Sun, Rise and Set

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I wrote this one a while back, before my perspective of the world became more complex. The main idea of this poem is relatively simple: A rising sun is a metaphor for good times, and a setting one for the bad. Still, I thought I’d put this here because a lot of the poems I wrote so far are meant to be a timeline of how my ideas developed.

Subject change. There was a time in my life when I was suffering from an internal demon. It was disguised as a thought, a passion, and it gave me false feelings of elation and  warmth. But I knew the deceptino behind those feelings, and just knowing the evil behind it left me upset. It left me with mixed feelings, which I didn’t know how to resolve. Then once during a run, while I stopped to catch my breath, I could observe a beautiful sunset ahead of me. And in a metaphorical sense, I saw a correlation between that sunset and my current struggle…and at that moment, I knew just what to write about.

*****

When the sun rises,

My world is full of surprises

The foremost infant rays peep out

Bold and true, spreading the faith and joy

For us to enjoy.

*

At that, my soul yearns a smile

Spreading my utmost ecstasy, from mile to mile!

Flying like an arrow does my loving laughter

I want to live on this earth forever after!

Skip, laugh, the world may leap;

I’m soaking in all the beauty I can seep!

*

These are the good days, the ones

That shine on us like a million suns

Prove the world your reasons to grin

Your hope shall fully win

That’s how my world consists of surprises

When the sun rises.

*

When the sun sets

My world is full of regrets

Creatures of the air tuck in their wings; good night!

The fading sun hides out of sight

Luck isn’t here to shine on me

Pitch-black is all I see.

*

My mood dips down to the bottom slide

There is naught a smile so wide

This ere clammy gloom infects everyone

For gone out of our lives is that essential sun.

My world eclipses,

Those gloomy days — they leave a scar, a mark!

*

Some days are like that one,

Some of us need a sunny bliss to come.

Yet — days do need rest, to sleep.

All the world is still, not even a peep.

That’s how my world consists of sunsets,

How we sometimes have regrets.

 

Revenge is Sweet

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Originally I didn’t know what to call this poem. This first stanza of this poem was swirling around in my head, but I had no idea what it was about! So I finished the poem, and when it came to deciding what the main idea of this really was, “Revenge is Sweet” was the closest I could come to.

****

Oh, bittersweet glory!

Are you never sorry

To inflict your vengeful wrath on one?

The deed was so sour

Cast to create another realm dour

Is the selfish soul never sorry to see what was done?

The heart’s inner core, its wounded ways,

But the truth remains, the conscience stays

Is sweet revenge always won?

What is life, then? An evil spread?

Is it heartless? Is love always conquered and dead?

A blackness, to always avoid and shun?

Lives, brotherhood with whom you grew

Be sparring to those who paid evil to you.

Are you never sorry

To inflict your lustful wrath on one?

*****

Also, big news: today, I just launched a fashion blog! Check it out if you want: https://cutechicandeverythingunique.wordpress.com/

 

 

The Reflection

My English assignment was to write a poem in the style of “My Papa’s Waltz” by Theodore Roethke. Naturally, I was pretty enthusiastic. Maybe trying to make the rhyming scene “abab” just like the original poem  was overkill, but knowing me, I love taking my experimentations with poetry to the next level! Here is my poem — I hope this will be something to please the teacher tomorrow. Fingers crossed!

*****

My life was just ready to explore
So I start with my home
A room spilled a light on the floor
And right to it I roam

Inside I find company
She is a girl aged three or two.
I stare, and she back at me;
Chubby, lanky haired, nothing really new.

The Disney princesses were girls like me
But where is this one in her beauteous glory?
So I tell the image I don’t like what I see:
“Yup, you’re ugly! Sorry!”

I was young, I knew
It was just a first impression
But oh, what dreams those princesses rue
And turn their standards into oppression!

 

This Crowd of Us

pexels-photo-9816You’ve been in a crowd, right? A crowd of people, all unknown faces to you, going to class, to commute, or anywhere, really. Has anyone felt a strange loneliness in this crowd, like you’re among people, but at the same time not? I do. All the time. Then I remember that we are all interconnected by our own walks in life, insecurities, experiences … our own definition of loneliness.

 

Merging into the sea of masses

I am.

A wave sends an anonymous sea of souls

Where I go

Maybe stay and chat,

At least a little greeting?

Your faces are always new

Unlike the path I’ve already taken, repeating

You’re unaware

I see.

Boisterous as the tales of late

I know.

Just kidding, I thought

I’d find someone who reminds

Me of me.

I know you not

It’s true

But I as an individual

Am a drop in an ocean of us

Just as us is an ocean

In a drop of me.

Luck Runs Out

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I’m finally in college. Wow. My first time, too. Hopefully as long as I’m getting enough sleep, I’ll still find time to update poems. I’m not giving up on this blog.

     This poem was based on last week’s bowling event for my birthday. Like lots of bowlers may have experienced, I would have a winning streak before all of a sudden that bowling ball stubbornly refuses to hit those pins. And you wonder if it’s just a matter of skill. Bowling feels like its outcomes are based more on luck, you see. 

So doh, of course I just had to write this.

*****

The dog stole my scrumptious donuts a-waiting,

And on school days, my thinker never worked the long haul

Then fate decided to reveal my bowling prowess

Before it flung me four-score a-gutterball.

*

Is it my fault I needlessly negotiate with math?

Or school days proved me a sitting duck?

Even if genes came into play,

I blame humanity’s ups and misgivings on luck

*

Luck runs out,

It’s true

What’s the antidote?

I wish I knew;

I’m no genius, too,

As luck would have it.

Intuition a guessing game,

Spilled salt shakers

A mere darn shame,

We don’t win or fail

It’s only luck,

Coming out to play.

*****

Maybe I should add that the last few lines are definitely sarcastic. Have a good night, all. 

Oh! You Rusty Old Garbage Can!

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Next time a posh ad tries to sell you one of those automatic garbage cans that open and close at your convenience, don’t believe it. Why? Because these modern gadgets SUCK! 

*****

This rusty old garbage can

I’m talking about

Costs us an

Uproar and a shout

*

You rusty old tin can!

I hate you!

*

In the kitchen

There it stands

Readily, maliciously

Taking garbage into hands

*

You rusty old tin can!

I loathe you!

*

It hungrily swallows up

The rot, asking for more

Its mouth endlessly gapes

Whirring, whining our ears sore!

*

You rusty old tin can!

I detest you

*

Every twitch and move it senses

Opening up – wide! – and to plead!

Released from within is the deepest stink

That fills up this choked-up air – oh, the weed!

*

You rusty old tin can!

I abhor you

*

It never leaves us alone

Goodness knows why

It demands our every scrap

Perfuming our kitchen after its vengeful sigh

*

Now you see why

I hate that rusty old tin can?

*

It’s a sad story

I know

But we’ll get by

Somehow, so-so.

*****

I swear this thing was possessed. Rant over.

A Time When I Wasn’t

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Courtesy of: Torley

 

 My family and I were driving to the midnight Easter service. On the way, I got bored, so I listened to Resonance by HOME, a song that belongs to a subgenre of music called Vaporwave. It really succeeded in reflecting the feelings I had inside. Happiness in looking forward to this celebration, but also unexplained anticipation. Maybe a little nervousness and excitement. All of that, or the nostalgic vibes the song gave out, was what gave me the idea for this poem. Now the night before Easter will never be the same again.

Bottom line, Resonance by HOME makes any experience memorable as long as you’re listening to the song in that moment. That’s the brilliance of HOME.

*****

A wistful vagueness presides over my aura

The night was clearer than ever

Now wasn’t the time,

Now I was headed to a service sublime

But do I regret these impressions viewed from my window?

Never

*

This ‘ere song from a vintage past

It crooned of simpler days,

It blasted my hopes into the freezing air

Carried me back to a time that wasn’t there

And I couldn’t help answer with a melancholic gaze

*****

Here it is, by the way: HOME – Resonance

Now I have a challenge for you: listen to the song while doing something (Homework, cruising on the streets, daydreaming etc.)  Did it make what you were doing more memorable? Enjoyable? Tell me in the comments how it made you feel! Really dig into it!

End of Summer

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Perfect timing.

*****

The end of the season

Brought to a close

Even when there’s a reason

Summer comes and goes

Do you know your summer’s a-fading,

Do you remember?

The hot sun, the warm cooled nights waning

Into September.

School was gone, and I — carefree all along

Oh! Now my old school worries are back

As that sun sets, I’m in sad song

Oh those shining days, soon to lack

The air becomes crisp and chill

The leaves old and red

The clouds and rain will settle, they will!

But I’m snuggled warmly indoors, surely said.

Autumn is here!

Everything comes to a close!

Just remember that in every season there,

It changes as the wind blows.

*****

Annnd that’s my poem about my favorite season back from my 8th grader self! Does anybody else anticipate the end of summer? Tell me in the comments!

Looking Back

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Courtesy of: Hannah Swithinbank

 

I’m young, but like an old granny, I still tend to look back to the past a lot. And I dwell on it. A lot. On good times, on bad times, on amusing moments, on opportunities I missed. Unhealthy habit, really, but I’m pretty nostalgic for everything. Here’s to me breaking out of that habit with a pep-talk poem.

*****

Present — past

Past — gone

Looking back and remembering the yesterdays

Is wrong.

*

Where is NOW?

Where is it?

Living in the THEN…

No, that’s not NOW, not it!

*

The ghost of yesterday

Is in mind

But looking back

Is the NOW you’ll never find.