The Early-bird's Lament

So I had a choir meeting on Thursday morning at 10 AM. But then, there was no way I could get a ride at that time, because my mom leaves for work at 9. So I decided to ask her to take me to school on her way to work. An hour wouldn't be too long to wait, right? Well, I started to think differently once I saw all these other school organizations doing whatever they were doing. I'm naturally introverted, and I haven't come in contact with huge crowds of people in a long time. I just wanted to hide, at one point in time. But then, of course, I needed something to fill up that one hour of loneliness. The drumline was practicing right behind me when I was writing this, so maybe that's why it's got a natural rhythm about it. Or maybe it's just the fact that I was unnaturally focused. I'm usually pretty laidback, but I needed to really drill myself into my words with all the noise around me.
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Decisions lay in untouched mess
While time ambles its solid path.
Regret appears in thoughtful digress
Coated with a sheepish laugh.


As the obligation comes again,
Steady as it was before.
Facing the crowd to real just when
I'd fended off a field of lore.


A powerful desire to disappear
Into the walls I knew too well.
Deep down I know naught to fear
The shadows did my mind repell.


But minutes never sit to rest
And neither should the world.
To find a smile in feared detest
As courage does unfurl.

The World in My Hands

Love puts the world
In the palm of my hand.
To light with a touch.
To rest with a blink.
Once my vision whirled
I soared, my eyes panned.
The world so small, so much
Possibility clogged the sink.
And so imagination swirled.
Overflowed the land.
My heart skipped double dutch.
So much to do, to think!
But a frame is but a square
Vain in my hands,
If one face fills to brink.

Inspiration: Amelia's most recent poem, "Decisions". :) Though I kind of go off on a tangent with my main point.

Improv...I think...

I usually do lots of thinking before I write a poem, but I'd like to try it another way, since I'm in a bit of an experimental stage at the moment. Just set out to write, and beat some creativity into it with a club, to put it in a straightforward way.

The Portrait

A humble facade,
Sharp in contrast
To a dance of pastel,
Creams, patterns,
Jewels so bright,
They appear dull.
Proud figure so full
Of surprised delight,
Complexion lanterns
Cast mystery well,
Deep and steadfast.
As she looks at me,
Can't help but wonder
What I see.

Inspiration: I stumbled upon a journal at TJ Maxx one day. I guess it wasn't beautiful, at first sight, but it really got me thinking. The cover was almost a Mona Lisa on so many levels of my crazy thought process. It happened to have this portrait on the cover: http://i165.photobucket.com/albums/u79/ksonniks/ladyAgnew.jpg

Spanish poetry

I usually don't write poetry in Spanish, but I had to do so for a school assignment. Of course, I know enough Spanish to be able to express myself the best I could, and, since this is another milestone in my hobby as a poet, I thought I should show the world!

Sandia

Memorias vidas
Manchado y agotado,
Dulce y familiar;
Rosa, en mi memoria.

Un vez, pegajoso.
Una fragrancia.
Sonrisa de tiempo
En el sol del verano.

Un vez, fresca,
Sencillo y serenidad.
Como mis días
Como mis noches.

Ahora, no más.
Pero el sabor
De mi niñez,
Nunca me olvido.

Sadness

She blew it.
No point hiding.
No point denying
these moments of pain.
Her mind had gone blank.
Why? Why then?
Why drain the sea of hope,
To a sad little glen?
Her plans tore to shreds.
Her dreams not in sight.
They had lied when saying
Her future was so bright.
Confusion now in mind,
On the edge she stalls.
What now? What to do?
She's not ready to fall.

Ascent From Hell

The scars, the bruises,
Shackles of the past.
One day, they'll rust away,
But now they're windows
To the soul.
A peek at the wreckage
Stubborn to stay.

The heart is drained.
Empty deep and wide.
Yet so heavy, spilling
A substance dark and cruel.
Just short of hope,
Just short of understanding
Silhouettes of a nightmare.
Time itself so demanding.

The setting of the crimson sun
Burns long shadows
On the path.
A winding road drenched
By salty floods.
Behold, the aftermath.

Me

In the void, I find solace
And solace never void.
Empty, boundless, flooding
Potential to be toyed.

The rush of life is silent
Thoughts halted in their flow.
All but a hollow drip.
Persistent leaks echo.

But all the world is mine to see
In the rustle of a pen.
All the moments in between
The who, what, and when.