As rain poured on the cement,
making a slamming noise,
the rumbling storm cloud looked sinister.
But soon the angle changed
and the sunlight streamed through it,
so it filtered through beautifully,
scattering rays of soft yellow light
through the dark gray afternoon.
A dark haired man with a chiseled jaw, he wore a jacket to the beach that day. He walked with his girlfriend past the crowds until they were alone on an enclave of the beach.
Alone on the beach together, he ran his fingers through the ends of her dyed blond hair and gazed into her blue eyes. "I love you," he said in a low, gentle voice.
She smiled softly at him as the blue waves crashed into the white sand. "I love you, too," she promised proudly as she leaned forward to kiss him on the lips.
He pulled her close to him and pecked her lips quickly, but soon he had crumpled unevenly to the ground. She looked down at him for a moment in confusion. He had fallen dramatically to one knee. Clumsily as he knelt in the gritty sand, he pulled the a small jewelry box out of his jacket pocket.
"It was my mother's diamond," he explained, pushing the box toward the end of her extended fingers. "Will you marry me?" he asked, gazing at her pretty face as it began to understand the situation.
"Of course I will!" she exclaimed in delight, popping the box open with her manicured fingers to see an antique diamond sitting on a pillow. "We will have to get this set," she said with great decision in her voice. Overwhelmed with joy, she started running back toward the car. "Where's my phone? I can't wait to tell my family!"
Just as the 23 year old man arrived at his car in the supermarket parking lot, he paused, tilted his head back and absorbed the air into his nostrils. He had been playing the guitar since fifth grade when he received his first lesson. With his tutors, he had played classically, with his friends he had played hits and alone he loved to write his own songs.
The next day was his first chance to play for a restaurant. He would play for Tamara's Grill and Bar where they ate pub food and drank spirits late into the night the next night. Talent shows and backyard gigs aside, this would be his first concert. He was excited, nervous and proud. He had put together a list of 23 songs to sing, all his own original compositions, one for each year he had been alive. He wanted this to go well. Music was a secret passion of his.
The sunlight turned his eyelids orange and the cool air was like a sip of water for his sore throat. He tried to take in everything around him. In doing this, he sought further inspiration for his song and relaxation during this tense period of preparation.
The problem happens in conversation when the real question, of course, is not the one stated. That is to say, when your boss asks, "What's going on?" as a way of asking, "Are you working hard or hardly working?"
My mother has amazing grace
My mother has amazing grace.
That is why she smiles
and smiles every time.
Through trial and tribulation,
my mother shows amazing grace
and chooses to try again.
Like I said, my mother has amazing grace.
I am less graceful.
I would like to learn to be amazingly graceful as well.
Sometimes I cannot smile
and I just give up.
I lack grace but I have seen it modeled;
my mother has amazing grace.
I bask in the light of her halo.
I rejoice in every one of her smiles.
No matter what happens,
I will have a mother who loves me.
At night, alone in my dreams
I still see your smiling face,
and I smile at you,
not remembering that I was the one who called off our friendship
when I thought there would always be more
nor recalling the ugly fight that ended it;
now I am awake and my emotional life is desolate
and I only recall
a time of great hope and happiness that I can never reconcile
because some wounds never heal --
neither of us smiles that way anymore
except at night, in my dreams
when no one else can see.
How to write a poem
Begin with your innermost beliefs and still incomplete observations,
the ones you mean but cannot just say
Read your own mind like a song book,
listening for the music notes and the sounds
Express yourself in fluid form,
using metaphors and smilies to speak to what is and what is not
Act as an intermediary between your conscious and subconscious;
speak directly and indirectly all at once
Keep yourself concise and your poem short;
this isn't an essay -- it's just an idea
Time is a deceptive thing;
pick words that linger in the air and transcend time
Have a concept that sticks and resonates with the reader;
you want to be reread and reread again for content
Explain clearly and never second-guess yourself--
let the phrases stand alone and speak for themselves
Read your own words for what they mean to you,
but know that what you write could mean more to someone else
Understand your concept thoroughly
but make it abstract when you write concisely
Love your poem
but tear it apart when you edit it
Expect that someone else will understand it
but know that words cannot jump from the page to explain themselves
Success is in the eye of the beholder;
be free of the rules and expectations
Obnoxious is the reader who corrects your grammar
Futile is the effort for complete perfection
Poetry should be an outlet for your creative side;
be bold and have no fear
Remember why you chose to write your poem;
try to stay on point
Operate under the assumption your reader knows nothing;
choose words that are clear
Say a lot, but write a little;
poetry is a powerful art form
Enjoy the process --
it can be a lot of fun
Through the eyes of a newborn
The sparkling smooth sand of the sand box
was a tempting force for the newborn infant
who nuzzled with his mother in a periwinkle pajama suit
under the bright summer sun.
He was too young to understand his adoring mother's words;
instead her voice and her friend's voice
added to the burr of the warm summer day at the grassy park.
His mother wore shades and laughed with her friend, rocking the baby.
He could not see her eyes and was too young to recognize them anyhow.
She smelled like lotion and so did her baby.
She laughed, but her baby just stared at the sand in the sandbox.
He wanted to lie in the warm sand.
He waved his arm to get his mother's attention
but she did not respond;
on her peaceful visit to the park,
they did not play at the sandbox.
Instead, they basked in the sun.