The trouble with Hello Poetry
Is that I fall in love daily
Held under so many captivating spells
moulded and crafted by all walks of life
I find myself longing for all of you
the broken, the fallen, the bruised
the saints, the sinners
the righteous, the dispossessed
the holy, the unholy
all meet here
to speak of life
as they feel it
as only we know it.
Onwards, upwards
Downward spirals
kindness, cruelty
crashing through boundaries
bounding across oceans
carried on wistful sighs and broken dreams
The trouble with Hello Poetry
Is that it breaks my heart
Then brings me back to love again
All within an hour.

Shells and Hopscotch, Kites and Stars
Treasures found on sea wet sands
Cover up your battlescars
Hold them tight in your cold hands

Mimsy, mimsy, swear your fate
Hold his face and kiss his cheek
He’s here right now, it’s not too late
Don’t turn away or be so weak

Toss the stone up ,it's so high
Don’t hold your breath or close your eyes
You’ve hit the square now don’t be shy
You have to jump, you have to rise...

You got so high! Now grab the string!
It’s caught the wind and makes away
It strains like some great living thing!
The past is gone. Now is today.

The stars, the stars so brightly singing
Don’t watch what’s in between, the Dark
They catch our eyes like bright birds winging
Don’t just hear crows. Listen for the lark.

Shells and Hopscotch, Kites and Stars-
Children's things? Not just, I think.
Don't pet your pain, or count your scars.
Relax. Life's quicker than you think.

Six months ago I was jumping through hoops to please you.
Six months ago I wanted to make sure you were happy before myself.
Six months ago I wanted to make sure it was me causing your happiness.
But it's not six months ago. It is now.

(In English, we were supposed to write a poem based off of George Ella Lyon's poem "Where I'm From" and this is the one I wrote)

I am from picture frames,
from Dove and Suave.
I am from the white house on the corner of the street
(far enough from the train tracks, close enough to the park).
I am from lilacs,
from the rose bush on the side of the house,
always humming with bees.

I am from crocheting and complaining,
from Edith, Rachael, and Susanne.
I am from blind eyes with a blue glow,
from "Speak up!" and "Sit up straight."
I am from "Now I lay me down to sleep..."
and old, golden cross necklaces.

I am from Ohio,
turkey, and sweet tea.
From the night my grandparents ran away togethers,
and the glass wedged into my father's finger,
the day god lifted him from the driver's seat.

I'm from the upstairs closet,
sitting beside childhood memorabilia.
Images of faces I never met,
and those I'll never forget.
Bags of animals,
stuffed with imaginary souls,
and boxes of books
which tales will never grow old.

Keep grasping that little
piece of grass called hope.
Keep staring into your heart
and repeat why you're worth it.
**** all of the ghosts and demons
haunting your mind with
the little things
that matter.

It gets better.

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

My mother groand! my father wept,
Into the dangerous world I leapt:
Helpless, naked, piping loud:
Like a fiend hid in a cloud.

Struggling in my fathers hands:
Striving against my swaddling bands:
Bound and weary I thought best
To sulk upon my mother’s breast.