Poetry written with someone in particular in mind.
January 30, 2011
All this praying, counting,
Hoping, waiting:
Tick tock.
Tick tock.
Another glance and a half spin ’round.
Tick tock.
Tick tock.
Of patience and courage
And fears squelched from disruptive thoughts.
How much longer, Lord?
Tick tock.
Tick tock.
Sarah ><>
August 17th, 2008
How beautiful it is when
A child of God goes to meet Him.
When the light has burned brightly,
Drawing many to the Source –
The Father.
When the child’s flame is immersed
In the burning brilliance of,
The Father.
Though other nearby flames
Mourn the loss of their kindred
The hope of future burning,
Of a flame that will never fan out,
It is our comfort and delight.
Sarah ><>
Here’s one of my cheesy poems. It is based on a sonnet by Shakespeare…Sonnet XLIII (43). But my poem is an expectant poem, at best. Enjoy! (Oh, read to the punctuation…it will help you in understanding it.)
12/26/05
My beating heart.
It beats twice to each breath.
It quickens at just one thought that rings through my mind.
The thought is electrifying,
Passing through each part of my body and makes me cold.
Oh how I long to see him,
The one who walks in my dreams to meet me.
With baited breath I wait for him,
As one waits to see the ocean a first time.
She doesn’t know the waves and sounds,
Or how the sunlight dances on the waters.
She only knows it is something that her heart yearns for
Even if the sight is in passing;
It is something she must lay her eyes on.
Yes, the eyes which sparkle with as many stars as her own,
Reflecting the lights of midnight in the sky.
Van Gogh has naught to compare with their brilliance.
She knows that in his heart is a dream
As vibrant as the one planted in hers.
This dream surrounds her in his thoughts and consumes him
To a point where he dare not try to escape.
To leave would mean certain death in his mind –
Death to his heart, his life, and the dream luminous in his eyes.
Without her in his life, he would be dead to the world
And any passion that life could bring would shadow
In the dark that her leaving would bring him.
I know he’ll be here, even if I only meet him in my dreams.
For a dream makes my night brighter than the day
When he is with me.
– Sarah ><>
July 18th, 2005
I can’t lie and say I haven’t tried
To imagine a look from your eyes.
And this candle burning next to me,
The light flickers and I am wondering…
Is that the flame or your thoughts
Dancing there. Maybe both, but
How will I know? I could sit and
Think and imagine,
But that’s all it would be,
And what a danger it is to settle
Your thoughts on eyes you’ll never see.
– Sarah ><>
This poem is…a very tough one for me to read sometimes. I wrote it in the perspective of a little girl whose mother had recently died of Aids. A little girl in Africa was in my mind, and she had a little teddy bear…a little teddy bear which she told everything. No rhyme scheme, but there is a dialect written into the piece, so I hope you can hear it when you read it. Thanks!
July 6th, 2005
Mr Teddy? Are you awake?
I’m a little scared and it’s very dark.
I hope I don’t squeeze you too tight.
Just tell me if I do, ok?
Are you getting wet, Mr Teddy?
I’m sorry. I can’t stop my tears.
I think I’m more wet than you though.
You know very well why I’m cryin’.
You have ears too, you know!
Yes, you do. They’re sittin’ right on top o’ your head.
I see them. I do.
And your eyes can see too.
You saw them take her away,
With my favorite blanket over her head.
I miss my blanket. Momma stitched it for me,
Just for me, not for you.
Why would you need a blanket like that?
I don’t want it back though.
No, she’s not comin’ back.
I know a’cause Abby said so.
Abby wouldn’t lie to me, ‘cept just that once.
You do too remember, my goodness!
Remember when the doctor came over.
Abby said he was for Gramma,
But he was for Momma.
Gramma did get sick and she left too.
Momma said she went to Jesus.
I guess that’s where Momma is too.
Last week Momma said Abby would watch me
And take care of us.
You better be more careful a’cause
Abby doesn’t stitch like Momma did.
You might fall apart a’fore you know it.
Mr Teddy, please be careful
So you can stay a long time with me.
Momma said if I hugged you, you would hug her.
You must do it when I’m gone
A’cause I always see you when I’m here
And Momma’s not here no more.
I’m tired now and I think I’m out of tears.
Momma always said I could cry a river.
Good night, Mr Teddy. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.
Sarah ><>
February 17th, 2005
This man I see with a coat of brown
There’s no name that he claims
Just smiles and walks around town.
I wonder, just who, just who he may blame?
A black bag he carries on his back
Who is this guy and what is his game?
He never answers or tells what he lacks.
Just walking and walking he
Rarely sits down but to watch all
The people go ’round the city.
Not very large but fairly tall
He ne’er troubles himself with things,
Except for the bag, nor does he call
To anyone who may be passing.
Sitting one day, I watch him pass by
With his black bag and coat of brown
And I watch him in sly
Like many who see him ’round town.
To the garbage he goes and reaches in
And into his bag he puts the good down.
What do I do? Do I tell of his sin?
No, I sit very still and watch him continue
Inspecting the treasures so carelessly tossed.
My beautiful, scenic, no-obstructed view
Of this simple, peaceful man seemingly lost
In the shuffle of day to day life
And all the trauma and pain of cost
Just trying to get by without strife.
My heart goes out to him, this man
Who is walking away from me now
Unaware of my observance. I have no plan
Of what to do to bless or change. How
Can I go back and try to live down
My life full of clutter to which I bow?
Walks away the bag and coat of brown.
– Sarah ><>
This piece was written in response to the 2004 tsunami. I think I’ve explained this poem before, but since I’m going through all my work, I better go through this one as well. I didn’t really have a particular person in mind, except for a small Indian girl. In my mind’s eyes, she was standing amidst rubble and refuse that had been brought up by the floodwaters. The look of sadness has permeated every part of her, but especially her face and her eyes. The eyes of a child that young should never be sad, and she has experienced some of the deepest sadness in the world. I don’t know if she lost someone who she loved, but more than likely she did. If anything, she is torn apart by the sadness surrounding her. Here’s the poem.
January 18th, 2005
In Response to December 24th, 2004
My Child, why are your eyes
So sad and low?
The water flowed and washed
All your joy away.Once deep and tranquil,
Two drops of love
In a sea of brown,
Now murky and red.Where have all your tears gone?
Back to the sea
Inside your heart where they
Stay behind the wall.Grow, my dear, to smile again
And laugh with glee;
Dance beside a gentle sea rocking
Now calm and serene. – Sarah ><>
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 ><>
Well, one voice was enough to encourage me to keep going with this. After watching the movie Troy, I was struck with the life presented by Achilles. What I saw was a man who was lost…who was placing all of his faith in his own strength and abilities. This kind of a life is empty, and by the end of the movie, he realized it, striving to put his hope into something bigger than himself…love, in this case. But, it reminded me of the many people in this world who decide to rely on their own strength and not in something greater…the greatest thing being God Himself…their creator. Yea, Achilles is a character in Greek mythology, but the only reason mythology has such a distinction is because it is based, to a point, on human life, and the dynamics of relationships and living. The only reason the gods and supernatural are included is because man innately recognizes that there has to be a greater force out there beyond his own existence. It’s misdirected, to be sure, but still, a demonstration that eternity is written on the hearts of man.
The mechanics of this poem are based on the use of questions. These questions reflect the uncertainty in Achilles’ life.
November 15, 2004
What kind of peace could I have?
My life is spent at the edge of my sword
Sweat on my brow
Blood is mingled with their tears
What is this that lies behind their eyes?
A pleading that is wearing at my soul
Is this man a father?
Are his children left behind?
Could I ever know this kind of love?
They fight for glory and passion
They believe in this
Longing to have what brings them joy
What could ever bring me joy?
Will this sword and legend comfort me
When my hair is gray
Or when my head is heavy on my pillow?
Why can’t I find my peace?
It is clouded by the mist from the waves
Should my feet drudge to find it,
My soul shall find its rest.
– Sarah ><>
September 29th, 2004
Waiting on You
In expectation of Your glory
The warmth of Your love
Brushes my cheek and arm
This weather-eye
Is getting tired
Worn from straining to see
Your light on the horizon
Are You really coming?
Will this sound deep inside
Like the beating of a heart;
A knocking on the door,
Be realized?
It’s always right on the edge
Like racing over a hill
Stomach rebels and body in motion
Flip inside and laughter out.
Or after the rain
And a drop on the leaf
Grows and stretches
Then final release
Splash on the ground.
Are You really coming?
Like the shell from the shore
And waves in my ear
Feet in the sand
Dig in and the water
Seeps in and covers
Yeah, this is You.
– Sarah ><>
Xapa to the World 