Good morning, everyone! Today I’m exploring exactly why I decided not to pursue poetry as a future career.
Reading through my old poems was more entertaining than I expected. At one point during my preteen years I really thought I might become a poet or at least publish poetry on the side while I worked on my novels.
First I give you “A Doll’s Paradise.” I wrote this for school, though I’m not sure whether this was from eighth or ninth grade.
“A Doll’s Paradise” – 1993 or 1994 (13 or 14 years old)
Whispers of shadows dance and play
Through the blackened attic room.
A place only dark memories will stay
Once the sun has lost to the silver moon.
Amongst the layers of clothes and such
A forgotten doll takes her sleep.
Dreams of yesterday her glass eyes still clutch
Within her heart the memories keep.
Though the treasures once were alive
With music and laughter, everseeing,
The days the cherished jewels did thrive
Have now left a whisper of a girl’s being.
The door shut tight and sealed
Entraping gems of silk and cotton.
A little girl’s laughter lingers still
In the minds of memories long forgotten.
Hmm, I guess that one wasn’t terrible, compared to some others. Don’t you love my use of “amongst”? I thought it sounded more poetic than just “among.” Apparently, it impressed my teacher because I made a 95 on this poem.
Next, from August 1992, just days after my twelfth birthday:
“Weeping Willow”
Weeping Willow why do you cry?
Is it because of the sky?
The mysteries that it holds,
The secrets and stories that are untold.
Weeping Willow why do you look so sad?
Is it because of the life you once had?
Is it because of the hurt that you feel?
Or the pain that is so real?
Weeping Willow why do you weep?
Is it because of the love you could not keep?
Though your days are filled with sorrow,
Do not be afraid of tomorrow.
I should probably mention that weeping willows have always been my favorite tree, which is why I wrote poems about them. Yes, poems plural, because apparently one was not enough.
“The Fall of the Willow” – May 1993 (almost 13 years old)
The rain continued
And the wind blew on
This was the day
That our willow was gone.
The trees swayed
And down went the cherry tree
I’ve never seen anything as scary
As when it fell in front of me.
The storm raged on
And then
The willow began
To break and bend.
At last the tree
Fell with a thud
And it was streaked
With rain and mud.
And now my candle
Puts out a golden glow
And I’ll never forget
The fall of the willow.
This poem was inspired by true events. A bad storm came through one spring day and the wind tore down both the cherry tree and the tall weeping willow that once stood in our backyard. I then, of course, had to record the event in poetry.
This next one, I have no explanation for.
“My Childhood Farm” – July 1994 (almost 14)
The house is cheery and bright,
Lit up by the stars o’ night
But it is not home.
Those who live within
Beautiful places have been
But never roam.
My guardian angel watches
O’er these divine notches
Though not there she seems.
Please give back my childhood farm,
Where none did me harm
And not one redeems.
I’m not even sure what I was trying to say in that last line. I love my “o'” and “o’er” uses. By the way, I’ve never lived on a farm. The closest I’ve ever been is that I’ve always lived in front of cotton/tobacco/bean fields, but that’s pretty common here in eastern North Carolina.
I even attempted to tell stories with my poetry.
“Wild Hearts” – September 1992 (12 years old)
Galloping into the town on her beautiful white steed,
She rides so far with an important deed,
To tell the men the enemy is coming.
Her eyes meet his and she can hear her heart drumming.
She somehow finds herself in his embrace,
They stood, not wanting to move to another place.
“One kiss,” he whispered. “One kiss to seal our love.”
Her lips met his, as soft as a dove.
How can I fall in love? she thought.
How could she fall in love when there was a war to be fought?
He left her, swearing to return someday.
Keep him safe, Lord, she would pray.
Two months had past
Since she had seen him last.
The man who had promised her his love,
Was he high in the heavens above?
A man rode near,
Down her cheek rolled a tear.
The sky was purple from the sunset.
Her tears made her face wet.
His face showed no harm,
She was in his arms.
She cried, “They told me you were dead.”
“Wild hearts never die,” he said.
Remember that, everyone: Wild hearts never die! The only excuse I have for that poem was that I was reading a lot of historical romances at the time.
I still have many more poems in my notebooks, but I’ll save them for another time. For now, I’ll leave you with my “Ode to Kurt.” As in, Cobain.
“Ode to Kurt” – June 1995 (almost 15, I still hadn’t given up the poetry)
Something was wrong there
But no one listened
Or maybe they didn’t care
But it wouldn’t go away
We all stood and didn’t hear
As you cried out
Now we all fear
It must have been tough
Your body was coping
But your will gave in
A perfect father in hoping
Your child will never know
Your wife in tears
Your fans in grief
We’ll always stay near
The music you made
Was your only cry
For help from the pain
A part of us left when you died
But your memory will live again.
I don’t know much about poetry but I actually think your poems are good!
Aw, thanks! 🙂
Oh, ahahah, Kurt Cobain. I actually think that one’s pretty good.
My poems were somewhat similar, but WAY more contrived. They were all of the bad goth variety. And why in the hell could we not come up with something other than “dove” to rhyme with “love”?
Ha, I bet if we took a peek into the poetry journals of random teenage girls, they’d probably all have “love” and “dove” rhymed in there somewhere. My poetry from 16-18 was darker, I was on Accutane and it caused mild depression. So from that time my poems are called things like “My Black Blanket” and “Can you feel my hate now?”
I’d like to read “My Black Blanket.” 🙂
I’ll include that one in the next batch I post. 🙂
OMG…these are so funny…”Wild hearts never die”–aw, man. I also like “A man rode near/Down her cheek rolled a tear”…
The first willow one cracked me up too because it’s like, all dramatic and emotional about a tree.
I have some “epic” poetry I tried to write around age 11 or 12 after I read some L. M. Montgomery books and her characters are always quoting Victorian poetry, and Emily tries to write Victorian poetry, so of course I wanted to, too…I’ll have to dig those up.
I was laughing as I read through them last night. The hardest part was choosing which poems to post. 😉
I think “My Childhood Farm” was probably inspired by the Emily books. I went through that time of trying to write like Emily too. I’d love to read yours if you dig them up! 🙂
Man, I can’t find the notebook they’re in…and I never lose writing stuff! What the hey?
okay seriously
i thought these were going to be bad.
i mean, you can tell you were a youngling, but i actually like them! i love that they are like, these deep pooems about a farm you never lived on, your favorite trees, and a romance novel. so perfect 🙂
also remember, wild hearts cant be broken!
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