Poetic Evolution
I thought it would be interesting to follow the evolution of my poetry, so I now present to you three poems of my own design, each written a year apart - 8th, 9th, and 10th grade respectively. As people on this forum seem to put great importance on rhyme and meter, I selected poems that exhibit a measure of each. (no pun intended)
Greater Than is not a Crocodile
When I was just a little girl
With big brown eyes and lustrous curls
They told me fingers number ten
Pinky to thumb and back again,
But when I had aged a year or two
They told me that that wasn't true:
Thumbs don't count, so count again
And only my toes still numbered ten,
And I was jealous of all the ones
Who had ten fingers and counted thumbs,
But I could never go back, I think
So I pouted and painted my toenails pink.
When I was just a laughing child
With a crooked smile and windblown wild
They told me if you bring a treat
You must bring enough for the people you meet,
But when I had aged a year or three
They told me that that cannot be:
Life isn't fair, and some get left out
Ambition's the word that this world's about,
And I didn't know how this could be true
'Cause if life isn't fair, does that mean me too?
So I copied the test that my friend let me see
And that was the day that I got my first D.
When I was just a blooming miss
With fluttering lashes and a hidden kiss
They told me be kind, to love and to trust
'Cause there is a god and he loves each of us,
But when I had aged a year or four
They told me of greed of hate and of war:
Of Malcolm X and the Holocaust
Of Native Americans and the lives that they lost,
And I felt so sad, so many had died
But no one but me got so sad and then cried
And I didn't know how there could still be Disneyland
So I never went on It's a Small World again.
When I was just a teenager grown
With dusky skin and a mind of my own
I wished that the world would change and grow too
But I didn't know just what I could do:
It didn't help to wish on a star,
Though Jimminy Cricket sang that it would
And it didn't help to wish on an eyelash,
Though the girls swore on their virginity it would
And it didn't help to look on the bright
Though all of my teachers told me I should
'Cause I didn't know just which side was bright
And Star Wars didn't help with its dark side and light
And I felt so sad, 'til I suddenly knew!
It doesn't matter what they say or they do
If I just trust, love, and be kind,
Follow they things that they told me to mind,
I can't change the world, but maybe I can
By being a supporter, a soft helping hand,
And I knew the very first thing I would do:
I wrote a poem and painted my toenails blue.
Bottles
I bottled up some memories -
to wile the time away,
and so I could examine them,
see what I felt should stay.
the agony of testing day
the sweetness of a strife
the fragile web a spider weaves
and dew drops in the light
Such precious drops, I kept them all,
and bottled them to store -
for thunderstorms and traffic jams,
when I shall add some more.
The Roseate Flower
My sole felt gravel crumble by the side of life's weary road,
As I strolled along, head hunched and drawn, on my way to twilight's abode.
The somber gray skies and scenes rolling by were nothing so novel to me
As the halting surprise at what greeted my eyes from the clutter of roadside debris.
My vision skirted empty cans, old shells, and broken syringes,
And caught at the sight - a roseate bit of life, made bright by surrounding drab tinges.
A weary old tire - half-buried - had acquired enough of sequestered clear ground
For a radiant flower, in this errant bower, to flourish and blossom undowned.
My heartstrings loosed a righteous note. This bloom in the dark soiled earth,
It was an iniquity - looming antiquity, chained amidst littered unworth.
Such were my thoughts as I reached out and caught at the blossom's corporeal tether,
And plucked it unpinioned, steadfastly opinioned that beauty was wasted on heather.
I smiled down at the blossom - resolute little face still upturned -
And jauntily traipsed along muted landscapes, as I ceased my impromptu sojourn.
Yet it was not long ere I noticed a wrong in the way that my flower inclined;
Wistfully facing the ground I was tracing, its roseate beauty declined.
It was then that I met with a spear of regret, for while seeking to set the bloom free,
Instead I ensured it would have to endure through a life of dependance on me.
Greater Than is not a Crocodile
When I was just a little girl
With big brown eyes and lustrous curls
They told me fingers number ten
Pinky to thumb and back again,
But when I had aged a year or two
They told me that that wasn't true:
Thumbs don't count, so count again
And only my toes still numbered ten,
And I was jealous of all the ones
Who had ten fingers and counted thumbs,
But I could never go back, I think
So I pouted and painted my toenails pink.
When I was just a laughing child
With a crooked smile and windblown wild
They told me if you bring a treat
You must bring enough for the people you meet,
But when I had aged a year or three
They told me that that cannot be:
Life isn't fair, and some get left out
Ambition's the word that this world's about,
And I didn't know how this could be true
'Cause if life isn't fair, does that mean me too?
So I copied the test that my friend let me see
And that was the day that I got my first D.
When I was just a blooming miss
With fluttering lashes and a hidden kiss
They told me be kind, to love and to trust
'Cause there is a god and he loves each of us,
But when I had aged a year or four
They told me of greed of hate and of war:
Of Malcolm X and the Holocaust
Of Native Americans and the lives that they lost,
And I felt so sad, so many had died
But no one but me got so sad and then cried
And I didn't know how there could still be Disneyland
So I never went on It's a Small World again.
When I was just a teenager grown
With dusky skin and a mind of my own
I wished that the world would change and grow too
But I didn't know just what I could do:
It didn't help to wish on a star,
Though Jimminy Cricket sang that it would
And it didn't help to wish on an eyelash,
Though the girls swore on their virginity it would
And it didn't help to look on the bright
Though all of my teachers told me I should
'Cause I didn't know just which side was bright
And Star Wars didn't help with its dark side and light
And I felt so sad, 'til I suddenly knew!
It doesn't matter what they say or they do
If I just trust, love, and be kind,
Follow they things that they told me to mind,
I can't change the world, but maybe I can
By being a supporter, a soft helping hand,
And I knew the very first thing I would do:
I wrote a poem and painted my toenails blue.
Bottles
I bottled up some memories -
to wile the time away,
and so I could examine them,
see what I felt should stay.
the agony of testing day
the sweetness of a strife
the fragile web a spider weaves
and dew drops in the light
Such precious drops, I kept them all,
and bottled them to store -
for thunderstorms and traffic jams,
when I shall add some more.
The Roseate Flower
My sole felt gravel crumble by the side of life's weary road,
As I strolled along, head hunched and drawn, on my way to twilight's abode.
The somber gray skies and scenes rolling by were nothing so novel to me
As the halting surprise at what greeted my eyes from the clutter of roadside debris.
My vision skirted empty cans, old shells, and broken syringes,
And caught at the sight - a roseate bit of life, made bright by surrounding drab tinges.
A weary old tire - half-buried - had acquired enough of sequestered clear ground
For a radiant flower, in this errant bower, to flourish and blossom undowned.
My heartstrings loosed a righteous note. This bloom in the dark soiled earth,
It was an iniquity - looming antiquity, chained amidst littered unworth.
Such were my thoughts as I reached out and caught at the blossom's corporeal tether,
And plucked it unpinioned, steadfastly opinioned that beauty was wasted on heather.
I smiled down at the blossom - resolute little face still upturned -
And jauntily traipsed along muted landscapes, as I ceased my impromptu sojourn.
Yet it was not long ere I noticed a wrong in the way that my flower inclined;
Wistfully facing the ground I was tracing, its roseate beauty declined.
It was then that I met with a spear of regret, for while seeking to set the bloom free,
Instead I ensured it would have to endure through a life of dependance on me.
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