The Creator

She looked up the steep mountainside and saw
The world she created
With her bare hands

The feathers on the wings on the birds she molded
Flying and gleaming through the sky

The wildflowers spiraling up the mountainside
Purple and white blossoms
Each petal hand-crafted with care

Even the mountain itself
Her biggest project

The creator of the mountains
And of the birds
And of the wildflowers
And of life
Of nature
Of adventure
Of peace
Looked over her work and smiled contently
She was the creator
She was as big as the mountain itself
As tiny as the buds growing on the stems
As high-flying as the birds in the sky
As grounded as the few stems of grass peeking up through the ground
She was as loud as the cawing of the crows
As silent as the whisper of a breeze
She was the creator

Remembering

Remembering sweet smelling Dutch apple pies
Vanilla and cinnamon
Flaky crust and golden brown dough
Topped with ice cream melting by the second
Under the hot surface of the pie

Remembering creme de menth brownies
Slathered with green mint frosting
The smell of chocolate and Christmas

Remembering hot, steamy chicken noodle soup
Thick, smooth noodles
Chicken baked and blended with herbs
Spices sprinkled in the flavorful broth

Remembering thick, hot lasagna
With layers and layers
Of melted mozzarella cheese
Soft noodles
Rich, red sauce
Ground beef  

Remembering fondly
And still enjoying
How delicious life is
With a loving, baking grandmother

Springtime Landscape

Springtime green all around

Grass dotted with wildflowers

Dandelions

Yellow and white

Remember when you were a little kid,

And you were told that if 

You blew the puffs off an dandelion,

The wish would come true?

Those little, magical, wish-granting puffs

Dance and trip through the air
Spiraling and turning circles

Loops and figure-eights

Smooth but rough

Sturdy

Steady 

Strong

Tree bark

Leading up, up, up

To the leafy green tops,

With branches exploding off in all directions

Leaves floating 

Birds singing

Eye-catching flowers waiting by the deep green doors

Everything's blooming

Bright colors

Bursting from every corner

Wild orange

Sunshine yellow

Pearly white

Springtime

Soliloquy

There's a world full of pleasure
There's a world full of hate
There's a world full of treasure
There's a world full of great
There's a world full of madness
There's a world full of pain
There's a world full of empty
There's a world full of gain
There's a world full of truth
There's a world full of pretends
There's a world full of beginnings
There's a world full of ends
There's a world full of fictional
There's a world full of real
There's a world full of conviction
There's a world full of appeal
There's a world full of timeless
There's a world full of gray
It all just depends
Where you feel like going today

The Bitter Pretending

~Writing prompt: Write a poem where the main character pretends to be someone else~

She laughs along like nothing's wrong

Every single day

Pretending that she is where she belongs
And knows the right words to say

She knows deep down

She knows it well

She knows she doesn't fit in, she can tell

So she chooses to play this game of pretend

Everyday

Weeks on end

It's a bitter game with no clear solution

She can't end it or find a resolution 

It takes more than courage to 'just be yourself'

It takes the strength of a mountain

To some, it comes easy

To others, not so 

And some, their strength can come and then go

She flips back her hair

And hangs with the crowd

Pretending to be popular, confident, loud

Pretending to be one of the crew

Just another of the pack

Nothing special or new

But deep down she's got the brains of a scholar

Even though she couldn't possibly feel any smaller

She feels like she's nothing but she's something new

And she waits for the day

To prove it to you

Castaway

     If the stars collide and the moon is right

I'll set this bottle out tonight

It'll float right out into the sea

Under the waves, away from me

And maybe you'll find it from far away

And look inside at what this has to say

And maybe you'll decide to write a reply

Perhaps not before ten years have gone and gone by

But maybe it'll wash up back on this beach

And rest in the sand, close within reach

And a kid will find it tomorrow

In the same place it started before

My shiny, green glass bottle

Resting upon the soft shore

Or it could be the note will toss and will turn

And what it says, no one will ever learn

Maybe it's doomed to be a castaway

Never in one place it will stay

Always on the go

Never to be found

Never to feel the solid ground

Or maybe it'll fall into your hands

You'll find upon the warm golden sands

You'll read this long ramble I've chosen to write,

I'll most likely never know

After I send it tonight

Spring Haiku

Everything's alive
The lunch crew moves back outside
Finally, fresh air

I come to class red
Been playing games all through lunch
Marks the start of spring

Listen in closely
There are about five birds' songs
Serenading us

It's just uplifting
Life looks a little brighter
With a little sun

The smell of cut grass
Pine needles (my favorite)
Swirl around the air

The sun covers town
Dew sparkles on the green lawn
Morning in springtime

Evenings are lighter
The stars seem to shine brighter
Morning comes quicker

Letter From the Battlefield

October 19th, 1863

Dear Joana, 

Are you well? 

I miss your voice every morning

I miss the house

I miss the yard

I miss the kids

Are they well?

Tell them I'll be home soon

I shot a man this morning

I ended another human being's life

They said I should be proud

I should feel accomplished

But how can I tell the kids it's wrong to kill,

That it's something that they should never do?

The blood does not wash off one's hands

One's soul

One's being

There is no undoing

One human

Destroying another

It is a feeling I am new to

I do not care for it

I have not a taste for blood

The battlefield is huge

Huge is an understatement

We are synchronized as one

Marching step by step

When I face the enemy,

I see another human

I wonder if that's what the other soldiers see,

Or if they take more pride in killing than I

I enjoy the company of one soldier, however

He and I tell stories by the fire late at night when the battle has ceased

He has some interesting tales

I don't want you to worry about me

I will survive

Tell the kids

I'll be home

I promise

I'll be home

I like my home life far too much to die

So don't fret 

I'll always come home

Tell Margo and John I love them

And I miss them

Don't let them cry for me

Tell them I'll be home

With love,

Private Nathaniel Keegan

Be Careful What You Wish For...

"Be careful what you wish for--

You may just get it"

You may get everything you ask for

You may get all you want

All you think you want

But what happens next?

What if it doesn't make you happy?

Not all wishes were meant to come true

Is it a recipe for happiness?

Or a recipe for disaster?
Be careful what you wish for

It just might come true

Messy Cursive and Truth (Continuation of Charles Simic's Poem)

"The mail truck goes down the coast
Carrying a single letter"
Down the calm street it rolls
Not a breath of breeze blows
Inside the letter lies the key to a heart
Words poured onto a single page
Words of love
Folded into a little white envelope
And sealed up with a stamp
Inside,
Are the all the words he was too afraid
To tell her in person.
The sky is crystal clear
The sun is shining
The air is warm
It is a special day.
One long letter
Written in messy cursive and truth.
He loves her

Victim/Kidnapper

The street was dark

Dark enough to hide under
Dark enough to wear like a cloak

I didn't mean to be alone

I was supposed to meet a friend 

My friend was late

Too late

A car pulled up

Headlights streamed into the darkness

Like two eyes penetrating the mask of the night

I squinted into the lights

Trying to catch a glimpse of the driver

At instinct,

I thought it must be my good friend coming to pick me up

But no

A figure opened the car door

I turned away

I started in the opposite direction

I could hear the swishing of heavy pants in the pitch black

I began to run

Rough, dry hands caught my arms and pinned them behind me

I started to scream

One cracked hand covered my mouth, muffling my words

The night air was a blur

The ground spiraled towards me and I hit it hard

I began to fight with everything I had

I was on the ground

My attacker above me

I slung my fists 

Headlights poured through the night

My friend rushed from the car door

Phone in hand

Police on speaker

My attacker took off into the night

Driving away from the police being called

Two headlights 

Disappearing

Through

The

Night

~ New point of view ~

He needed money desperately

He couldn't hold a job

He couldn't make a living

Ransom, he decided

He was desperate

He spied a woman in the darkness

She walked all alone

He pushed down any guilty thoughts

He needed money

He wondered how much he'd get 

How much her friends and family would pay

To get her back

Probably a pretty ransom

He saw the woman turn and run away

He had to act now

Dreams are Just Plans for Tomorrow

A dream is a pull

Dragging you along 

Some days, it's so powerful

It feels like you're just moving through

The motions of the day

No thought 

Not thinking about anything else

Faking it

Until you can get where you want to be

Pep-talks in the mirror

Posters and photos littering the walls

A dreamer is very familiar with these 

Pressure on yourself to achieve

Too much, sometimes

Your life begins to feel like it's just

Leading up to that moment

Moving mechanically through the actions of the day 

To get there

Until you get there

Constant reminders posted on bulletin boards

Walls

Phone backgrounds

Every dreamer knows this

Everyday reminders of where you're trying go

What you're trying to do

Sometimes it's hard to sit still

It's hard to make yourself "switch it off" 

When you go to school
Work

Homework

Every dreamer knows that feeling

Some dreams are just dreams

Dreams of faraway places

Fantasy worlds

Some dreams for more than dreams

Some dreams are plans

Plans for the future

Some dreams are your future

Dreams are just plans for tomorrow