Anna Mae's Poetry

[Anna Mae]

Also thanks to my seventh grade poetry unit is this alliteration poem.

The bright buttercups bobbed in the breeze.
Beautifully blue sky blushes, bringing the evening.
Between stars it fades to blueish black.
A butterfly bobs beneath a retiting bloom to bed.
As the moon rises, a bubbling brook rounds a bend,
sparkling a blinding silver, making her countenance more beguiling.
The beauty of the night becomes her.

[Anna Mae]

Here is another one just so that there is something recent. I wrote this one last year when I was in a whimsical, bubbly mood. I started with the inspiration of saying pretty much the same thing over and over in different ways.

Greens and Blues and Other Hues

All these colors swirl around me,
So awesome that they do astound me.
Green and blue make turquoise, see?
I think that's good enough for me.

The colors swirl around me all,
Amazing me so I almost fall.
Is turquoise just from blue and green?
I think there's more to what I've seen.

I watch these colors around me swirl,
This awed and curious little girl.
Do I watch the blue and green make turquoise?
I think instead I hear the noise.

Around me swirls this sea of color,
I'm awed that I can see no shore.
Is turquoise born from green and blue?
I think it doesn't matter, through and through.

[Hitokiri]

Here is another one just so that there is something recent. I wrote this one last year when I was in a whimsical, bubbly mood. I started with the inspiration of saying pretty much the same thing over and over in different ways.

Greens and Blues and Other Hues

All these colors swirl around me,
So awesome that they do astound me.
Green and blue make turquoise, see?
I think that's good enough for me.

The colors swirl around me all,
Amazing me so I almost fall.
Is turquoise just from blue and green?
I think there's more to what I've seen.

I watch these colors around me swirl,
This awed and curious little girl.
Do I watch the blue and green make turquoise?
I think instead I hear the noise.

Around me swirls this sea of color,
I'm awed that I can see no shore.
Is turquoise born from green and blue?
I think it doesn't matter, through and through.

The rhyming scheme in this is really awesome. And the lyrics flow really well

[creed4]

I haven't read all of them yet, but they are very good.

[Zarn Ishtare]

Anna, as usual, your poems...are truly horrific.


Nah, just kidding, my esteemed poetic peer. Your stuff rocks as usual.



Z.

[uc pseudonym]

Thread title changed as per request, by the way.

[Anna Mae]

Thank you to everyone for responding. I really appreciate it. I will try to post more soon. Also, feel free to comment on previously posted poems. I am always looking for ways to improve!

[Anna Mae]

I wrote this one in 2003.

This Is My Song
For The Children.

I watch her as she curls up,
and listen to her purr.
Her face is the embodiment of innocence.
Her eyes close in contentment,
forming perfet little lines.
As I watch her I wonder how there can be hate
in this world.

She dashes outside, batting at leaves
that I strew in her path.
A bundle of energy,
she turns and flips playfully,
and then freezes.
Stock still.
I see her claws dig into the ground.
She has spied a baby squirrel,
scampering unsuspectingly at the base of a tree.

Suddenly, I am very aware
of how sharp her claws were
when she ripped through a leaf.
Crouching, she moves closer,
stalking an innocent victim,
and then moves in for the kill.
High up in the tree, his mother turns away.
I turn away as well.
I cannot watch.
And suddenly, it dawns on me.
In innocent fun, have I trained her to kill...

He falls, dead.
His playmate crows,
waving his toy gun in the air.
The two boys begin their game again.
"Bang! Bang!" they cry.
The other boy falls to the ground...

charred intestines oozing from a severed torso.
Another plane thunders overhead with a deafening roar,
drowning out the anguished screams of his mother.
There is another explosion,
drowning out the anguished screams of our Mother.

Innocence has been slaughtered.
Drugs, hate, corruption, war, killing...
the innocent child, his cat curled up on his lap.
Weep, they are no more.

It makes you wonder
how there could ever be hate,
when you see a sleeping child hug his teddy bear,
a peaceful smile on his face...

[Anna Mae]

Death

I'm going to die tomorrow.
I've been preparing for this for weeks,
and all of my life, really.
I have read by Bible,
talked to my pastors,
and prayed about it.
I know I'm going to heaven.
Nothing on Earth will be able to dissuade me from doing this.
Tomorrow I will go to the lake.
I will stand on the beach and look at this sinful world one last time.
I will walk in to the cold water,
with the sun sparkling around me,
or maybe clouds wafting overhead.
The water rises past my waist.
I stop to feel the mub beneath my toes.
I am ready to go under.
This is for you, God.
This is for you, family.
This is for you, friends.
This is for you, world.
You will be a better place when I am gone.
I shut my eyes.
The water closes over my head.
Soon gentle hands lift me up.
"Congratulations," they say.
Shaking water from my eyes, I smile at my pastors.
Still grinning, I wade back to shore.
My family and friends are singing, crying, and clapping.
The breeze makes me shiver.
A fluffy white towel envelops me.
My old self is gone.
I am a new creation.
I'm going to die tomorrow.

As you have probably guessed, this one is about my baptism. I wrote it the night before the event.

[creed4]

cool, Threw me off at frist

[Anna Mae]

That is good, as that was the intent.

Now that I am back from church camp and my mission trip I will try to post more of my poetry soon.

[Anna Mae]

I wrote this almost exactly a year ago.

A Poem About Poems That Talk About Poetry

Oh, there are so many poems that talk about poetry!
Some insist it's the most compact form of literature,
Others claim it spends a long time to say nothing for sure.
Some teach there should be numerous rules to follow,
Others say that that just makes poetry hollow.
Some want it to have rhythm, or at least have it rhyme,
Others disagree.
Some contend that poetry is a divine inspiration,
Others shrug indifferently at all the sensation.
Oh, there are so many poems that talk about poetry!
Some will tell you that each one is unique and thus needed,
Others hold that there are so many, one more isn't heeded.
And look what I've done here, I've added another.
Now is the time to be saying, "Oh brother!"
There are so many poems that talk about poetry!

[SnoringFrog]

Just finished reading all these 8 pages. Beautiful, I thought the majority of it was great.

"I want to sing your song,
But I’m afraid my melody’s all wrong. "- I loved those two lines. They sum up how I tend to feel alot of times.


Infinity
Greens and Blues and Other Hues
Death -- I really enjoyed those three poems, I'd have to say they were my favorites.

And that last one was quite entertaining to read, and true as well.

[Anna Mae]

All eight pages? I'm impressed.

Thank you for your comments! I really appreciate them!

[creed4]

I wrote this almost exactly a year ago.

A Poem About Poems That Talk About Poetry

Oh, there are so many poems that talk about poetry!
Some insist it's the most compact form of literature,
Others claim it spends a long time to say nothing for sure.
Some teach there should be numerous rules to follow,
Others say that that just makes poetry hollow.
Some want it to have rhythm, or at least have it rhyme,
Others disagree.
Some contend that poetry is a divine inspiration,
Others shrug indifferently at all the sensation.
Oh, there are so many poems that talk about poetry!
Some will tell you that each one is unique and thus needed,
Others hold that there are so many, one more isn't heeded.
And look what I've done here, I've added another.
Now is the time to be saying, "Oh brother!"
There are so many poems that talk about poetry!

Interesting pome, and so ture, I remeber siting through english class as they sucked the life out of so many works

[Anna Mae]

These two poems come as a set. I wrote them several days apart, but I didn't try to match styles or anything like that. They were written just a few days ago, regarding the problems in my hands. The first is the prayer, the second is the answer. The first one has 12 footnotes in it with Bible verses that support my position, but I don't know how to do footnotes on here, so I omitted them.

It Hurts

Oh, God, but it hurts.
It hurts, do you hear me? It hurts!
You tell us to be whole.
You live that you desire shalom for us.
You know what shalom means!
I know, at least, that it does not include this pain.
It seems as though You are breaking your promises, my King.
You said that if two Christians are in agreement about something
And they come together to ask You for it,
You will be there, and You will give it to them!
You say that we just have to ask.
Jesus, I'm giving you all I've got!
I am doing everything within my measely power to remain in You.
Please remain in me.
I am hiding Your Word in my heart.
I want to bear Your fruit!
Dear Lord, You know I do.
I'm trying my best.
Help me.
Surely I have been counted worthy by Your Grace to bear the Holy Spirit.
Abba, it hurts!
It hurts in so many ways.
I'm tired of this!
Daddy, please take away the pain!
You're giving me a snake instead of a fish;
I want my egg, not a scorpion!
I'm trying to be strong, Father.
What should I do?
I am lost.
Refine me.
If I am to bear this pain,
at least let it draw me closer to the woman that you want me to be.
Alpha and Omega, I come before You with fear and trembling.
I ask that You heal me,
yet not my will, but Yours.

God of healing,
I am in pain.
I come before you, kneeling,
As my soul starts to wane.

I grow weary of this fetter.
I can't take it anymore.
I would feel a bit better
If I was becoming more mature.

I want you to refine me
If l must endure this fire.
If dross was skimming off, I'd see
Precious silver, Dearest Sire.

But all I glimpse are ashes, dust,
Flowing in a trailing list
Of decrees now buried in the must
That once was bright with promise.


Depending on
The refining done,
The temperature drawn
High or low could run.

Attention climbs
With metal type needed,
As varying times
Must also be heeded.

As varying times
Must also be heeded.
As varying times
Must also be heeded.

Just because
I am fed up
Lord Jesus does
Not take the cup.

Since when has God
Been on my time?
I give him laud;
I just need longer to refine.

[SP1]

When the Israelites were cast into exile in Babylon for decades, they wrote many Psalms. Songs of hurt, pleading, hope. Now you write from the depths of your pain the poetry we can all read to share and understand a little of your pain. We are blessed through you.

It Hurts is very moving indeed.

[Anna Mae]

Thank you for the comments. I am very glad that you like the poems.

This next poem is a cycle. Unlike my usual poems, it contains subtle formatting and patterns that you might not notice at first. I wrote it in 2005. Originally all of the 'Thank you's were right-aligned, but that would be too tedious to bother with on here, so just use your imaginations.

I suggest that you read Psalm 136 along with it.

Praise of Thanksgiving

Thank you.
You deserve our thanks for your sheer goodness:
Thank you.
You are above the ways of the world.
Thank you.
You are supreme over every person and event.
Thank you.
You are the one who performs great miracles:
Thank you.
You made the havens out of your omniscience.
Thank you.
You molded this sphere of clay with your hands.
Thank you.
You miraculously filled the universe with light:
Thank you.
You lit the sun to bless us in teh day.
Thank you.
You leased teh moon and stars to guide us by night.
Thank you.
You loosed your rightness into our history:
Thank you.
You carried us through our tribulations.
Thank you.
You carressed the universe with your fingertips.
Thank you.
You came before us to make a safe path:
Thank you.
You guide us through the dangerous times.
Thank you.
You galliently fight our enemies away.
Thank you.
You go before us to lead us:
Thank you.
You brandish your holy name like a sword.
Thank you.
You bind forces that woud be our downfall.
Thank you.
You banish all evil from our sight:
Thank you.
You use bad things and turn them into good.
Thank you.
You undo all bonds and freely give.
Thank you.
You understand our every thought:
Thank you.
You rest us because you have taken care of all.
Thank you.
You receive our humble gifts and bless us.
Thank you.
You deserve our thanks for your sheer goodness.
Thank you.

[creed4]

cool, I see what you mean

[Anna Mae]

How so?

[Anna Mae]

I wrote this one in a seventh grade poetry unit. Sentence fragments are intentional.

Found Poem

Does the fork ever get lonely?
Sitting by itself on one side of the plate,
watching the knife, spoon, cup, and napkin all gather together
on the other side?

Lonely, he sits there,
on the polished wood table.
And there is a glimmer of hope.
For a brief moment, the fork and knife mingle,
cutting into a piece of chicken.

But as the latter has said,
it is but a brief moment.
The knife mingles again with its well known friends.

Sometimes, the fork wishes that the plate were not in the way.
Yet, he knows, that the plate is in its place.
As he is in his.

And I,
who am I?
I am the fork.

[SP1]

Ah, but the fork gets the salad
and the dessert
the beginning and the end
all to itself

Unless it's ice cream...

[Anna Mae]

So, is that lighthearted banter, or should I try to interpolate some sort of deep metaphore?

[Anna Mae]

One day I was struck by the thought, "Do I make a difference in this world? If I were to die right now, would it matter at all?" Disclaimer: I wrote this poem in elementary school, actually. It's a bit mushy.

I Make a Difference

Do I matter in the world?
If I died, what would change?

What wouldn't happen?
What wouldn't be thought?
What wouldn't be done?
What would it effect?
What could change?

What would people do?
What would they think?
Would annoyance turn to sorrow?
Would they wish they'd done differently

or would they not care?
What would happen if I wasn't there?

What wouldn't be said?
What wouldn't be heard?
What friendships wouldn't be made?

My family, friends,
teachers, peers,
enemies, people I've never met.
Do I want to die?
Am I really worth?

YES!
I MATTER!
I will care.
I will not die,
I will be there!
I will encourage.
I'll tell them too.
What I know.
What I've been through.

I REALLY REALLY MATTER,
AND YOU DO TOO!

[creed4]

Intersting, though sometime I'm not sure where you are going with the poem

[SP1]

So, is that lighthearted banter, or should I try to interpolate some sort of deep metaphore?

It sort of just came to me. It started as light-hearted, but after I looked at it, you could run with an interpretation. I suppose I meant that it's not so bad being the fork, so don't be too hard on yourself.

[Anna Mae]

Intersting, though sometime I'm not sure where you are going with the poem

Well, it's pretty much one of those everyone-has-personal-worth-don't-commit-suicide poems. But please elaborate on what you said.

It sort of just came to me. It started as light-hearted, but after I looked at it, you could run with an interpretation. I suppose I meant that it's not so bad being the fork, so don't be too hard on yourself.

Verdad, verdad (verdad=true in Spanish). Don't worry, though. I do have friends.

[creed4]

I see I guess the spliting of the poem caused some problems.

[Anna Mae]

Are you referring to the right-aligned stanzas? If so, they weren't originally like that, but that seemed like the best was to format it given CAA's intenting limitations.

[creed4]

yes