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Wanderer, Wanderer

Wanderer, Wanderer

Wanderer, wanderer, where do you sleep?
On the lonely road, do you rest your feet?
Do you lay your weary head in caverns deep?
Or in the tallest tower of an abandoned keep?

Wanderer, wanderer, how far have you come?
From over the hills of the setting sun?
On how many roads have your worn boots run?
On what shores of distant land will your journey’s end come?

Oh wanderer, wanderer, where are you going?
To the greenest fields where seeds they are sowing?
To the driest canyons that sing with wind’s blowing?
Or to the distant mountains, where always it’s snowing?

My wanderer, wanderer, you’ve come to journey’s end.
Rest your tired feet and let them mend.
The name of wanderer, to someone else lend.
For wander no more, you have found me, my friend.

The Storm

This poem I eventually hope to do as a song. Written while abroad in Spain, during a particularly heavy downpour. Alternate title is “Mother Nature”

The Storm

The walls, they ring,
And the windows are clattering.
Outside in the storm,
The heavens are shattering.

The thunder rolls on,
It’s pounding the sky.
It rattles our bones,
To remind us we’re alive.

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War Stories

Had a story concept involving a band but I didn’t end up liking it much. I did however save one of the songs that they would have sung. So mentally read this with a Paramore-style rock sound and female singer.

War stories

War stories,
Your old glories,
They look so perfect in your mind

It’s so much brighter,
You’re a better fighter,
When it’s viewed through the mists of time.

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The Land of Imagination

Trees of blue and seas of green,
Skies of violet and the color of dreams,
Grass with a certain silvery sheen,
And gardens of flowers in colors yet unseen.

In the land of diamond and ruby shores,
Of ancient libraries of forgotten lore,
Bustling markets with multitudes of stores,
On the winds ride the sounds of mountains’ roars.

Anything can happen here, anything at all.
Stories and legends, myths great and small,
Whispers and rumors and tales stretching tall.
Here there be dragons, and the sound of sirens’ calls.

Dwarves stand under eaves to hide from the heat,
While salamanders sun themselves in the hard-packed street.
Gargoyles take the shade by the colossus’s feet,
While in back alleys, wizards of forgotten gods meet.

Mermaids look wistfully at the golden sands.
On shore, pixies wander in roving bands.
Circling overhead fly creatures with taloned hands.
Things of imagination made real prowl this land.

You can take the river there, though the port’s rather far.
If you want the scenic route, go on foot or by car.
Or by carriage, though the view from airship’s more on par.
If in a hurry, just wish yourself there on the next star.

Acceptable Loss

I’m going to preface this by saying this is probably the angst-iest poem I have ever written. On the one hand, I like the writing. On the other hand, it seems a little pretentious when I myself have never been in a war or lost someone to it.

I am, however, trying to keep a record of my writing, good and bad, and maybe this will resonate with someone more authentically. At the very least, we’re hearing a lot of war talk in the latest election cycle here in the U.S., and I very much hope whoever wins keeps in mind the civilian populace that is bound to exist in the same places that terrorists do.

Acceptable Loss

Am I just one of millions?
Am I part of your analyzed cost?
I’m not a soldier, just cannonfodder.
I’m not a tragedy, just an acceptable loss.

I’m not a martyr, or even a name.
I’m just a pawn in your sick game.
I’m just a number, I’m not a person.
I’m just a death toll as everything worsens.
A simple factor of calculated cost.
And if I die, you say nothing’s lost
It’s all part of your proportional response.
Because I’m a part of your acceptable loss.

You say the good of the many outweighs the good of the few.
But what if that “many” didn’t include you?
What if everyone you cared for, all that you knew,
Were the cost, a sacrifice; what if you were the “few”?

Is this sacrifice no longer easy?
Does the size of those numbers finally make you queasy?
As you imagine them, every single face,
Give them your language, your religion, your race.
Don’t make them strangers, but your family and friends.
Would your acceptable loss be so acceptable then?

The Dreams of Stars

The Dreams of Stars

Every day in science.

A repeated fact.

The stars are burning gas.

They are nothing more.

I imagine differently.

I imagine they are alive.

I imagine that the stars breathe,

That they talk amongst themselves.

That they feel

And think

And dream.

I imagine that the stars are alive,

And that they imagine too.

They imagine

That those hunks of rock

Hanging in the vacuum of space

Teem with life.

I lay in the grass,

Gaze at the stars.

I dream of living constellations,

All chattering away.

Discussing the possibility

That, far below, on that little hunk of rock,

There are living beings.

I dream of stars

Who dream themselves,

Of life on Earth.

Paper Teachers

This one’s a combination of a couple older poems – this one and this one.

Paper Teachers

I wonder what a book thinks?
I suppose it feels important
Containing knowledge, never forgetting.
Are there any books that wish they were printed differently?
A biography longing to be a fantasy novel?
Or maybe they’re just happy to have their own story
Maybe they listen to each other
Share their own stories
And stand together, packed on a shelf.
Pages dusty, spines worn, well-used and well loved
Opening into new worlds and ideas
Teachers eternal, so fragile, yet able to outlast us.
Stacked mile high
On shelves and desks
Hiding my floor in a carpet of knowledge.

Winter Poem – Winter War

This poem was originally written for a Creative Writing class in 2010.

This apparently came from a year when we actually had snow…

Winter War

I stand before the drive
Shovel in hand
Set my shoulders
Prepare for war.

The snow has a good front
Piles and drifts everywhere
The snowflakes outnumber me
But I am more powerful

Shovelfull by shovelfull
I push the snow back
My army of one
Is winning the war

I reach the end of the drive
Turn to shovel the walk
All is going well
Until snow’s ally launches an ambush.

I slip and fall, drop my shovel
Hitting the ground smarts
My army of one could conquer the snow
But I did not count on the ice.

Sestina Poem – Red and Blue

This poem was originally written for a Creative Writing class in December of 2010.

This one was another poem done on a formula, not sure how successful it was. Made up a story to go behind it and just kinda started writing.

Red and Blue

The evening sky is darkening blue
The sun is golden, organge, rose red
We stand below and watch together
As if we’ve never seen a sunset before
We are silent, and holding still
Watching and waiting, for what we don’t know

I thought there was nothing I didn’t know
But staring out at that sea of blue
I found unexpectedly that I loved you still
The realization turned my cheeks red
I’d never felt this way before
Wasn’t sure I knew how to be togther

You and I have always been together
But only as friends, because you know
I can’t seem to trust, I used to, before
Before I went and dyed my hair blue
Hid that suddenly hidious red
Because the memory haunts me still

I think on it, every day, still
Not long before we were together
Back when my hair was a vivid red
The most beautiful boy I will ever know
With eyes of startling blue
I had never spoken to him before

He had never noticed me before
I wonder if he noticed me even now. Still…
I got lost in those eyes of blue
We spent a time, a while together
I knew then, I still now I know
He didn’t want me for my hair so red

Not for my looks, my hair so red
Nor my heart, my mind, he’d seen it all before
Didn’t want my body, I know, I know
I tried to reach him still
We were with each other always, but never together
He left and I was alone, until I died my hair blue

And then I met you
And you filled my head

I’m as fickle as weather
But you only love me more

And you tell the truth, so I know you will
Never leave. If you do, you’ll take me with you when you go.

Pantoum Poem – The Rain Is Not Afraid

This poem was written for a Creative Writing class in December 2010.

The Rain Is Not Afraid

Falling from the sky, plummeting to Earth
The rain is not afraid
To take the plunge, and not look back
Like you, it feels no fear

The rain is not afraid
The skies may darken, fill with lightning
Like you, it feels no fear
The thunder pounds like a heartbeat

The skies may darken, fill with lightning
You are still here for me
The thunder pounds like a heartbeat
But I am only listening to your heart

You are still here for me
You may disappear, fade away
But I am only listening to your heart
And I know I will bring you back someday