost and priests kneeling
And children screaming for their fathers,
Both earthly and eternal.
What I’m craving right now is a
Shot of July,
Fireworks flying high,
The loudest screams out tonight
Are the children chasing each other with
Sparklers in the yard,
Not yet marred
By the ideas of the world.
So please.
No more gunshots in July.
black lives matter
May 2020 · 738
clarinet sunset
Lily May 2020
I am on Mackinac Island,
Lying down on a big white lawn chair
In front of the Grand Hotel.  
The faint scent of fudge
Lingers on the air so I can almost taste it,
And my hair is getting constantly blown
By the wind that flows among the
Chairs, grass, and music.  
The music comes from the direction of the water,
Where an old style jazz band has
Temporarily set up shop,
Creating gorgeous silhouettes
Against the orange and pink sunset sky.  
The purring of the clarinet
Bounces off of me like the waves are
Bouncing on shore,
But even lighter than that,
Even lighter than the
Wings of the seagull trailing overhead.  
The clarinet drops in and out of sync
With the waves as the silhouettes start to
Bounce to the music.  
A distant bike bell dings,
But it matches so harmoniously
With the music that I don't notice it.  
Waves, bike, clarinet.  
Waves, bike, clarinet.  
A constant cycle interrupted only by
The saxophone and drums occasionally.  
Waves, bike, clarinet.  
The sun is set.  
Silhouettes turn to shadows.  
Waves, bike, clarinet.  
Waves, bike.  
Waves.
I hope you are all staying safe and healthy!  I can't wait for the time when we can go enjoy live music again.  Thank you for reading!
May 2020 · 426
red
Lily May 2020
red
i. a mother stomping through the house
her feet like a herd of elephants
smoke out of her ears, whips out of her mouth,
love out of her heart

ii. lights flash like a dream
cold surface of the stage lit up
with moving hip hop souls
music reverberates and then

stops

iii. shower flowing as a waterfall,
fists against wall, tears across face,
hair in mouth as the demon takes hold
and the surrender to sobbing begins

iv. the whole town is shut down,
stores closed, championship signs,
sweat in the eye, rainbow bruises
and frozen cheers are captured in time,
in the reflection of the trophies on the shelf
May 2020 · 333
Teh (edited)
Lily May 2020
You’d think that after
All this time I’ve spent typing,
That I could spell “the”.

Brain gets going way
Faster than my hands and then
Teh the lights go BANG! out.

I’m in a horror
Movie and I can’t break free, can’t stop
This train of thought from

Moving onward, but
Then my dreaded enemy
Appears on teh screen.

Teh red squiggly line,
Object of my nightmares, bane
Of my existence.

I’m forced to stop, move
Teh cursor away from teh
Train, draining seconds.

Must catch up with my
Brain, must… I must… I’m losing
Steam… then another

Teh.
My English teacher challenged me to write a funny poem, so I decided to add onto my old poem "Teh."  Enjoy~
Apr 2020 · 1.8k
lockdown
Lily Apr 2020
My heart’s in lockdown and
I can’t break free,
I wish I could feel something,
Wish I could be me.

I feel like I’m running in circles,
Striving for emotion,
When all I feel is numb
And sick of my devotion

To the voices in my head
Who keep telling me to quit,
“Why not just give up now,
There’s no way to fix it!”

But I know there’s something there,
In the deepest part of me,
Something that still wants to learn,
Love and move and breathe.

So I will spend some time today,
And love that part of me,
And lock down all the saddened parts and
Start to break free.
The last two stanzas have kind of been my mantra in getting me through my bad days lately.  I hope you all find something to keep you going during this scary time.  I send my love to you all <3
Lily Apr 2020
Chest heaving, eyes weeping,
The tomb blurs before my eyes.
How is everyone else still sleeping
When my Savior doesn’t arise?

Oh, how the doubt roars within me,
His words now seem to me as His rotting flesh,
“I will rise on day three,”
But his body is now stolen, unless…

Dirt clenching onto my dress,
I fling the tears from my eyes,
Trying to decide if… Yes!
There are people by his graveside.

Angels they must be, all in white,
And before I can confirm their existence, they speak:
“Woman, why are you weeping at this sight?”
My anger flares as I try to control my speech.

“Because my Lord has been taken away,
And I don’t know where his body is.”
I attempt to keep my temper at bay,
Turning away to abate my boiling fears.

Then I see the gardener, and a flash of brilliance
Or desperation rises in me, which one I don’t know,
But as I open my mouth to ask about my Lord’s disappearance,
He speaks: “Why are you weeping woman, why such sorrow?”

Again the same question, yet I cannot form
An adequate response; how can one describe
The loss of Him who can calm the storm,
But now has left my world in turmoil at his sacrifice?

My anger reaches the heavens now,
And in irritation I retort, “If you have taken Him away,
Tell me where He is, and I will take him from thou.”
Chest heaving, eyes weeping, I glance away.

But then I hear my name, soft and sweet but firm,
Two syllables, a clear “Mary!”
And I turn
And my unbridled joy at seeing him turns into “Rabboni!”

I ponder for a second what it’s like to feel
Sadness, for in that split second, it’s gone,
It’s been replaced by rejoicing and zeal,
And I resist the urge to leap with the dawn.

How could I have ever doubted?
Of course His words are true,
It’s a reality that must be shouted,
Yet all I can do is stare at him now that he’s in my view.

“Do not cling to me,” he says earnestly
“For I still must ascend to my Father,
And please tell our friends this, for certainly
I ascend to My God and your God, My Father and your Father.”

It was good he said this, for I had forgotten
In my excitement to see my Savior; I’m sure
His disciples must have wondered whether their Lord had rotted:
“I’m leaving right now, my Savior!”

Sandals rubbing into callouses, lungs heaving,
I ran back to town, through the streets that
Once knew me in despair, grieving,
Hardly stopping, for I had no time to chat.

My Savior has risen, he is alive and well,
He has saved us lost sheep who have gone astray,
And although He no longer on Earth will dwell,
He will never allow us to fully decay.

I’m sure when you die he will call your name too,
With a voice soft and sweet but firm and so true,
And you will go be with Him and He’ll make you brand-new,
And we’ll all live forever from our own Easter morning, too.
Happy Easter weekend, everyone!  Although this  isn't an Easter we could foresee or plan for, God's resurrection and Word is still the same, during this time and every time.  Hallelujah!  This poem is based on John 20:11-18.
Apr 2020 · 534
barefoot
Lily Apr 2020
let’s live our lives
barefoot

let’s live our lives like
small children,
children so precious that their simple presence
evokes tears in the eyes of the most
stoic father,
so precious that the image of them
snoring softly in their Thomas the Tank Engine bed
causes the stressed mother to smile a mile,
so precious that when one of them
pushes back the blonde, wispy hair of the other
the photographer can’t help but laughing as she
captures the moment

let’s live our lives like
children who are not afraid of nails and rocks
in the backyard, but who are
obsessed with finding that elusive
white grasshopper that their uncle
promised was there,
like children who endure countless foot baths every day
in the heat of summer but the pads still blister
and their feet still turn brown
but they don’t care,
like children who have just smelled a flower
for the first time, who have experienced the
sharp pain of a first bee sting,
like children who are in awe as a deer
peeks quizzically at them from above the bush,
tail twitching, eyes twinkling

let’s live our lives like
children who make up odd games that
they remember years later, a complicated one that involves
Patty Cake, jump rope, tag, and somehow
hop scotch and charades as well,
like children who wander away from their house
for many hours, exploring like Columbus,
drawing detailed maps of their small neighborhood,
beautiful crayon stick figures dotting the horizon,
like children who capture and dote on an assortment of
toads, grasshoppers, frogs, moths, and butterflies,
like a child who thinks the worst sin is to
**** an animal that the Lord has made

let’s live our lives like children, with a
loving and unwavering faith in the Savior,
with eyes unaltered by the
whips and thorns of life,
with minds unchanged by the
Judas Iscariot’s of this Earth

let’s live our lives like
small children

let’s live our lives
barefoot
Apr 2020 · 967
estranged
Lily Apr 2020
Dancing, you are Spring;
Birds flock to see your song, yet
Night falls and silence-

Silence but for the
Stars and moon who mock us in
Our bed, our Winter.
This is a poem I wrote for my college poetry class (which is now online) a few days ago.  I want us all to remember that these hard times are a reason for us to come together and unite; be the kindness that someone else is needing in their day. :) Thank you all, as always, for reading my poetry.
Mar 2020 · 468
The Veteran
Lily Mar 2020
The man was leaning back in his fancy wheelchair
So much that he was almost parallel with the ground,
And while everyone else who was
There for the church service was freaking out,
He was as still as a gym before a free throw.
His left leg was not present, his right one at an unnatural angle,
And my mind started to conjure up a bomb
That had thrown him through the air,
Away from his friends, his commander, away
From his life as he had known it.
He had large homemade, not quite mittens,
But knit sock-like articles over his hands,
Alternating orange and black yarn with only a couple of
Cute errors where orange touched orange or black touched black.
A slight grunt, a swift motion, and the mittens were off,
Revealing a left hand twisted into a fist and a right hand
In a white cast, hanging limp at his side.
His soft peppermint scent, large wrinkly face, and wispy
White beard was reminiscent of Santa Claus in the mall,
Though Old Saint Nick was never that far back in his chair.
His assistant was a frantic college girl who looked like she had lost a child at the park
And was trying to decide whether to ask for help or
Continue to struggle helplessly on her own.
Each turn of a dial or press of a button pushed the man farther down,
Until his feet were almost higher than his head.
Yet on the man’s face was the type of smile that a grandpa has
When he’s about to checkmate his grandson in a game of chess;
Triumphant, knowing, loving.
He must have seen me openly staring at his cruelly funny dilemma,
For he turned to me and grinned,
“Don’t worry about it; makes life interesting.”
I smiled back, not knowing what else to do.
As suddenly as a pitcher throws to first,
The man jolted upward, and his chair returned
To its normal angle.
With the crisis averted, church
Began, and although I tried to focus on the preacher,
My eyes and mind kept wandering to my veteran.
His one leg tapped to his own drum,
His strong voice belting out the melody on the hymns,
And a hard “Amen!” was heard every other sentence.
Happy.
He was happy.
He had one leg, two useless hands, was living in a place away
From family and friends, with much of the joys
Of his youth over, past, gone,
Dead.
But my veteran was happy.
His frantic college assistant seemed very pleased
That his chair didn’t have a repeat episode on the way out
Of the chapel after church.
He shot me a quick nod as he was wheeled out,
His wisp of a beard bouncing on his chest.
Perhaps he would have been a Santa Claus at a mall
In a different life, one without war, sadness, pain, hardship.
Maybe he could have been a more active grandpa to his grandkids,
If he had them; he could have played football catch in the yard,
Secretly baked cookies for Grandma with them at two in the morning,
Get on the roof and scare his kids hanging Christmas lights.
Maybe he could have done and been all these things, but for the
War, sadness, pain, hardship.
I know what the veteran would say to that though:
“Don’t worry about it; makes life interesting.”
Thought I'd write about a character I saw at a veterans' home church service this Sunday.  I thought he had a good lesson to teach, although he wasn't aware he was teaching.
Lily Feb 2020
She never failed to mesmerize,
The poetry girl
With the rich maple eyes.

Her jungle of hair flourished on her head,
Contained by a green scrunchie
While the bangs on her forehead were spread.

A bite of the nails, a twist of the hair,
A brush of the bangs,
And her voice echoed like a call to prayer.

She goes to IHOP every weekend, knows the menu by heart,
Lives on pancakes and unlimited coffee,
Although she has been known to dabble with egg tarts.

She pulled her knees up to her chest,
Two Crocs, one green, one white,
Her gaze as stalwart as a tree in a forest.

When she spoke, her thoughts came out like trails of smoke,
Littering the room with her personality,
Those scraps of beauty as powerful as a thunderstroke.

She never failed to mesmerize,
The poetry girl
With the rich maple eyes.
Feb 2020 · 734
Green Crayons
Lily Feb 2020
Toddlers can put green crayons in the freezer without
Anybody questioning them and I
Have a problem with that.
I have a problem with the fact that toddlers can put
Green crayons in the freezer and tell their parents that they are
Preserving
The Earth and that they’ve been learning about
Animal adaptations and conjunctions in school
And that they
Love
Their friends.
I have a problem with the fact that a
Toddler’s idea of
Beauty
Is a butterfly landing on their finger during
Recess, a snowflake on their tongue, the
Grogginess of  staying up past 8:30,
****** snacks, Dora the Explorer,
The satisfaction of scraping the
First chunk out of a tub of butter, the
Giddiness and fear at your first sleepover,
The one where you had to timidly shake your
Friend awake in the middle of the night because you could
Not for the
Life of you find the bathroom.
I’m not ashamed to admit that
I haven’t said I love you in a time that
Lingers like the smell of burning.
It’s always love you or love ya and I’ve
Forgotten what it feels like for those words to
Caress my lips, to guide my heart
Out of its cage into the
Stale air.
I want to be considering beauty like a
Toddler.  I want to be watching Dora and
Learning about conjunctions, but instead I’m
Crying because I can’t fit into my jeans right and I
Don’t know how to do makeup.  I want to say
I love you and let it
Ring in the air like
Frozen music
But I can’t
Because you’re
States away and instead I brush my hair
So many times for people who don’t even like me that
There’s no personality left.
I have a problem with the fact that you
Moved on so quickly and left me with the
Loves me not flower petal and that
Dora the Explorer is not on Netflix
Anymore and the price of Happy Meals goes
Up everyday like the age of my
Heart  
And that
Toddlers can put green crayons in the freezer without
Anybody questioning them and say that
They
Are preserving the Earth.
This is an imitation of Bob Hicok's poem "Whither Thou Goest" that I did in my poetry class.  As always, please leave your thoughts! :) <3
Lily Feb 2020
i.
How her wavy hair caressed her
Flushed cheeks, the sound her beige boots made
On the floor as she ran into class right before the bell,
Her leather backpack slapping against her back.

ii.
Her flower skirt, black background
Against orange and yellow blossoms,
Blooming just as loud as the
Gorgeous smile on her face.

iii.
The way she bobbed along to the music
Flowing through her earbuds, and her voice,
Oh! The most breathtaking notes he’s ever heard;
Five Seconds of Summer performed from angel lips.

iv.
That he was utterly and irrevocably in love with
Her.
Jan 2020 · 767
the lost
Lily Jan 2020
I was bleak
Dying upon the floor
I wished I had sought
The lost
The rare and radiant, the angels

Here
In the recent wake of Kobe Bryant's death, we should all be reminded that we shouldn't take people for granted.  Say what you feel while you still have the chance; you never know when those people will not be with you anymore.
Jan 2020 · 483
poetry girl pt. 2
Lily Jan 2020
Untied shoelaces,
Untied heart,
Her words flowing freely from
Her mind,
Her black boots tapping a rhythm
Known only to
Her.
Her eyes bloomed like
Orchids
When she blinked,
And her chocolate fountain hair
Spilled over her gray graphic tee,
The messy bun
Unraveling
As her thoughts slowly
Unraveled
Themselves onto the page.
Jan 2020 · 432
poetry girl
Lily Jan 2020
Her creamy chocolate hair
Flows down into caramel,
And the ends tickle her rosy lips
As she bites them in concentration.
Her Ticonderoga taps anxiously on her cheek,
And the wheels turning in her head;
Almost visible.
Maroon sweater against ivory shoulder,
Caramel hair against a black bra strap.
When she talks, the room melts away
And all that is heard is her accent,
The way she creates music with her phrases.
Her smile radiates sunshine,
And her eyes are a kaleidoscope,
Always changing,
Green and gray and amber specks
Colliding to make a sweet mosaic.
Poetry girl,
The universe can’t wait to hear
Your words.
Jan 2020 · 503
choreographed love
Lily Jan 2020
It was a retro roller rink,
Skating around boards that gave you splinters,
Trying each arcade game, wasting quarters,
And how many times you could bribe the DJ to
Play your favorite song.
He was sitting alone in the corner of the side cafe,
At the booth where the floor had a giant crack,
Where his foot was nervously tapping,
Sunshine was streaming in on his curly red hair,
As he waited in suspense for
Her
To walk through the door, all confidence and smiles,
Like she was the lead in a musical.
She had that magical way of walking and skating,
Almost like every move was a
Choreographed mix of chaos and art.
The hours passed, the rink cleared out,
The sun went down over his booth,
And he continued to tap his foot on the
Crack in the floor.
But when she came sweeping in that door at
11:36 pm brighter than the disco ball,
His heart swelled like the bass on a road trip,
And as the two of them sweat their hearts out
On the rink until the wee hours of the morning,
That maze of splinters and heartbreaks,
He found that he had never been as happy as he was with
Her.
I just started a poetry class at my college today, and this is the first poem that came out of it!  Let me know what you think! :)
Lily Jan 2020
I was withdrawn,
Sullen,
Angry,
Then to my forest edge you came one day,
Sailing in on a
Bed of clouds
With a rainbow smile.
Although I tried to climb the trees,
Your bed of clouds was too high,
And you didn’t dare go down into the forest,
For fear your cloud would break.
The sweet pang I felt as I watched your
Rainbow smile ascend on your bed of clouds
Would not be soon forgotten.
But as I awake from my dream,
Your memory fades
As the wisp of a cloud.
Happy New Year everybody!  I hope your 2020 has had great moments already, and that there are more great ones to come! <3

Inspired by Robert Frost's "A Dream Pang"
Dec 2019 · 678
"Christ"mas
Lily Dec 2019
Christmas, Christmas, Christmas
Presents, presents, presents
Is that the definition of Christmas?
Cookies, cookies cookies
Is that the definition of Christmas?
What is the definition of Christmas?
Family, giving, love, and most of all
Christ.  This is what we should think
Of when we think of Christmas.
My 10 year old brother wrote this and wanted me to share it with you guys :)
Lily Dec 2019
In my dream,
I walk alone, and it’s
Cold,
Windy,
Harsh.
No voices but the wind’s.
The wind begs me to sit,
And I find a tree and sit
On its roots.
A bat flies out of the tree,
A black shadow against an even
Blacker sky,
A dark heart in a dark soul.
The last leaf in the forest stirs,
And then Winter arrives,
Cold,
Windy,
Harsh.
I try to hold our memory in my head,
Of when this forest was green,
And we were new and fresh,
Warm,
Still,
Kind.
In my dream, you appear
And I meet your eye.
But your memory is absent
Quicker than it came,
And I am left alone,
Cold,
Windy,
Harsh.
A cup of Frost with a dash of Hemingway! This was inspired by Frost's "Waiting: Afield at Dusk", and Hemingway's short sentences.  I hope you all had a great Thanksgiving!  Here comes the cold weather! :)
Nov 2019 · 733
thunder
Lily Nov 2019
There is thunder in our hearts,
Lightning in our souls,
A pounding in our chests and a
Quaking in our bones.
“Our time has come!”
The cry arises,
“Our time has come!”
We charge forward unafraid,
Into life’s tantalizing parade,
Our colors waving high
As we ride on to the sky,
Chasing our dreams and visions,
Decimating anything in our way.
There is thunder in our hearts,
Lightning in our souls,
A pounding in our chests and a
Quaking in our bones.
“Our time has come!”
The cry arises,
“Our time has come!”
Today's inspiration was Imagine Dragon's song "Thunder". Hope you enjoy!
Nov 2019 · 465
The Present
Lily Nov 2019
The scene was almost perfect, and
With the sun’s evening glow permeated the
Entire backyard, the flowerbeds at the back
Near the oak fence were extremely vibrant,
The bright oranges and purples and pinks
Leaping out at you like a lion.
The swingset created unnatural shadows on the lawn,
And the children playing created laughter that
Could be heard down the street.
The scent of neighbors burning leaves was strong,
And as the man sat on the back porch,
A beer in his hand and a Bible in the other,
He couldn’t help but wonder how long it would stay like this.
Perfect.
How much longer would he have like this, before the
Sun set,
The flowers wilted,
The swingset rusted,
The children grew up and moved out,
The lovely autumn weather turned to a blustering winter,
The Bible being more powerful than his beer.
One of his children squealed in delight as he
Swung higher and higher on the swing,
Trying to reach the clouds with the tips of his fragile fingers.
The man tries to put himself in the mindset of a kid,
Who believes the present is all that there is,
And whose mind doesn’t comprehend
Worrying about the past and future.
The man sighs contentedly, opening his
Bible and beer simultaneously as he thinks,
“I wish I could actually keep the present that was given to me.”
I got inspiration today from Kurt Vonnegut's "Slaughter-house Five"; he writes, "And I asked myself about the present: how wide it was, how deep it was, how much was mine to keep." It was a very interesting line, which sparked my idea for this poem.
Lily Nov 2019
You left me at dusk,
Gaunt and sad and gray,
And when the morning glow arose,
I could find you not.

The night before was faded
Like a withered rose, and
I could scarcely recall your smile,
Your sunflower smile.

Why were you taken from beside me?
I hope there is a reason, as the time
I’ve spent since you left has been
Measured and is of little worth.
Inspired by Robert Frost's "Flower-Gathering"
Lily Oct 2019
At the end, my hand
Nor my fingers trembled as
I grasped her pale neck.
I recently entered this in a Halloween haiku contest and wanted to share it with you guys :)
Lily Sep 2019
10:32 pm
You’re still at my house
Lying on my couch like you own the place;
I wouldn’t rather have you in any other place.
I mean,
We’re not just talking about the weather,
We’re talking ‘bout forever and together,
Your together with someone else,

But it’s okay, cause you’re here right now,
With me,
And I will have this memory to look back on
Later

Please text me when you get home,
Please tell me that you’re okay,
Please let me know
That wherever you go
We will always be the same, cause
You are my song,
You are my heart,
You are my everything,
And even though I will never be yours,
Please text me when you get home.

11:02 pm
You’re still at my house,
In my gravel driveway, fumbling for your keys
I tell you “drive safeLY”, and you laugh at me
Being the grammar police.
You open up your car door and my heart drops,
Panic sets in cause you’re leaving and
I don’t know when I’ll see you again.
You notice my fear and lean in and kiss me on
My freckled cheek and smile through the words,
“I love you”
And my heart beats a mile a minute,
And I don’t know how much longer I’ll last
Before I faint

But it’s okay, cause you’re here right now
With me,
And I will have this memory to look back on
Later

Please text me when you get home,
Please tell me that you’re okay,
Please let me know
That wherever you go
We will always be the same, cause
You are my song,
You are my heart,
You are my everything,
And even though I will never be yours,
Please text me when you get home.

3 am
You’re not at my house,
You’re at yours, you’re on your own couch,
And my eyes are heavy,
But my heart is full,
And my phone lights up with a text from you,
An angel emoji and an “I made it”
Are enough to make me giggle with happiness, cause
You’re home and you’re safe and even though you’re
Not with me

It’s okay, cause you’re here in my heart
With me
And I will have all these memories to look back on
Later

Please text me when you get home,
Please tell me that you’re okay,
Please let me know
That wherever you go
We will always be the same, cause
You are my song,
You are my heart,
You are my everything,
And even though I will never be yours,
Please text me when you get home.

I’m okay, cause
I have all these memories to look back on
Later
Hey!  So this is a song that I am in the process of writing; all of these words are pretty much set in stone, but I'm working on music to go with it.  Any and all thoughts are welcome! <3
Lily Sep 2019
Bring the buried flower,
Bring the burned out candle.
Bring the closed notebook,
Bring the ended hour.
Dig up the flower,
Strike the match,
Open the notebook,
Begin a new hour.
Bring the writing you’re afraid of
And regenerate it, and
Make it speak.
Scatter your poems left and right,
Because the world can’t wait to hear
Your words.
Inspired by Robert Frost’s "To the Thawing Wind"
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