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@meilire
Endings
There are earwigs in our basement.
Their carcasses line the hallway.
Theyāre small, brown and cold.
I see dead people.
--
a pretty old poem of mine. iām not quite sure how satisfied i am with the ending, but i really like the first three lines.
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Toothless Joe
Toothless Joe.
Man, is he happy!
Holey vampire: bloodied.
But man, is he happy!
I am not bloodied,
(Man, am I happy!)
But what I wouldnāt give...
Man, to be happy.
respirez
Parfois,
Quand je monte
Les Ć©cailles de l'Ć©cole,
Et je parvenis Ć
Le troisiĆØme Ć©tage,
Je vois
Un autre
Escalier.
Ća monte Ć
Les fenĆŖtres.
Lāair et
Le verre et
Le lumiere,
Et je voulais
Dormis.Ā
--
a poem i wrote in french. i am not fluent in french, so itās not very good but i did my best to write it without help. my french teacher thought the ending was very funny, which was not quite the vibe i was going for, but thatās okay. at least she liked it.
Optative Mood
Shall I lie here until I die?
What would it be
To watch the snow alight on tall grass?
They would have to mow around me.
Lord, bear me strength.
I have homework due.
--
this is probably the best poem iāve written. i wrote it lying in the grass, thinking about all the homework i had to do that i very much wasnāt doing.
sparks?
Hard is always harder
In the present than in the future.
Nothing is as sweet
As relief right after pain.
One time, I didnāt notice
Until after it had passed,
And it didnāt seem fair -
I had to suffer once again.
People tell you to use suffering
To rise up even higher,
But Iām so tired all the time.
At least I drink a lot of water.
--
a criticism on platitudes, i wrote this poem to try and express the inescapability of pain. i feel like people often talk about strength and suffering without understanding the magnitude of each feeling.
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a rondeau
In one manās mind, the whole world grows -
Whether in piles or in neat rows.
Whether he cares or not, itās there
Interpreting the empty air,
Bringing sorrow, pain and strife.
It might not mean a thing, he knows.
But he canāt help but love, and shows
The things he feels and might beware
In one manās mind.
Sometimes it rains, and he slows.
Sometimes the sun harshly glows.
He doesnāt cry but still despairs
And through the universe he tears
Thought and fear and always one life
In one manās mind.
--
i wrote this poem back in ninth grade, and it is one of the few poems iāve written that isnāt freestyle. iām still rather proud of it.
last friday
He said it was his first time
Crying himself to sleep:
When he had trouble singing
The baritone part.
I wonder if last Friday
Was his second time.
I hope last Friday
Was his second time.
--
this was written after i broke up with my first boyfriend. it was a very naive relationship: we were barely out of middle school, non-compatible, and not knowing what a real relationship was. i decided to end it after seven months, but i am still grateful for what i learned and he and i are still good friends.
not all those who are lost, wander
The man at the gelato shop gave us two macarons for free
One that was broken and
One that didnāt sell well
We promised to come back when we were rich,
Which made him laugh
They were two different kinds of delicious
The man on the bus gave up his seat so we could sit together
He had glasses and
A long nose
We sketched him on a piece of paper so weād never forget
Those melancholic eyes
His bag said, āNot all those who wander are lostā
--
this poem was written after my friend and i went to downtown provo. we always go in the morning to get kolaches, and then we go to the used bookshop, the record store, the antique shop and the dozens of other small restaurants and boutiques. itās one of my favorite places to be.