The Aspect of Poetry

Yallfest

There aren’t any rules to creative writing;

you just… write what’s in your head.

Using you’re emotions to guide you,

so… being a poet is more what you feel instead.

Then onto translating that into words (good luck)

Pen to parchment, parchment to laptop.

 

They may choose to judge you

or appreciate your work with a compliment!

Either way, it doesn’t matter, but you judge you.

 

When I write rough copies

my handwriting is absolutely terrible

and cat fur always somehow ends up on the journal.

It is both funny and maddening the fact that my brain thinks faster than my hand can form words

 

Poetry is hard in the eyes of some

or easy in the eyes of others,

but I believe its all about how you interpret it.

It doesn’t have to be the most complicated, long-worded essay

because even the simplest words can be charming

depending on how you fit them together:

to create a poem.

 

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Crescent Companionship

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The last of the songbirds cry

when the sun sets behind the trees

And out appears that light

not from our great star

not as bright

much too white

not as plainly sighted

Shadowed by lone clouds

that are still visible by dying rays

drowning in the fire of the sunset

The time is waxing

light to the right

and another friend beside him

burning in the night

Our beloved crescent moon is there

and his terrestrial companion:

Venus.

Kitten

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for Bailey

 

He is a frolicking fawn in a meadow of soft grass.

Playful as a puppy,

yet sweet as a frosted cookie.

He bounces up to me; beckoning me to follow,

then he canters away

to find shelter behind the dining room chair;

thinking he’s invisible,

though I still catch glimpses of his fur.

I’ll call out his name

but he doesn’t hear me,

doesn’t turn in my direction.

It’s the little game he plays.

It’s called ignoring me.

So I can’t help but wonder

if this kitten is really a toddler:

in feline form.

 

Marie Walters, July 2018

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sounds of a Breeze

dandelion seeds in the breeze

The breeze is all around me

enveloping me with a soft whisper

shhhhhhhh

The branches of the sugar maple

sway back and forth

Leaves upturned

revealing their fuzzy green undersides

feathery and delicate

like the flower buds of early spring

and petals floating through the air

It isn’t warm yet isn’t cold

comfortable

to sit

and be silent

patient

shhhhhhhh. 

Grasses wave gently

in the cool breeze

rocking back and forth,

back and forth

a sweet lullaby

shhhhhhhh

shhhhhhhh

The air is mingled with mockingbird calls

crying out

their melodious voices in rhythm

with the breeze

shhhhhhhh.  

It comes in gusts

although not forceful

Gently.

Gently.
Gently.

Do not disturb the calm

of the breeze.

 

-Marie Walters (June 2018)

The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon

 

 

The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon is a psychological horror novel written by Stephen King. The main character and protagonist is Trisha McFarland, a nine year old girl who doesn’t have such an easy life, with her parent’s divorce and constant complaints of her older brother, Pete. Although her family cares for her, Trisha can’t help but feel isolated and alone. Her only distraction is the image of her favorite Red Sox player, Tom Gordon.

One Saturday afternoon, Trisha’s mother takes her and Pete for a hike on a branch of the Appalachian Trail. Along the way, they start to argue. After asking numerous times but receiving no answer, Trisha stops on the side of the path to use the bathroom. But when she finishes and walks to catch up, Trisha turns onto the wrong side in a fork in the road. From there she is lost – lost in the woods, away from her family and all civilization.

As Trisha struggles to survive in the woods all alone for days, she is not only faced with the struggles of being alone and in the dangerous wild, but also the terrors of her imagination and conscience. Trisha barely escapes everything by listening to Red Sox games on her radio. She listens to Tom Gordon and his pitches as she trudges through dead leaves and wades through swamps. She has to have faith in Tom, or else she will never make it out alive – because there is something lurking in the shadows that is waiting to attack…

I loved this book because it was so descriptive and suspenseful. I actually felt like I was in the woods with Trisha, and experiencing her thoughts. It took me about two days to read it because I couldn’t put it down! My only complaint is that I think the antagonist should have shown itself more in the beginning of the story, to prepare the reader for later when bigger things start happening. Otherwise, Stephen King has done a great job with the book. I recommend it for ages 12 and up. Rating: 9/10

The Dream

large forest at night with a full moon in the sky

 

I dreamt I was in a forest

Surrounded by shadows of clinking tree branches

In the pitch-black night

The cool white moonlight

Around my pale reflection

In a dried-up stream bank

 

I dreamt I heard noises

CRACK.

I whip around

Nothing

And yet when there was really something there

I failed to notice.

 

I dreamt and feared the endless emptiness

In the misty woods

And my surrounded isolation

But I settled into the warm ground

Dead leaves, moss, and brush

And I fell asleep, shivering, in the freezing air

 

I dreamt I then woke

To a coyote curled next to me in the leaves

And above me a mouse that barked

 

I dreamt this was not a dream

I dreamt that this dream I dreamt was real

I dreamt I dozed off again to dream on the forest floor

 

And when I woke up

I was alone.

 

-Marie Walters (May 2018)

Remember

flowers

Why can it be so hard to remember things?

Who do I always forget to be?

Why is it that I can remember the big important events

but not the fine details that shaped me?

I can see it ever so clear in my mind

the details in the memory are so clean and pure

but why is it that I feel that pang

like I should have remembered something more?

Good memories remembered give me hope

hope to move on to the next day

that happiness that drove me

From the memory of yesterday

-Marie Walters, March 2018