“Someday” by Christina @ The Bookshelf Corner
Author’s Note: A blast-from-the-past poem I wrote. I hope you enjoy.
there’ll be a beautiful castle
not chipped or broken but built strongly to shelter, to protect us
with its soaring indestructible walls that keep at bay
the monsters with yellow teeth and sharp metal objects.
there’ll be a warm fireplace to keep the blue tinge off our toes
as we wrap ourselves in blankets for comfort for once.
Spacious rooms–one for everyone!–with soft mattresses and pillows,
and see-through water filling tubs to get squeaky-clean in.
there’ll be tassels and ribbons, shoes that match,
and let’s not forget pretty dresses that fit.
They’ll drag on the floor–but that’s okay–
the floor is clean so they won’t get dirty.
there’ll be long tables overloaded with food and water–
I fear they’ll topple over before anything reaches our tummies!
We’ll eat like this all the time
instead of once in a while.
And on that someday
The king and queen will be happy and so will their subjects.
No one is sad or crying in this castle
because we’ll be inside the castle, warm and safe,
wearing lovely clothes and eating delicious food.
One day, if not today or the next day, but someday if I make it there.
“Books Are Infinite” by Christina @ The Bookshelf Corner [2/17/2014]
Books are infinite.
a promise that things will be okay,
a secret to solving the day’s problems,
a confidant when looking for understanding,
a memory of the past, present, and future,
a door to new worlds undiscovered,
a blank slate to drench one’s imagination upon,
a new life, sometimes several lives in one,
a hammer to breaking outside the box
a comfort when the world is in a frenzy
a ticket when you need to get away for a while
a friend that will always be there for you
a teacher when even common sense seems senseless
Books are infinite.
“The House” by Christina @ The Bookshelf Corner [After Jack Spicer]
Author’s Note: Another poem I wrote as a part of a class exercise while studying poet Jack Spicer’s work.
This house is bare,
here the walls are bare,
stripped down and bare.
Secrets exposed to
large intrusive ears
perked to catch a word.
Floors creak and creak
with the weight of an
epiphany-bulb realized too late.
Secrets exposed through holes
by strobe light fury
in white-washed rooms.
trash the floors with
Cram in dark corners
the creaks and muck,
and the lingering fury.
Splash upon these too
bare walls something good
in exchange for kept secrets.
Or let the house fall,
collapse in a relieved faint
and bury those bare secrets.
“Red Roses” by Christina @ The Bookshelf Corner [After Shane McCrae]
Author’s Note: So this was a poem I wrote in school as a part of a class exercise where we had to write poetry in the style of the poets we were reading. This poem I came up with after Shane McCrae’s style I really liked how it turned out. We were reading/studying McCrae’s book of poetry entitled Mule: Poems. He has a perplexing, unique writing style that really fascinated me, which made this exercise fun to do. So today, I thought I’d share with you this little blast from the past.
After Shane McCrae
she thanks him for the roses
bleeding roses too tight
you’ll snap his heart in two
and all the things he loves he loves you
about you will fall / in a slow waltz
with the wind
drifting down to earth
where all things crumble / fall
shrivel a plummet to nowhere
one by one the things he loves about you
fall / a mix of ash and red / fall
stains the ground with longing and sorrow
you can’t give them back go back
restore them to a cheery cherry color
by the dozen keep them and him whole
water will sustain them before they / fall
hushed and red pricked hands
she thanks him for the roses
Setting sail for adventure
Out towards an ocean –
A toiling, roiling body
Fit to test the audacious man
Who thinks himself
The mightiest of men,
A spirit that can’t be tamed.
His ship is him
And he the ship –
Bound, joined in holy camaraderie.
Together they have braved grave waves
That at times curved high,
Leaned forward, bent slightly
As if to coddle and protect
But instead intent to crash, smash, dash
Back into itself.
This man, the strongest, they say,
Was born with no fear.
He packs, stacks his ship
With goods and crew,
Feeling courage and luck firmly girdled to his belt.
With dawn illuminating at his back,
He releases his ship from the docks.
A joyous crowd watches the ship slip and dip away
But did not see it sink at the end of the day.
Driving on these paved streets,
darkness enveloping my way,
a deep blackened void
devoid of anything but the sounds
of nature’s night revelry.
And as I drive, two streaks of light
lighting my way forward
and bright beacons of white and red
shinning around me,
I cannot help but think of
what brought these humans out
so late at night?
Where might they be going
with only headlights and stars to guide them?
I, heading one way, and you another.
What journey may lie in this darkness?
But we have gathered together,
racing by one another,
disappearing and reappearing,
to reach a point of conclusion.
Whether guided or not
we will make it there
through this dark, almost desolate place,
a path laid before us to somewhere.