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Friday, July 10, 2009
"Three Sisters" by Kip Decker
***For this "Hallmark" poem, the vocabulary word of the day is ekphrasis. It's basically a written representation of a visual art. I learned the word yesterday. This poem I wrote as an art education class assignment, based on the picture below. Since I have two sisters, I related.***
I remember a sunset
where our wet bodies glittered like lightning
and where we twirled and whirled and danced on
clouds of sand stolen from an hourglass.
I remember the creamsicle haze and peach laughter
that filled our summer evenings,
too full with the deliciousness of living to eat up
anything but each other.
Do you remember what it was like before we were
old and careful, when the only jewels we needed we
could find in the sand and keep in a handmade
treasure box under our beds, to whisper to us in our
lemon chiffon dreams? Were we ever young
enough?
THE SPRING FROM WHENCE I COME
***This is the first of two poems that I like to think of as my "Hallmark" period. This one, I wrote for my mom and framed it with a lovely picture as a mother's day gift a few years ago. So I suppose this is for all you mothers out there...***
With the brave watchguard of her mountains
And her humble valleys winding low,
With her creative spring buds blooming,
And her honest winter’s snow,
With her striking daily sunrise,
And her constant sunsets, too,
With the wisdom of the wisest
Formed from years of tears so true,
With passionate fire her very core,
And rich soil nurturing new life,
With her powerful sway of wind and storm,
And her selfless rays of light,
With her timeless ocean rhythm
And gentle spirit like no other,
As dynamic as her seasons,
Of course the Earth would be called
Mother.
And her humble valleys winding low,
With her creative spring buds blooming,
And her honest winter’s snow,
With her striking daily sunrise,
And her constant sunsets, too,
With the wisdom of the wisest
Formed from years of tears so true,
With passionate fire her very core,
And rich soil nurturing new life,
With her powerful sway of wind and storm,
And her selfless rays of light,
With her timeless ocean rhythm
And gentle spirit like no other,
As dynamic as her seasons,
Of course the Earth would be called
Mother.
THE MIDDLE IS THE BEST
***Just so you don't think I'm always depressed...here's my "happy song". I put a bit of all my favorite things into it. Enjoy!***
If life had a fast-forward button,
I wouldn’t use it,
‘Cause life is made of something,
And I’d lose it.
You dream of what may be
Tomorrow,
But that leaves a tomb of todays
Filled with sorrow.
No more waiting! And no more regrets!
Push yourself into the moment—
‘Cause the middle is the best!
(chorus)
Like the filling of an Oreo,
Like the thrill of a great ride,
Like the chill of a scary story,
Like the still of a summer’s night,
Like driving on a road trip,
Like trying to solve a riddle,
You could rush you to the end,
But then you’d miss the middle!
A fairy-tale with just “The End”—
Where is the “now?” What was the “then?”
Even if I knew the answers to this test,
I wouldn’t use it,
‘Cause life is made of something,
And I’d lose it.
You dream of what may be
Tomorrow,
But that leaves a tomb of todays
Filled with sorrow.
No more waiting! And no more regrets!
Push yourself into the moment—
‘Cause the middle is the best!
(chorus)
Like the filling of an Oreo,
Like the thrill of a great ride,
Like the chill of a scary story,
Like the still of a summer’s night,
Like driving on a road trip,
Like trying to solve a riddle,
You could rush you to the end,
But then you’d miss the middle!
A fairy-tale with just “The End”—
Where is the “now?” What was the “then?”
Even if I knew the answers to this test,
I’d still wanna take it—‘cause the middle is the best!
(chorus)
While I’m with you I’m looking forward to
A happy ending where there is no end…
But the middle’s still the best!
Like an Oreo cookie, the middle is the best!
Like a Forties’ movie, the middle is the best!
Like an epic journey, the middle is the best!
(chorus)
While I’m with you I’m looking forward to
A happy ending where there is no end…
But the middle’s still the best!
Like an Oreo cookie, the middle is the best!
Like a Forties’ movie, the middle is the best!
Like an epic journey, the middle is the best!
Like a life with you, the middle is the best!
SECRET PASSAGES
***This is another frustration song, although I don't know that I'd say it's tinged with hope. Sorry.***
Slipping through my fingers,
Racing endlessly through my mind.
Every time I think I’m one step ahead
Every time I think I’m one step ahead
I find out I’m three steps behind.
I’ve got every reason in the world to be faith-full and free,
But I just can’t seem to find it in me!
(chorus)
Why does everyone know the secret passages but me?
Why can’t I break the lock and walk through the door?
Why don’t the pieces of this puzzle fit together?
Will I never know the feeling I felt before?
Swimming in tears,
Suffocating by sorrow,
The fears of today
Spoiling the hopes of tomorrow.
Playin’ hide-and-seek, come find me, can’t relax behind this hill.
Don’t even know quite what it means, but I want it still!
(chorus)
Searching the Rubik's cube and it’s all a dead end!
Through the telescope I’m seeing a star I know I’ll never touch.
Can’t get out of my mind, can’t get in it again…
Through the rear-view mirror, seeing everything backwards, and it’s too much!
(Can you tell me—)
(chorus)
(chorus)
I’ve got every reason in the world to be faith-full and free,
But I just can’t seem to find it in me!
(chorus)
Why does everyone know the secret passages but me?
Why can’t I break the lock and walk through the door?
Why don’t the pieces of this puzzle fit together?
Will I never know the feeling I felt before?
Swimming in tears,
Suffocating by sorrow,
The fears of today
Spoiling the hopes of tomorrow.
Playin’ hide-and-seek, come find me, can’t relax behind this hill.
Don’t even know quite what it means, but I want it still!
(chorus)
Searching the Rubik's cube and it’s all a dead end!
Through the telescope I’m seeing a star I know I’ll never touch.
Can’t get out of my mind, can’t get in it again…
Through the rear-view mirror, seeing everything backwards, and it’s too much!
(Can you tell me—)
(chorus)
(chorus)
MY FIRST BREATH
***I struggle with depression. There, it's out there. Every once in a while, it comes back with new wartime strategies and I have to regroup and fight the battle all over again. But the one tactic that always remains the same is self-deprecation--the self-exploration that leads to the regret that I wasn't better. I see my mistakes in a new light, and I have to work my way through them and rearrange the meaning so that I can make peace with it and move on. This is one of those frustration-tinged-with-hope songs I wrote while I worked through a particularly tough battle, and even though I wrote it half a decade ago it still pops up in my mind from time to time. I guess you could say it's my own personal fight song.***
It started with just one stone, in a field of flowers
In sleepy summer days spent away, too good to be true, it seemed.
But then the rains came, the winds came, now see how she cowers
In the corner of this very bad dream.
Every lowered expectation, every blow of realism,
Every self-imposed inhibition, every self-doubt and self-denial
Was a stone upon a stone, meant for protection, became blinding—
A wall so high, so deep, now she can’t see anything at all.
(chorus)
She’s locked herself away in a tower stained with tears,
But she was made for better things than the prison of her fear.
She was made for smiling and sweet dreams and singing to the starlight.
She was made to live—she was made to breathe.
Broken hearts and dreams suffocate her, she’s fading fast,
Trapped inside the shadows that this fortress casts.
Tear it down before you lose her forever—
It’s a risk, but one worth trying for—she is dying! (For)
(chorus)
Who she wants to be, who she is, who she was before—
Who is that girl? I don’t recognize her anymore.
Fight for her, free her, find yourself again,
Knock down that wall and step out into the sun…
I have locked myself away in a tower stained with tears,
But I was made for bigger things than the prison of my own fear.
I was made for laughing, loving, dancing in the sunlight.
I am going to live—I am going to breathe
My first breath.
In sleepy summer days spent away, too good to be true, it seemed.
But then the rains came, the winds came, now see how she cowers
In the corner of this very bad dream.
Every lowered expectation, every blow of realism,
Every self-imposed inhibition, every self-doubt and self-denial
Was a stone upon a stone, meant for protection, became blinding—
A wall so high, so deep, now she can’t see anything at all.
(chorus)
She’s locked herself away in a tower stained with tears,
But she was made for better things than the prison of her fear.
She was made for smiling and sweet dreams and singing to the starlight.
She was made to live—she was made to breathe.
Broken hearts and dreams suffocate her, she’s fading fast,
Trapped inside the shadows that this fortress casts.
Tear it down before you lose her forever—
It’s a risk, but one worth trying for—she is dying! (For)
(chorus)
Who she wants to be, who she is, who she was before—
Who is that girl? I don’t recognize her anymore.
Fight for her, free her, find yourself again,
Knock down that wall and step out into the sun…
I have locked myself away in a tower stained with tears,
But I was made for bigger things than the prison of my own fear.
I was made for laughing, loving, dancing in the sunlight.
I am going to live—I am going to breathe
My first breath.
I COULD'VE BEEN
***This angry and self-empowering song is for all the exes out there. I'm happily married now, so these feelings are long gone. But I'm sure anyone who's been jilted will at the very least relate. You don't have to like it.***
If you feel like you missed out on something amazing,
It’s because you did.
I put my heart out on the line
And like a coward you ran and hid.
My head spun in circles, I never knew quite what to say,
But it doesn’t really matter, you never did a thing about it, anyway!
(chorus)
I should’ve been the tune you sing!
I would’ve been your everything!
I could’ve been the one you dream of!
I could’ve been the one you love!
I could’ve been anything you wanted and everything you need,
But you didn’t even glance—
Oh! You should’ve given a chance
To all I could’ve been!
I tried to be patient while you tried on other girls,
But I’m through waiting.
Now that you’re way over there and I’m away over here,
There’s no time left for debating.
You thought I’d be around forever, then you blinked, and now I’m gone,
Why wasn’t who I am enough for you to act on?
(chorus)
You should’ve been more careful,
I should’ve been braver.
You would’ve been my first love,
I would’ve been there.
You could’ve been fun.
I could’ve been the one.
Oh, what we could’ve been!
(chorus)
It’s because you did.
I put my heart out on the line
And like a coward you ran and hid.
My head spun in circles, I never knew quite what to say,
But it doesn’t really matter, you never did a thing about it, anyway!
(chorus)
I should’ve been the tune you sing!
I would’ve been your everything!
I could’ve been the one you dream of!
I could’ve been the one you love!
I could’ve been anything you wanted and everything you need,
But you didn’t even glance—
Oh! You should’ve given a chance
To all I could’ve been!
I tried to be patient while you tried on other girls,
But I’m through waiting.
Now that you’re way over there and I’m away over here,
There’s no time left for debating.
You thought I’d be around forever, then you blinked, and now I’m gone,
Why wasn’t who I am enough for you to act on?
(chorus)
You should’ve been more careful,
I should’ve been braver.
You would’ve been my first love,
I would’ve been there.
You could’ve been fun.
I could’ve been the one.
Oh, what we could’ve been!
(chorus)
HINDSIGHT
***This poem was fashioned after a dream I had a while back, after a talk by Elder Jeffrey R. Holland about how "it will be all right in the end." In the dream I was living in the house I grew up in, in Battle Ground, Indiana, and on the living room floor was a quilt that was kinda like a cabbage patch--I was babysitting a dozen or so babies, each popping out of a separate quilt square. They were all too young to even stand up...probably around 6-7 months old. Most of them were sleeping, except this one that kept crying, so I went to pick the poor thing up--and realized it was me. Some freaky time thing happened, and I was holding myself, singing to myself, trying to comfort myself. This is the gist of the lullaby I was singing.***
Where you are, I’ve been down that road before.
The tears flow so freely you can’t keep them anymore.
When your heart breaks, when things don’t go quite the way you planned,
So many mistakes, and you just can’t understand
(chorus)
What he said, and what she did,
And how they forgot, and why you were denied.
What you want, and what we all need
Is a good laugh, and a good cry.
When life throws you curveballs,
And it seems like these four walls
Are closing in, the air’s too thin,
Can’t think or breathe or see,
Just remember, please (remember, please, remember, please)…
It’s worth the fight. Hold on tight.
Everything’s gonna be all right.
How do I know?
Hindsight.
Maybe nobody else will ever see
The spectacular I see in you,
But someday you’ll discover all that you are
And you will see it in yourself, too…
And isn’t that all that really matters, anyway?
You’ve got the seeds of greatness
Planted deep within your soul,
Don’t let the little things
Make you give up and lose control.
(chorus)
Believe in yourself. Believe in the heavens.
Believe that something good can happen, even to you.
Especially for you.
Believe that this moment is just a moment in time,
Don’t lose sight of all the hope that tomorrow brings.
Let these words ring true, let your heart sing.
It’s worth the fight. Hold on tight.
Everything’s gonna be all right.
How do I know?
Hindsight.
The tears flow so freely you can’t keep them anymore.
When your heart breaks, when things don’t go quite the way you planned,
So many mistakes, and you just can’t understand
(chorus)
What he said, and what she did,
And how they forgot, and why you were denied.
What you want, and what we all need
Is a good laugh, and a good cry.
When life throws you curveballs,
And it seems like these four walls
Are closing in, the air’s too thin,
Can’t think or breathe or see,
Just remember, please (remember, please, remember, please)…
It’s worth the fight. Hold on tight.
Everything’s gonna be all right.
How do I know?
Hindsight.
Maybe nobody else will ever see
The spectacular I see in you,
But someday you’ll discover all that you are
And you will see it in yourself, too…
And isn’t that all that really matters, anyway?
You’ve got the seeds of greatness
Planted deep within your soul,
Don’t let the little things
Make you give up and lose control.
(chorus)
Believe in yourself. Believe in the heavens.
Believe that something good can happen, even to you.
Especially for you.
Believe that this moment is just a moment in time,
Don’t lose sight of all the hope that tomorrow brings.
Let these words ring true, let your heart sing.
It’s worth the fight. Hold on tight.
Everything’s gonna be all right.
How do I know?
Hindsight.
Music and Lyrics
I have some crazy aspirations. I love music, and play a little here and there. A few years ago I decided that I was going to learn the guitar so I could write music (I've done some stuff on piano, but it's a lot easier to strum a few chords and be done with it). So I started writing poetry that could be lyrics to my oh-so-incredible someday-songs. Lots more self-expression.
Well, I just sold my guitar to make rent money. So we'll see how far that actually goes. I'm young yet...
Anywho, the point is that I am now going to post some of those someday-songs for your entertainment. Mostly I want to purge my completed poems so that in the future, you will have only my newest and freshest stuff. All of these "songs" were written between 2004 and 2007.
I've learned a few things since then. ;)
Well, I just sold my guitar to make rent money. So we'll see how far that actually goes. I'm young yet...
Anywho, the point is that I am now going to post some of those someday-songs for your entertainment. Mostly I want to purge my completed poems so that in the future, you will have only my newest and freshest stuff. All of these "songs" were written between 2004 and 2007.
I've learned a few things since then. ;)
INDEPENDENCE DAY 2002
***I work through my emotions in writing. I can't remember a time when that wasn't true--whether in a journal, a list, a poem, a piece of fiction, or a letter to a friend, I've always felt unsettled and unsatisfied until I've been able to find the words to record my feelings. While I don't necessarily view poetry as solely a means of self-expression, writing helps me sort through things. After September 11th, I started writing a poem each Independence Day, and I wish I had kept them all because you could really see the healing process as I came to terms with the human condition, war, and my ever-changing definition of freedom. While I can't share them all with you because I no longer have them, I have this poem, the one that started them all, written in a tiny dorm room 1500 miles away. It's a little anthem-y, not because I think that's poetically best but because it's what my heart needed when I wrote it. Enjoy.***
A crash—a flash! Then all was still.
A silence o’er the country broke.
The nation wept, the world looked on—
Two mighty tow’rs went up in smoke.
So many dead, so many lost,
So many more in mourning prayer,
Then what? A song, triumphant yet—
Our anthem floated through the air.
The stars and stripes may have been burned
By those confused, lost souls of men,
But who can doubt the courage-pride
We felt to be American?
Be proud of your strong heritage,
The faith of those who went before.
Thank God for freedom! Pray that we
May keep it, now and evermore.
A crash—a flash! Then all was still.
A silence o’er the country broke.
The nation wept, the world looked on—
Two mighty tow’rs went up in smoke.
So many dead, so many lost,
So many more in mourning prayer,
Then what? A song, triumphant yet—
Our anthem floated through the air.
The stars and stripes may have been burned
By those confused, lost souls of men,
But who can doubt the courage-pride
We felt to be American?
Be proud of your strong heritage,
The faith of those who went before.
Thank God for freedom! Pray that we
May keep it, now and evermore.
BUBBLES
***note: this is one of the poems I wrote in high school for our poetry portfolio...I am posting this and others from that time (almost a decade ago) in the hopes of (a) showing my progress, (b) filling up the space, and (c) likely eliciting a few laughs***
There was something about the way the sun danced off
Of those blond curls, and
The way her baby blue eyes squinted against the daylight,
Straining to catch a glimpse of the translucent bubble
She had blown.
There was something about the way her nose wrinkled gaily
When the bubble brushed against it and
Popped,
And the way her cheeks flushed as Daddy
Picked up the wand
And blew a myriad of bright hues around her.
There was something about the way her dimples deepened
With a giggle,
And the way she danced barefoot around the front yard,
And the way Daddy’s head was thrown back into a
Chuckle as he watched.
There was something about the scent of lilacs
And roses
That pervaded the air, and something
About the way Mama sighed contentedly as she
Folded the picnic blanket
And placed it in the wicker basket.
There was something about that girl,
About that family,
About that sunny summer day
That made me want to
Cry.
There was something about the way the sun danced off
Of those blond curls, and
The way her baby blue eyes squinted against the daylight,
Straining to catch a glimpse of the translucent bubble
She had blown.
There was something about the way her nose wrinkled gaily
When the bubble brushed against it and
Popped,
And the way her cheeks flushed as Daddy
Picked up the wand
And blew a myriad of bright hues around her.
There was something about the way her dimples deepened
With a giggle,
And the way she danced barefoot around the front yard,
And the way Daddy’s head was thrown back into a
Chuckle as he watched.
There was something about the scent of lilacs
And roses
That pervaded the air, and something
About the way Mama sighed contentedly as she
Folded the picnic blanket
And placed it in the wicker basket.
There was something about that girl,
About that family,
About that sunny summer day
That made me want to
Cry.
EPIGRAMS
***note: this is one of the poems I wrote in high school for our poetry portfolio...I am posting this and others from that time (almost a decade ago) in the hopes of (a) showing my progress, (b) filling up the space, and (c) likely eliciting a few laughs***
“The Fool”
If cash for your dishonest
And laziness you’re wishin’,
Then kiss a baby, shake a had—
Become a politician!
“It Could Be”
The world’s not all it should be.
Perfection’s what it could be.
If through a trial
I spied a smile
I’m positive it would be.
“Only on Sundays”
“Yes, I’m a Christian!” shouted he
To all the people ‘round him.
But once alone, forgot the fact,
Then blushed when others found him.
“What did I do?” he hotly asked
When mother chose to ground him.
His mother’s silence chilled his blood;
The answer would astound him.
“The Fool”
If cash for your dishonest
And laziness you’re wishin’,
Then kiss a baby, shake a had—
Become a politician!
“It Could Be”
The world’s not all it should be.
Perfection’s what it could be.
If through a trial
I spied a smile
I’m positive it would be.
“Only on Sundays”
“Yes, I’m a Christian!” shouted he
To all the people ‘round him.
But once alone, forgot the fact,
Then blushed when others found him.
“What did I do?” he hotly asked
When mother chose to ground him.
His mother’s silence chilled his blood;
The answer would astound him.
PARTING WITH STARS
***note: this is one of the poems I wrote in high school for our poetry portfolio...I am posting this and others from that time (almost a decade ago) in the hopes of (a) showing my progress, (b) filling up the space, and (c) likely eliciting a few laughs***
The woman sat there weeping as
The night turned into day.
A yearning deep within her begged
The brilliant stars to stay.
Throughout the night she’d gazed in awe
And wonder at the sky,
But now, as dawn revealed itself,
She wept and knew not why.
“There’s something in those stars,” she sighed,
“That grand, celestial show—
I feel something like gratefulness
Whene’er I see them glow.”
But as the sun climbed higher up,
She saw the starlight fade.
“Oh please, don’t let me lose these now,”
The woman humbly prayed.
“I’ve lost too much already; I
Am feeling quite bereft.
If these You also take away,
Then I’ll have nothing left.”
A whisper from within her soul
Then made her heart to burn,
For though the stars would fade, she knew
The next night they’d return.
The woman sat there weeping as
The night turned into day.
A yearning deep within her begged
The brilliant stars to stay.
Throughout the night she’d gazed in awe
And wonder at the sky,
But now, as dawn revealed itself,
She wept and knew not why.
“There’s something in those stars,” she sighed,
“That grand, celestial show—
I feel something like gratefulness
Whene’er I see them glow.”
But as the sun climbed higher up,
She saw the starlight fade.
“Oh please, don’t let me lose these now,”
The woman humbly prayed.
“I’ve lost too much already; I
Am feeling quite bereft.
If these You also take away,
Then I’ll have nothing left.”
A whisper from within her soul
Then made her heart to burn,
For though the stars would fade, she knew
The next night they’d return.
LIGHTNING
***note: this is one of the poems I wrote in high school for our poetry portfolio...I am posting this and others from that time (almost a decade ago) in the hopes of (a) showing my progress, (b) filling up the space, and (c) likely eliciting a few laughs***
OFFSPRING
***note: this is one of the poems I wrote in high school for our poetry portfolio...I am posting this and others from that time (almost a decade ago) in the hopes of (a) showing my progress, (b) filling up the space, and (c) likely eliciting a few laughs***
Each child inherits all its parents are.
It grows into their likeness and becomes
A being new and old, eating the crumbs
Of life and wishing on a far-off star.
A newborn calf into a cow will grow,
A seed into a weeping willow bloom;
A duckling, given life and time and room,
Will be a duck. Its nature makes it so.
If human beings truly are divine,
The sons and daughters of a loving God,
The heirs to all things good, then in us shines
That same potential all offspring possess:
To be gods, like our Father. Nature gives
The evidence of how He’ll love and bless.
Each child inherits all its parents are.
It grows into their likeness and becomes
A being new and old, eating the crumbs
Of life and wishing on a far-off star.
A newborn calf into a cow will grow,
A seed into a weeping willow bloom;
A duckling, given life and time and room,
Will be a duck. Its nature makes it so.
If human beings truly are divine,
The sons and daughters of a loving God,
The heirs to all things good, then in us shines
That same potential all offspring possess:
To be gods, like our Father. Nature gives
The evidence of how He’ll love and bless.
SOMETHING IN THE AIR
***note: this is one of the poems I wrote in high school for our poetry portfolio...I am posting this and others from that time (almost a decade ago) in the hopes of (a) showing my progress, (b) filling up the space, and (c) likely eliciting a few laughs***
“There’s something in the air,” says she,
“A thing I can’t define.
I see the stars so brilliantly,
And yet they’ve lost their shine.
“There’s something in the air,” says she,
“A thing I do not like.
For though the sky is clear, I fear
That lightning soon may strike.
“There’s something in the air,” says she,
“A thing I truly fear.
For though my life is safe and sweet,
I feel a change is near.
“There’s something in the air,” says she,
“That makes my heart beat fast.
My eyes are on the future, yet
My heart is in the past.
“Oh, now I know what’s in the air,”
She tells the sleeping dove,
“For though it seems to be the night,
I’m mourning for lost love.”
“There’s something in the air,” says she,
“A thing I can’t define.
I see the stars so brilliantly,
And yet they’ve lost their shine.
“There’s something in the air,” says she,
“A thing I do not like.
For though the sky is clear, I fear
That lightning soon may strike.
“There’s something in the air,” says she,
“A thing I truly fear.
For though my life is safe and sweet,
I feel a change is near.
“There’s something in the air,” says she,
“That makes my heart beat fast.
My eyes are on the future, yet
My heart is in the past.
“Oh, now I know what’s in the air,”
She tells the sleeping dove,
“For though it seems to be the night,
I’m mourning for lost love.”
MARGARITA
***note: this is one of the poems I wrote in high school for our poetry portfolio...I am posting this and others from that time (almost a decade ago) in the hopes of (a) showing my progress, (b) filling up the space, and (c) likely eliciting a few laughs***
A little girl moved here from Mexico,
And Margarita was her given name.
I helped her get acquainted with the snow.
At first she acted timidly, as though
For having fun she ought to have felt shame,
But once she tasted it her face did glow.
She knew then what she’d always wished to know:
The feel of cold, and how the snow became
A tiny ball of crystals that would grow
Into a giant snowman that was so
Exquisite Margarita there proclaimed
Herself the master of that small fellow—
And as such felt the right thing to bestow
Upon that icy man, with perfect aim,
Was yet another ball of compact snow.
Her constant giggles made me smile, although
No words of happiness did I exclaim.
The silence between friends made friendship grow,
And though she didn’t speak, she knows I know.
A little girl moved here from Mexico,
And Margarita was her given name.
I helped her get acquainted with the snow.
At first she acted timidly, as though
For having fun she ought to have felt shame,
But once she tasted it her face did glow.
She knew then what she’d always wished to know:
The feel of cold, and how the snow became
A tiny ball of crystals that would grow
Into a giant snowman that was so
Exquisite Margarita there proclaimed
Herself the master of that small fellow—
And as such felt the right thing to bestow
Upon that icy man, with perfect aim,
Was yet another ball of compact snow.
Her constant giggles made me smile, although
No words of happiness did I exclaim.
The silence between friends made friendship grow,
And though she didn’t speak, she knows I know.
THE SONG
***note: this is one of the poems I wrote in high school for our poetry portfolio...I am posting this and others from that time (almost a decade ago) in the hopes of (a) showing my progress, (b) filling up the space, and (c) likely eliciting a few laughs***
The little, blue-eyed girl had such a voice
That any stranger happening to pass
The quiet church would feel he had no choice
But to impress his nose against the glass
And strain to hear the melody within
Himself fuse with the melody without.
Indeed, the song she sang—her voice so thin—
Seemed to erase all earthly turmoil, doubt,
And fear. She struck a deep and welling chord
Within the listeners, moving them to tears.
Angelic legions sighed with one accord
As with one song she surpassed all her years.
There’s something in each soul that sings a song
So beautiful it lasts a whole life long.
The little, blue-eyed girl had such a voice
That any stranger happening to pass
The quiet church would feel he had no choice
But to impress his nose against the glass
And strain to hear the melody within
Himself fuse with the melody without.
Indeed, the song she sang—her voice so thin—
Seemed to erase all earthly turmoil, doubt,
And fear. She struck a deep and welling chord
Within the listeners, moving them to tears.
Angelic legions sighed with one accord
As with one song she surpassed all her years.
There’s something in each soul that sings a song
So beautiful it lasts a whole life long.
SESTINA OF FREEDOM
***note: this is one of the poems I wrote in high school for our poetry portfolio...I am posting this and others from that time (almost a decade ago) in the hopes of (a) showing my progress, (b) filling up the space, and (c) likely eliciting a few laughs***
My parents raised their voices louder still—
My sister hid herself in her cold room,
My other sister to the corner hid,
My brother tried to laugh away the pain
He felt—they had to get from me a hug.
I have to show them somebody still cares.
To be the oldest is to mask my cares,
To make their racing, aching hearts be still.
I seldom get a single, honest hug—
I give them out, but when inside my room
I pray for God to take away the pain
That somewhere in my heart is deeply hid.
I’ve got my own doubts, too, although they’re hid
With all my fears, and dreams, and joys, and cares;
They all are hidden wherever the pain
Is locked away. I cry within the still
And quiet peace I find inside my room,
And when I pray, God gives a loving hug.
But, somewhat out of practice, that one hug
Gives me a feeling that it should be hid
And ne’er escape the confines of my room.
So off I go, forgetting all those cares,
Pretending that my racing mind is still,
Pretending that I never felt that pain
At all. But now the greatest source of pain
Cannot be fixed, e’en with a godly hug.
The future looks so bright, and yet I still
Feel like my aspirations should be hid.
Can I tell you a secret? No one cares
About the goings-on inside my room.
My life’s about creating bigger room
For family members who are still in pain…
I’ve got to show them somebody still cares
About them enough to give them a hug.
If that means my own goals have to be hid,
Then so be it. I’ll sacrifice them still.
Someday my room won’t hide that godly hug.
Someday my pain won’t have to still be hid.
Someday my cares and worries will be still.
My parents raised their voices louder still—
My sister hid herself in her cold room,
My other sister to the corner hid,
My brother tried to laugh away the pain
He felt—they had to get from me a hug.
I have to show them somebody still cares.
To be the oldest is to mask my cares,
To make their racing, aching hearts be still.
I seldom get a single, honest hug—
I give them out, but when inside my room
I pray for God to take away the pain
That somewhere in my heart is deeply hid.
I’ve got my own doubts, too, although they’re hid
With all my fears, and dreams, and joys, and cares;
They all are hidden wherever the pain
Is locked away. I cry within the still
And quiet peace I find inside my room,
And when I pray, God gives a loving hug.
But, somewhat out of practice, that one hug
Gives me a feeling that it should be hid
And ne’er escape the confines of my room.
So off I go, forgetting all those cares,
Pretending that my racing mind is still,
Pretending that I never felt that pain
At all. But now the greatest source of pain
Cannot be fixed, e’en with a godly hug.
The future looks so bright, and yet I still
Feel like my aspirations should be hid.
Can I tell you a secret? No one cares
About the goings-on inside my room.
My life’s about creating bigger room
For family members who are still in pain…
I’ve got to show them somebody still cares
About them enough to give them a hug.
If that means my own goals have to be hid,
Then so be it. I’ll sacrifice them still.
Someday my room won’t hide that godly hug.
Someday my pain won’t have to still be hid.
Someday my cares and worries will be still.
ELEGY FOR THE BUG BENEATH MY SHOE
***note: this is one of the poems I wrote in high school for our poetry portfolio...I am posting this and others from that time (almost a decade ago) in the hopes of (a) showing my progress, (b) filling up the space, and (c) likely eliciting a few laughs***
I saw you steal your way across
The carpet in my room.
Your body, black and wriggly,
Pronounced my certain doom.
It’s not that you had done me harm
In situations past,
But just the thought of things like you
Had made my blood chill fast.
I screamed a shrieking scream upon
The sight of your small head.
Reacting, lifting up my foot, I stomped.
And now you’re dead.
I saw you steal your way across
The carpet in my room.
Your body, black and wriggly,
Pronounced my certain doom.
It’s not that you had done me harm
In situations past,
But just the thought of things like you
Had made my blood chill fast.
I screamed a shrieking scream upon
The sight of your small head.
Reacting, lifting up my foot, I stomped.
And now you’re dead.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
COURT LADY IN BLUE
My sisters rest their lotus petals
on silk and thread, sewing and humming,
sewing and humming the Emperor’s favorite songs,
while I, alone and folded,
fan the flames of the irons, a wilting peony, my face melting
onto the sky of my robes, remembering only my election and my duty.
I miss the horses.
I miss the ink and scrolls.
I miss the music.
See how they whisper? See the young maid
helping, hiding from the scalding-scolding?
While I turn my face from Her Pinkness,
then back,
then away again.
In my heart I cannot bear (that I love) to watch more burnings…
Lilies lining the palace gardens, we devoted and delicate
draw around to be plucked and vased in his own good time.
There is no other story for me to tell. We
have it in the stars to believe—
wait—
think we want—and own
ourselves no longer.
The dragon claimed us his before we were ever born.
I in all my knowledge know this:
The Bombyx moth lays around 500 eggs in 4 to 6 days, then dies, having completed the job it was meant to do.
I will never have children—so will I never die.
It takes approximately 30,000 worms to produce 12 pounds of raw silk.
And eleven court ladies and one maid.
The filaments from between 4 and 8 cocoons are twisted together to make 1 silk thread that can be as long as 1,600 yards.
A single thread, however long, will never be enough to warm your frozen body.
I know we are cruel to the worms, beating a pole to
the pulp of their bodies long after they are naked and dead,
only because we know them soundly and love them intimately—
our beauty only en masse
and our favored exploitation.
Burn steady, fire constant.
ON ISLANDS
My thoughts are not your thoughts,
neither are your aches my aches.
My cerebellum is not your cerebellum.
Your number is not my number.
My vomit is not your vomit,
my ecstasy is not your ecstasy.
Your dream is not my dream.
Your secret hiding place is not my
secret hiding place,
your DNA is not my DNA.
My habit is not your habit.
My grave is not your grave.
So why are we still
talking?
neither are your aches my aches.
My cerebellum is not your cerebellum.
Your number is not my number.
My vomit is not your vomit,
my ecstasy is not your ecstasy.
Your dream is not my dream.
Your secret hiding place is not my
secret hiding place,
your DNA is not my DNA.
My habit is not your habit.
My grave is not your grave.
So why are we still
talking?
Bienvenue!
Welcome to the written works and other creative endeavors of Celeste Fernandez! I really wanted a place to post the poetry I've been working on, as well as photographs of other projects and experiences that show you a bit of my passion. While I keep another blog for my husband's and my goings-on, I wanted a separate space for these things that I might someday turn into a book...even if I am the only one who will read it! (For more on turning blogs into books, go HERE.)
In the following pages you will find original poetry, chapters of stories I'm writing, photographs of major creative accomplishments, and a little sprinkle of whatever else I feel like adding. The formatting of the actual texts will most likely be off-kilter, since Blogger is just kinda like that. If you ever want to see the real deal in all its glory, just email me and ask (pcfernandez515@yahoo.com). Some of the musings will be deeply personal; others will be completely random and probably quite meaningless. You may find things that shock you. You may be taught. You may have things to teach me. You may be disturbed, or you may be inspired. You may wonder even more about me, or you may finally have questions about me answered. Mostly, I hope you simply just enjoy it.
I think that just about says it all.
In the following pages you will find original poetry, chapters of stories I'm writing, photographs of major creative accomplishments, and a little sprinkle of whatever else I feel like adding. The formatting of the actual texts will most likely be off-kilter, since Blogger is just kinda like that. If you ever want to see the real deal in all its glory, just email me and ask (pcfernandez515@yahoo.com). Some of the musings will be deeply personal; others will be completely random and probably quite meaningless. You may find things that shock you. You may be taught. You may have things to teach me. You may be disturbed, or you may be inspired. You may wonder even more about me, or you may finally have questions about me answered. Mostly, I hope you simply just enjoy it.
I think that just about says it all.
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