"bluebonnet" poems
I'm Bailey.
I sometimes forget to recycle.
I'm from singing camels and trigonometry.
From soap bubbles and yellow scarves, Irish hymns and Zucchini the ferret,
piano keys, bluebonnet seeds, and DO NOT ENTER signs.
From salt.
I'm the color of hosed off sidewalk chalk.
I'm all summer in a day.
I'm a conglomeration of artistic thoughts that make me look more profound than I actually am.
I'm your infinite playlist.
I'm from elephant necklaces and rosemary bushes
from high-heeled taps and Camelot
threadless socks, shopping carts, and impromptu salons.
I'm the fifth ninja turtle.
I live where you laugh so hard you cry.
I'm from carrots and ranch.
I'm a happy cow from California, a fortune cookie with your enchilada, a drill team skirt over marching uniforms.
I'm from unfinished crossword puzzles and forgotten dead languages
from pixie dust and snapcracklepop
from actually-it's-pronounced's, because-i-said-so's, and that's-not-my-name's.
I am Nancy Drew with a Peter Pan complex.
I come from honeysuckle candles and sunroofs of pickup trucks
broken-down fences and peach salsa
the second you step onstage.
I'm from in between.
I'm Bailey.
I don't drive the speed limit.
And I'm from you.
Dec 22, 2009
Dec 22, 2009 at 6:08 PM UTC
I have always had a hunger for words
seven years old, I was reading at a college level. I was amazing. A little freak of nature. They said, "Grace, you're so smart" "Grace, you're a genius" "Grace, you're going places in life" but now i'm not so sure because
I was extraordinary then but
this is high school now and everybody reads at a college level and all of a sudden I don't feel so special anymore.
10 years old I was required to write 13 poems for the "Bluebonnet Young Poet awards"
I submitted them but
I'm still waiting for the letter that tells me I've won.
And so I wrote poetry all through the sixth grade
I was threatened and
pushed around. but no one could know because if anyone knew
they would hurt me worse and so I took the liberty of
doing that for them.
but there was a boy. isn't there ALWAYS a boy?
and I tried to write about him but (shhhhhh) he was a secret and all of the things he did to me were (shhhhhh) (shut up) (be quiet) (don't make a sound)
once I was free from him the words poured out of me like a bird released from its cage finally finally finally I could SING.
but there was a boy. isn't there always a boy?
he let the words come and come and they were about him, always about him. they were beautiful. every day there seemed to be more words about him, for him, to him. it stopped being about my words and always about his but his words were empty so he stopped saying them. I wrote for him and hoped he would see it but I guess he never did because sometimes I still write for him and wonder what he's doing.
sometimes people like to tell me that my poetry isn't "appropriate" that it's "too emotional" "too adult" and I shouldn't be writing things like that, am I depressed? who are they, who are any of you, to tell me what I can and cannot feel?
who am I, to be standing here, telling you what I feel?
I have always had a need for words.
it's about time I started treating them right.
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 8:28 PM UTC
Coastline yellow dawn,
Overflowing fountain
Untrimmed garden,
Left to Decay
Rot in the sun
Bluebonnet field,
Honey suckle sweet breeze
Left to flourish,
Their petals reach to the sky
Light step, on the untreded
Birdbath with feathers flashing about it
Dawning spring, swallowing following
Enchanted breeze, dew on the leaves
Break the cycle of the illusion
Never ending we march along
One step higher another step closer
At the end, Door Closer locksmith
I have to see beyond this
May 9, 2020
May 9, 2020 at 3:31 AM UTC
i dream in colors of the sky;
with sandpaper hands
over a glossy finish
and bluebonnet fields
in a golden sunset.
my brain is hot-wired to be alone;
i don't want you painting
my skies over
with white.
i'll paint them black
in the morning,
but i will poke holes
so i can still see the stars.
(a.m.c.)
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 8:09 PM UTC
A pathway lit with the lamps for the night
Winter's slowly crawling through
Took a deep breath then sighed
As I took off my earphones
I started to cry
As I was playing Beethoven
Something inside died
Someone took my heart
Flashbacks begun to start
I remembered when I played Fur Elise
You slept crying
Trying to hide something
Something you did not want me to know
Hid it deep, deep down below
Ran as fast as I can
Just to catch up to you
But I was late
Now past eight
and I just stood at the door gazin'
You were like an angel
Now dressed in white
Surrounded by flowers and light
Sorry, I haven't seen you in a while
You were as beautiful as the sunset
and grander than the bluebonnet
Walking towards you
Holding my tears back
Heart was heavy
As I glanced at you
One last time
Regrets came rushing
Picked up my phone and ran out
Shouted to the heavens
Cursed at the gods
Bargained to let me see her alive one last time
All you gave me was music
The songs, the meanings, the lyrics
The notes, the keys, the rhythm
Slowly I returned inside
and played your gift
I opened the piano
It was childhood all over again
Played your favorite piece, Love's Sorrow
I saw an image of you
Every stroke it was painful
Every note I was hurting
As memories came flushing
and the song showed me
how it made you smile and cry
I want to dance with you again, Ma
I will play a song and loop it for eternity
I want you to sing for me again
And I'll play the piano for you
I will gladly be
I'll dance for you
Even if my feet does not want me to
I'll write you endless songs
Just be with me one last time
I'll tell you stories
When you can't fall asleep
I'll kiss your forehead, Ma
and I'll tell you I will always be here
and you will be with me
I ended the piece
Like how you always ended your's
and I know you'll be in peace
Because all I saw you smiling
One last time
Oct 1, 2017
Oct 1, 2017 at 5:20 AM UTC
A drop of heaven is in
the ladybug
dainty red damsel
with polka dot umbrella
and black lace fan
a drop of heaven is in
that gorgeous orange creature
fluttering past me
A drop of paradise is in blue jay
his wings the color of
the Bluebonnet sky
A drop of paradise is
in Woody woodpecker
Decked out in his red silk hat
and speckled cape
sawing away...
A drop of heaven is in everything
A spark of heaven is certainly
in you and me
Aug 3, 2020
Aug 3, 2020 at 7:06 PM UTC