My embarrassment is not even dated. It is simply ten or so sheets of lined paper stapled down one side and labeled Poetry Folder English II, 1st Period. So that would be my sophomore year. One of the requirements to accompany the set number of haiku, limericks, couplets and quatrains was that each poem had to be illustrated. If the words themselves were not enough to kill me, my hand drawn stick figures definitely finished me off. My grade you ask? 98 our of 100 because I was missing two illustrations. Did my teacher even read this trash??
Are you sufficiently curious? I covered each season with a haiku. I sit here laughing and find that I can't possibly post any of it. Here is what one of the pages looked like.
<-Funny tree with falling leaves.
<-A baby for a poem that ends with, "So down from the ledge." What?
<-A swimming pool with a little girl with pigtails.
<-The kite that was blown away by the wind.
All of it is useless drivel.
This is the only poem out of twenty that has potential, but don't worry, I'm not giving up fiction for poetry. I've seen enough of my poetry to teach me to try something else.
RepentanceDarkness is all that I see.
Depression and shame is all that I feel.
I have need of help beyond my own.
For I cannot forget the wrong I've done.
I see a light far in front of me, in my mind's eye.
I kneel in prayer, my heavy burden lifting.
Healing is this warmth inside, with nothing
left to hide from the forgiving One on high.
In the distance I see clouds turning gray, as though fed by burning fires below. My heart aches. I know the pain they bring. Too many times along our journey I have seen them gather to cast upon us their ravaging cold, but I choose not to think of that now.The last paper I actually really like. It is rough, but has potential. More importantly, reading it reminded me of what the assignment was and I think I did a great job on that part. However, it is rather long and so will wait for tomorrow. :)
On the horizon I see the sun rising over the plain. Oh, my friend, how long it has been since I last felt thy golden fingers caress my frozen cheeks. I have longed to feel the dusty warmth of thy breath upon my frosted hair. Why have you been gone for so long? The purple flowers and grasses that once filled this barren land have all fallen pray to winter's hand. I wanted to see them on our journey, but we started later than we should. I hoped to pick them by the armful. I think the pink ones would have looked lovely in Mamma's amber hair. How beautiful they would have been.
The darkened clouds that once rolled in the blackening distance are now looming overhead. The cold--so cold--pierces through my threadbare coat and chases away the warmth of my summer dream. My feet, now wrapped in Mamma's favorite dress, ache as they crunch through winter's frozen blanket. Oh, if only they could feel the warmth of running bare foot through the moistened grass that once surrounded our foreign home. But for now, the flowers printed on Mamma's dress are the only warmth they know.
It is late and the little spark of our evening fire struggles and fights to shine as its icy enemy descends upon its weakening flame. It is quiet except for the howling of the wretched wind. The wind hides the sobs of those within our camp that have lost those they love. I have lost, but I choose not to think of that now.
As I close my eyes, I see the last of our fire's strength give way to our frozen enemy. Oh, my friend, when will you return and bring me flowers for Mamma's hair?