"Fear" - A Poem

It’s a child.

Waiting for the monsters to pop out of the closet

With piercing screams and then silence

The “deer in the headlights" look

And along with the air you breathe in after holding your breath,

It’s harsh and freezing, and tastes sharp like ice.

It’s when your throat suddenly gets dry as a bone

And you smell fire and see your reflection in the flame,

Warped and distorted like a ghost

It feels like something died there, or was possessed by a different being.

You taste bitter orange peels

And your eyes glaze over with the feeling you get right before you hear bad news

Someone gulps loudly and your hands shake uncontrollably.

You are falling and hitting the ground with a force so intense, it can’t be explained.

It’s shock.

And anxiety

And your whole body feels as if it has been drained completely of everything

And your face goes so pale

You look literally white.

And you aren’t very sure if you can sleep through the night.

"Where I'm From"- A Poem :)

 I come from the place with the antique radio,

The big backyard with the swing set

 We used to climb on and peek to the other side.

This place had a pecan tree

We’d steal the nuts from

And hear the crack against the wood shed ramp

It had a tree swing

With a thick white rope where,

If you swung too high,

You would nearly crash into the bark.

I am from the late night concerts

With the pink straw hat

Mumbling the words to songs I loved

I come from the new house

That holds Ralph’s house in its hot, barely lit attic

That contains the miniature hangers and carpeted hallways

Fit for a mouse

I am from the destroyed gingerbread houses

One by accident that scattered across the floor

The other on purpose for the one before

This place I’m from had a big blue shed

That was knocked down and caused tears

Tears that flowed for a silly reason that made everyone laugh

I am from the puppet shows

And the “Mail me to grandma!” moments

From the place where Barbie and her friends swam in the sink

And they left water seeping onto the floor

That’s why they only got to swim once in a great while

I’m from the place with that hamster that’s brown and white

The hamster that ate everything and needed regular haircuts

I am from the place with the baby pool

We sprayed Mom with the green water hose

And she pretended she was mad but really wasn’t

Dad caught it all on video and couldn’t help but laugh

I come from the place with the roller skates

That looked like clown shoes

They made me fall and skin my knees but I loved them

I am from the place with the Halloween

Where we shared a big hardwood floor and the room echoed

And all the brightly colored candy was spilled everywhere

I am from the place with the babysitter that would draw pretty pictures

I tried to copy the outline with a marker and crayon on the inside

I am from the places with memories, laughter, and lessons learned,

And everything that has made up my brilliant past.

"Folding Chair" by Regina Spektor

 Come and open up your folding chair next to me
My feet are buried in the sand and there’s a breeze
There’s a shadow, you can’t see my eyes
And the sea is just a wetter version of the skies


Let’s get a silver bullet trailer and have a baby boy
I’ll safety-pin his clothes all cool and you’ll graffiti up his toys
I’ve got a perfect body, though sometimes I forget
I’ve got a perfect body cause my eyelashes catch my sweat
Yes, they do, they do…


Now I’ve been sitting on this abandoned beach for years
Waiting for the salty water to cover up my ears
But every time the tide come in to take me home
I get scared, and I’m sitting here alone
Dreaming of the dolphin song…


Maybe one day you will understand
I don’t want nothing from you but to sweetly hold your hand
Till that day just please don’t be so down
Don’t make frowns, you silly clown


Just come and open up your folding chair next to me
My feet are buried in the sand and there’s a breeze
There’s a shadow, you can’t see my eyes
And the waves are just a frothier version of the skies


There’s a shadow, you can’t see my eyes…

Hidden Paradise

The sweeping movements of the wind against the palm trees, cutting and slicing, only oxygen, is soothing strange enough. It’s haunting, magical, and wonderful at the same time. It feels as if the wind has carried my worries along with it. My hair is thick, full of wind and tangles from the salty air. I have no desire but to sit and listen. There are trillions of sounds, and they never stop, constantly going, churning and swirling like the tides that roll in and out. Mummers of dialogue fill in the gaps of space or pauses. Pauses in which nature decides what its next move is going to be, because of course, nature is indecisive. The lights from the houses shine and glimmer in the moonlight. They are still, but filled with movement inside, the movement you can’t see. This place is a dream, a hidden paradise in which only a few humans who have souls can truly understand, because, once again, nature is misunderstood. The people who camp in the woods just to see a simple sunrise, they understand. The people who fish for hours and never catch anything, they understand. The people who hike a mountain and reach the top only to catch their breath and march all the way back down, they understand. These people understand. So why is it so hard for all the others?

(Photo taken by Vidra)

Ballad Assignment

English Poetry Assignment:

"Write a ballad. It has to have repetition and it also has to be based on true events. It can be tragic/sad/violent/dramatic or inspirational."

RESULT:

That Horrible Monster: A Ballad 

That horrible monster with the name I can’t pronounce

That ate him

Swallowed him whole

That horrible monster that took it’s time

No rush, no hurry

Slow and steady got the job done

That horrible monster that loves to bring pain

Pain, that not only him, but everyone else felt

But didn’t show it

That horrible monster that left a hole in people’s hearts

A void which can’t be filled

That never goes away

That horrible monster that took him

It didn’t leave a note, an apology letter

Just enough of an enigma to keep you wondering, but angry

That horrible monster that just keeps fighting

It never gets along with anyone

And it never will give up.

(Well, in the end it sort of ended up becoming a poem thing, like all of my writing turns out. But... It fits the requirements and it's pretty emotional to me so I guess that's all that matters.)

"Identity" by Julio Noboa Polanco

Identity
by Julio Noboa Polanco
Let them be as flowers,
always watered, fed, guarded, admired,
but harnessed to a pot of dirt.

I'd rather be a tall, ugly weed,
clinging on cliffs, like an eagle
wind-wavering above high, jagged rocks.

To have broken through the surface of stone,
to live, to feel exposed to the madness
of the vast, eternal sky.
To be swayed by the breezes of an ancient sea,
carrying my soul, my seed,
beyond the mountains of time or into the abyss of the bizarre.

I'd rather be unseen, and if
then shunned by everyone,
than to be a pleasant-smelling flower,
growing in clusters in the fertile valley,
where they're praised, handled, and plucked
by greedy, human hands.

I'd rather smell of musty, green stench
than of sweet, fragrant lilac.
If I could stand alone, strong and free,
I'd rather be a tall, ugly weed.