Poem: Outburst

Hey everyone!  Here’s another poem for your enjoyment.  I wrote this poem in response to an overwhelming feeling that I needed to do something creative.  I love artistic endeavors, whether it’s singing, playing my piano or violin, or painting some furniture and wooden pieces, or writing a poem.  I didn’t actually have anything in mind to do, I just wanted to DO something…and so came this poem.  Enjoy it!

PS.  The phrase “Make love to the media” isn’t provocative…it’s meant to show an indulgence in romance which comes from the different forms of media (pen, paper, paint, music, etc).

June 23rd, 2006

I feel artsy!
Where’s my pen? My pad?
My easel? My paintbrush?
My violin’s tuned and my fingers ready,
Come muse of my muses,
Let’s get with the music!
This canvas is blank and itching for color
A picture is forming,
A dance of brushes!
My pen is brand new to be broken in
With words after words
Making sweet movement.
Come with me and enjoy imagination
Artistic expression
Make love to the media.
It soon will be over
So come quick,
Come now!

Sarah ><>

Poem: A Lightning Bug Hunt

(Rachel & Leo Collection)

Aug 15, 2005

The sky was starting to slowly get dark
As Rachel and Leo dashed to the park.
Their mission was simple, their plan complete.
Catching lightning bugs was what they’d compete.

With her jar in hand, Rachel skipped about
And Leo decided a different route.
As he crept so quietly into the trees,
The lightning bugs there were ready to please.

The bugs in the trees were blinking a storm,
And in Leo’s mind a plan began to form.
He would climb to the top and catch them all!
But if he fell, it would be a great fall.

He climbed up one branch, and then another
His tail wrapped around the jar of Rachel’s mother.
“I won’t fall at all! I won’t! I won’t!”
Then Rachel ran up and said, “Oh, Weo! Don’t!”

“I reawwy think the wightning bugs are nice
And awready I’ve caught them twice!
But in their home is where they shouwd be found.
I wike them fwying and bwinking around.”

So Leo began to climb slowly down,
And he and Rachel turned back towards town.
Tomorrow another plan they would make
While sitting in the reeds by the lake.

Sarah ><>

Poem: Ode to Spell Check and some similes

August 2nd, 2005

I have a friend who lives in my computer
He’s a sweet little fellow
Though he’s rarely mellow.

You may wonder why I like him so much.
What is all the hype
I’m making when I type?

The written word is my favorite thing.
See, spell check is his name
And proof reading’s his game.

If I make a mistake, which tends to be often
He’s as quick as a flash
With his spell checking lash.

A red squiggly line is his mark of the trade
Under my misspelled terms
Wiggling like tiny worms.

Ah, Mr Spell Check. Thank you, so, so much!
My English is better
So I close this letter.

A Series of Similes for Spell Check

Spell Check is like magic…
Your error once was there, but poof! now it’s gone!

Spell Check is like a dog…
When you drop your food, it cleans up the mess.

Spell Check is like a man…
He thinks he knows what you’re saying, but once again is wrong.

Sarah ><>

Poem: An Adventure of Ginger the Cow

July 30th, 2005

Ginger awoke to a bright new day.
She was so excited to get out and play.
“And what would she do?” you may say.
Ginger would go out and play in the hay.

The farmer came out and was ready to plow.
Ginger wanted to go out, to go out right now.
But first the farmer must feed the sow,
And then he’d be sure to let out the cow.

With the gate opened wide, Ginger went to the pasture,
But she didn’t hear the call of her master.
So glad to be free, she ran faster and faster.
She didn’t know she would head for disaster.

The longer she played, the later it got
And very soon the day became hot.
So, she laid herself down by a tree with a knot
And where she was lying, she quickly forgot!

Suddenly, Ginger woke up with a fright.
She looked around and saw it was night!
She knew in her heart that this wasn’t right
So she jumped to her feet and then took flight.

The only light Ginger had was the moon.
She only wanted to get back home soon.
She saw the eyes of a sneaky raccoon,
And she heard an owl hooting his tune.

At last, she saw a light far ahead.
To the light of the barn was where she was led.
The farmer came out and showed Ginger her bed
He wasn’t angry, but pet her instead.

The point of this story is simple and true.
Listen closely and don’t miss the cue.
It’s fun to get out and play like you do,
But please stay near home and your parents too!

 – Sarah ><>

Poem: Leo and Rachel’s Shoe

This poem is part of a collection inspired by my cousin’s 4 yr old daughter, Rachel.  On my 21st bday, instead of going out to party (which I’m not into anyways), she and I were outside of my grandparent’s house in Pittsburgh catching lightning bugs and playing with a imaginary lion named Leo.  It inspired me to write several pieces about Rachel and this lion.  Rachel has/had a lisp, so I put that into the poems.  They rhyme scheme may seem a little choppy, but I’m hoping to make these into books, and then one stanza will be on each page.  Let me know what you think!

July 14th, 2005

Little Rachel didn’t know what to do.
Her favorite lion was lost
And with him was her shoe.

Last night when they were hunting
For lizards and snakes and such
He had taken her shoe for squishing
Spiders and she hadn’t cared that much.

But this morning, she was worried.
She would be late for school
And her mother was hurried!

Where did he put it? She thought for a moment.
Under the palm trees of the deserted island?
Or maybe he had left it in the camping tent,
Or buried it under the ocean’s sand!

She ran outside and called his name.
“Weo!” She shouted and
Around the corner he came.

His tail was tucked between his legs.
“I knew you’d call if I kept your shoe.
I really want some bacon and eggs.”
Little Rachel didn’t know what to do!

She told Leo she had to go to school
She would play with him later
And maybe go to the pool.

So Leo the lion gave her the shoe
He watched her get on the bus.
“I’ll be home in a wittle while, too!
So pwease don’t make a big fuss!”

Sarah ><>

Poem: My Neverland

This is probably one of my most favorite poems that I’ve written so far.  It was inspired after watching the movie “Finding Neverland.”  I really believe that creative thought and fairy stories, appealing to a child’s imagination is essential to them coming to faith in God.  One, all good fiction fantasy stories emulate the Gospel.  Seriously!  Think about it!  Cinderella is a great example.  She was the daughter of a rich man, whom she was suddenly separated from in death.  Someone else took control of her life and she was subjected to awful living conditions.  You could hardly recognize her for the person she was supposed to be from the beginning.  Then, she meets the prince and through a series of events, the ones in control of her are dispelled, and she is finally united with the prince, beyond the glory of what she was originally intended for.  Doesn’t that sound familiar?  We were created to be close to God.  Our own sin has separated us, and now we are stuck in a crummy place called the world, which is laden with sin.  Yet, we’re not totally lost.  We had a beautiful affair (our salvation experience) with the Prince of glory, and He is passionate about us.  He sought to bring us out of this place in which we are being held captive.  He did what was necessary to bridge the gap so that we could be united with Him in the end.

Some of you who read this, won’t have any problem agreeing with my point that make-believe can help lead a child to Christ.  But the college I went to is very legalistic and it seemed they didn’t want any make-believe at all because it wasn’t true and therefore couldn’t be approved by the Bible.  They think that Harry Potter is evil because the characters practice witchcraft.  Ok…yes, withcraft is evil…but generalize the story-line of the series and you’ll see a greater underlying force…Harry Potter came from a great family.  He was separated and is forced to live in squalor and be mistreated.  Just when you think he could lose heart, he comes in contact with Hagrid who first excites his mind to a new world, one that is separate from our own…but not really.  He meets Dumbledore, who, from what I’ve read and learned, seems more and more like a Christ-figure (again…look at a generalization).  I don’t think that Rowling’s intent was to tell a Christian story…but it’s a good story and all good stories emulate the Gospel.  It just shows to me that the Gospel is something that appeals to all people…they all have the story written in their heart…whether they realize that Christ is the subject of that story, that’s another question.  I woudl challenge you to take your favorite good story and think about how it pictures the Gospel.  I think you’ll be surprised at it.  Lord of the Rings is a great example…and the writer had it in his mind to write something that was Christ-like.  I just think it’s really cool.  Kids (and all people for that matter) are more able to encounter Christ if their minds have been exposed to the victories of children’s fairy stories…the good ones.  With a story like Harry Potter…the good story must be complemented with precaution towards the very necessary theme of witchcraft.  witchcraft is bad…no question…but a child can easily understand that and still get the good story out of it.  Face it…Jesus used good stories to show mysteries of the Kingdom with the people He spoke to…why shouldn’t we?

Oh…rhyme scheme per stanza: abaacbcc.  Yes, I made up a word in the second stanza…when you’re writing something…you’re allowed to.  It’s called poetic license…and if you have a problem with it, take it up with Lewis Carroll.

April 14th, 2005

How long since I’ve left myself to dream
Of Tinkerbell or Captain Hook –
Who fly upon such magical schemes
And make life more grand than it seems?
So many times, our minds are shut tight
To think only of how things look.
When all the while the fabric of right
Is woven with a beam of luminous light,

Exposing, no, opening our eyes to a World
So deeply imbedded in our hearts.
What dreams our hearts imagine, unfurled
In all their splendor – unseen, whirled –
Amidst all the commotion and sincerity.
People walking, juggling the parts
Of their lives that seem to have no coherity.
What could imagination have with our sanity?

And yet I find that I am dreaming
Of a Neverland – a Foreverland –
A Place where the magic, never fleeting,
Is forgiveness from a higher being.
His grace and mercy are the golden dust
And joy is much more than sand
On beaches white. Fly, I must,
To this glorious Place of which I lust.

This Place has overthrown the dark
One who pirates the waters.
He was cast out of his rugged ark
And now all creation sings as a lark.
Had not the imagination been fed
Of many sons and daughters,
They would not easily to this Place be led
Nor dream so sweetly in their bed.

Sarah ><>

Poem: A Christmas Song

December 5th, 2004

My Savior as a baby
I think on this tonight
A child so filled with wonder
A mother with delight

     How could it be
     This King of mine
Would leave His lofty throne?
     And come to us
     And dwell with us
His glory to be shown

My rescue in a cradle
Made soft by cloth and hay
And sung to by the cattle
A stable’s glad array

     What song to sing
     Oh Precious King
The world awaits to hear
     A treasure now
     And all shall bow
For glory has come near.

by Sarah ><>