Before I head out to enjoy yet another long weekend. I thought I would write another post (the last one doesn’t really count…let’s consider that post some Bloggy housekeeping…).
So, this “thirty-something or other” is going to share something with you….the voice of her 12-year old poetic brain and muse! I know! My mom found a poetry book that I had written a few years back and mailed it out to me a while ago. As I was flipping through the pages, I couldn’t help but reflect upon my growth as a poet and a writer (another reason why I love writing is to chronicle that developing state of mind!).
It felt so strange, yet oddly comforting to read the words that were inspired by my 12 year old brain. Fascinating how some of the same images and ideas still float around in this adult brain….
Anyways, here goes nothing…[be gentle with me people, as I know you will, afterall, I was only twelve….!]. Lol!
There once was a dog who ate slime,
Who couldn’t tell if he had time,
To pull up his collar,
Or spend his last dollar,
On a bowl for his yucky, green slime.
[A little Shel Silverstein influence with that limerick, I would say!]
Holder of the night
Apostle of the sunset
Flip-side of the sun
An Ode to Clouds
Like streaked pain in water, the clouds
Constantly reaching and spearing innocent
Their destination isn’t complete until they
bring the night.
They shadow the land and reflect the sun’s warmth,
A constant glow rests like satin on a pillow,
Constantly reaching for midnight blue,
Towards forever, like wandering nomads.
Never satisfied at the slightest star,
They are always set to leap a hill and forage
Like nomads they wander without care as
the wind slips slowly by.
[Apparently, the random form of the poem was critical for this piece (hence the strange indentation pattern!). I had totally forgotten about this old poem, but it brings to mind a fairly recent cloud-gazing post….weird!]
Oh, and the book is laminated and complete with illustrations! Woohoo! The clouds on the “Ode to Clouds” page are somewhat sunset-ish and illuminated with delicate pastel blues, pinks and amber tones….Good grief! I was my own poet, illustrator and publisher back then. Too bad I can’t pull that off now! Actually, mum would probably give me the old “Tsk, tsk!” and remind me once again that anything is possible “if you put your mind to it”. I guess it is important to keep that sense of child-like wonder alive and nourished.
Here’s to kids! Here’s to creativity!
Long live the poetic heart and soul!