Inspiration

So it’s been a while since I last posted. I created this blog to share with my community of friends, peers, and family ideas and concepts that inspire me but I have been slacking on writing blog posts. This, really, is because lately all of my inspiration has been going into my school work because, well, I’m an English major and a lot of what we do is read, get inspired, and write. So I have decided to share some of the poetry I have been forced to write. I have never been much of a poet, nor have I taken much interest in reading poetry, but with the guidance of my professors, I have learned to LOVE poetry. I have become fascinated with the flowery language, underlying meanings, and complexities that characterize most poems. I have found them to be enlightening, ridden with wisdom and insight that can’t be expressed any other way.

Anyway, here are two poems I had to write for my Language of Poetry class. The first, as you will clearly see, is a Ballad and the second is a Villanelle. They’re first drafts and not professional by any means, but they are complete poems—which I have never been able to achieve until now :D I have been finding great satisfaction in creating ambiguous poems after writing so many news articles!

An Admiring Sister

Her tangled hair covered her face

Her knees were bruised and scuffed.

Her muddy Converse stained the floor

Mom looked at her and huffed.

She threw her things down on the rug

And ventured to the back.

Outside is where she feels at home,

But Mom just gives her flack.

I watched her from my windowsill.

She loved to watch the trees,

And lie in grass and bask in sun;

That’s where she is at ease.

Mom always tells her, “fix your hair.”

“Stop bruising your pretty legs.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to use some blush.”

“Be careful child, I beg!”

But she doesn’t care about her clothes,

Or hair, or face, or smile.

She’s deeper than that which happens to make

Mom’s judgment all worthwhile.

Her passion lies among the earth

In the intricacies of life—

Of right and wrong, corrupt and just;

She dwells in inner strife.

Strife because her heart breaks

When she sees the state of Earth—

Its melting glaciers, polluted air,

And people who feel no worth

So as I watched her from my window,

I began to realize

That the grass and trees in our backyard

Form sparkles in her eyes.

They comfort her and give her hope;

They help her fix a dream

Of a perfect world where nothing hurts

And people are a team.

She’s brilliant, which is why I wish

Mom would just let her be

A ragged girl with a great big heart

Lost in philosophy.

The Dying of Winter—an Old Self

Shimmering sunrays stun the cold

that had nestled its way deep into the atmosphere.

And now metamorphosis begins to unfold.

Bound by time that never grows old,

the sky ceased its cry, save the shed of one tear.

Shimmering sunrays stun the cold.

White clouds engulf the pewter stories once told;

rose thorns penetrate an underlying fear.

And now metamorphosis begins to unfold.

Finally, steadily, growing strong and bold,

almost ready to let go of that one, so dear.

Shimmering sunrays stun the cold.

Flying through time with no tangible hold.

Only new, sweet harmonies dance through the ear.

And now metamorphosis begins to unfold.

A revival of memories past demonically sold—

unbound, accessible, they are present; they are here.

Shimmering sunrays stun the cold,

And now metamorphosis begins to unfold.