The Doe and the Fawn

Deep in the woods she rests,

Hidden in the chaos of the forest,

Beneath the broken branches beside the brook.

She sleeps with only one sense on duty,

The only one that never gets a day off.

Her sixth sense.

The one that senses danger.

Her life means almost nothing to her,

all she cares for,

is her son,

her own little fawn,

the prince of his forest.

The art of the song

The hum of the melody

Wires itself into my brain

And I sigh with relief

At the mere thought of

Being able to recall it once again

When I am in my own chambers

Free from all the nonsense of the surrounding world

In the time allotted for prayer

Which I often spend

as the time set aside to master

the art of the song

The poor dreamer

I stroll through the aisles

of the tightly snug novels.

I reach for one and read the back,

But I remember I am just looking

I don't have the money to purchase.

So I try and return it

But it won't go back.

It must be destiny.

So although I was reluctant,

I scribbled down the name of the book and author,

put the slip in my bag

and shove the book unceremoniously onto the shelf.

I walk out the front door

with the promise of returning tomorrow,

desperately wishing I hadn't eaten that cookie with lunch.

Speaking through the Pen

As the bar inches along its way to load the page,

My fingers drum impatiently beside the keyboard.

I try not to let my mind drift,

So I don’t lose the thought I had fought to hold all day,

Now barely managing to cling to the thread it’s strung on in my head.

I will the screen to give a sign that something is there,

But it likes to keep me waiting,

As it does each day.

Finally one day I give up.

When the next idea surprises me that evening,

I reach past the screen and over to the abandoned stack of paper.

I take out a pen,

And let my ideas flow across the page.

And by speaking through them once again,

It seems I have lost my connection,

With the monstrous machine sitting undisturbed on the table.

For it is nothing compared to my paper and pen.

And to taunt and sever the ties I once held with the machine,

I write,

All over the page.

I flaunt the fact that I can write outside the lines,

Something the machine and I were never capable of.

I scribble and doodle to show the pictures in my mind,

That showed up along with the words.

And when I make a mistake,

I draw a single line through it,

So I can still see the words that have been misused.

Then I keep going,

On and on with the new ideas.

And when the page is completely filled,

I take a fresh sheet,

And start all over because,

Now I am simply free.

I am terribly sorry that I have not posted in a while, but this poem is special to me because it was selected (after many many revisions) out of many, and filled one of the two slots to enter my county's literary magazine, and I am very excited that it made it. I hope you enjoy it. :)

Taking Down the Tree

The glistening lights cascade down the edges of the tree

Shimmering bright

Knowing this is their last chance to shine.

And this simple tradition

Of stripping and taking apart the tree

Becomes a new memory each year

Combined into a huge collage of things we remember

Of what the holidays,

Truly mean.

Sorrow takes too much work

Smiling takes effort,

when a frown will do just as well

just some way to shape your lips

when most of the time not a single soul will notice

but we still try and put on a show.

Whether I smile or frown, is all a part of the role I play.

Apparently showing the pain or hiding it

shows our judges of character.

And whether I want to roll up in a ball

and hide behind a wall of sheets

is my decision.

It doesn't show that I am weak,

and do not belong here.

Then does smiling show that I am a fool

with no heart

and am just an empty shell without a soul.

Either way I am judged incorrectly.

So I chose to neither smile nor frown.

Both take too much effort,

but still cost the same amount of pain.

Update from me :)

Well, I wanted to say that I am trying to get back to posting a lot more often. In the long run it really helps me with my writing. I also wish for constructive criticism. There's not really a way that I can progress without it, so that's what I am asking for, and I will handle and accept anything said. Also, I decided to try and steer clear away from nature for a bit, not all together but my mom was saying that my poems all sounded the same, and overall I agreed, so I am deciding to try to not write about nature as often as I do, or when I do, I try to make it unique or different from others. So that is my big update, my big writer's block was also not having time to write and not being able to come up with anything for a while. Now I'm learning to fit it in and once I get inspired by the tiniest idea, not to put it off for later, but to jump right at it. I also want constructive criticism about the titles. My goal for titles is to add additional meaning to the poem without mentioning things previously mentioned. I haven't been to good at creating titles so that's what I want to work on too. I have a lot of writing goals for myself for 2011, and I hope to see the accomplished by the end of the year. And any advice or comments are always welcome. Thank you!

The Discarded Miracle

The thought lingers on my brain

as it has for days

so I try to grab it,

and further work on the idea

however it keeps avoiding my grasp

and the scattered remains from previous ideas

are hungry for attention

so as everything is meant for a reason

I saw this as an omen

so I ignored the new idea

and tried to make something great

from the trash bin in my brain.

The Pleasant Trance

I open the pages and the scent invades my brain

I smile and begin to take in the words

Scattered across the page

the words act as molds and the substance that fills them are the story

the story that tells a tale

a tale of wonder and of adventure

a chronicle never thought of before

and as I listen to the tale

I imagine that I'm trapped in the tale

and cannot leave until I finish

so my eyes become glued to the pages I read

and read

and read

until the last word fills my mind

and I have control of myself again

so I shut the book

pick up the sequel

and am lost all over again.