A poetical masterpiece by Christy and Heather

Written 1/3/05

My cat walks on the treadmill
That hovers above a landfill
If she doesn't go fast enough, she'll spill
And the trash will make her very ill
And what is that, a brand new drill?
It must've fallen off of my wondow sill
And hey, there's my expensive grill
Those men took it because I couldn't pay my bill
So I got a job at a cotton mill
And I work there even still
Now my cat can eat her fill
Of all the mice that she can kill
She hunts them of her own free will
She likes sweet pickles, and especially dill
She buys them from a peasant in Honeyville
In return, the earth she must till
Every night she scribbles with her quill
In the words of Tom Hanks, "She's a pill"
One winter day she caught a chill
So her roommate, whose name was Jill
Gave her a fish with only one gill
That she found near an ant hill
And decided to give him the name Phil
He cared for her with unmatched skill
Even more than her ex-boyfriend Bill
Dear fishy took her to Brazil
And stole all her money, so then she had nil
A whale saved her and fed her krill
Then said goodbye in a voice that was shrill
Poor kitty nearly drowned in a rill
Her rescuer gave her quite a thrill
And then she woke up

And her alarm clock played Barber of Seville
And the cat went to McDonalds and got a McGrill
And then Heather went to bed

Farewill.

Empty

Written 10/24/05

I am an empty shell
Who I am is not who is seen
I wear an empty mask
To make you think I am clean

I am not alone
I watch them pass
The many empty shells
Empty souls hidden behind an empty laugh

I hear their words
Echoes of their empty hearts
Despair is in their empty eyes
None can see, but in part

Can I fill their emptiness?
Nay, I cannot fill my own
I longingly await the day
When all will be content- and Home!

Untitled Villanelle

Started March '05, continued 11/27/05 (unfinished) (Yes, I stole the first line. Please forgive me. It was a good line.)

Sometimes there are no words to say
All language fades the passion of the fight
And speech's colors fade to shades of gray.

When I, upon my pillow, try to pray
Winds whisper through the leaves in darkest night,
"Sometimes there are no words to say."

When I take pleasure in the ocean's spray,
The sunrise plays on breakers' foamy white
And speech's colors fade to shades of gray.

My pen produces nothing but cliches.
My muses murmur as they view my plight,
"Sometimes there are no words to say."

The artists' palette comes from God's bouquet
Their brushes strike the truth of dappled light
And speech's colors fade to shades of gray.

My tongue cannot my spirits thoughts convey
Nor can it human hearts for long delight.
Sometimes there are no words to say
And speech's colors fade to shades of gray.

The Secret Life of Leaves

Written 11/27/05 for Literary Analysis. Inspired by Wallace Stevens's "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird"

I
A green hand
Waving cheerfully
In bright, sparkling light

II
A house for an inchworm
A home for a spider
A roof for a bird

III
One individual
Lost
In a sea of conformity

IV
Leaves of rain
A reign of leaves
A rain of leaves
Remains

V
Fluttering color outside
A frosted window:
Nature's stained glass

VI
Green
to Red
to Orange
to Yellow
to Brown
to Dust

VII
Hanging limply, lifelessly
The last leaf
Refusing release

VIII
Must let go
Must surrender
Most start over

IX
Sometimes being means
For a time
Being absent

X
A speck of life
Wrapped in nothingness
Reaching out

XI
In one brief year
The leaf shows the life
Of all creatures

XII
A member of God's audience
That cannot speak
But when the wind of grace blows
It applauds

A Violin's Plea

Written 11/12/05

I heard the whisper early one morning; and again,
softly,
that night, from the case in the corner.

"“Remember when you really played?
When your eyes read
more than notes and your fingers
pressed more than strings and your hand
pulled more than a bow?"

"“Yes, I remember."

"“So do I.
You played more than music. It was
passion and grace,
you'’re audible heart."

"“But I still play,"” I said.
"“Every day,
nearly.
I still play."

"“That book you hold; yes, the blank one-
there.
It stole you from me. What you used to say
through me, you say in there, with
empty, insufficient, words.
Why?"”

"“I-"

"“You are frustrated. Your words,
long and lavish, pretentiously preposterous,
are a false echo of my song: too silent to express
your soul. Don'’t
forget me.

I am here so that you
may make music of emotion
when words of feeling fail."

Pencil

Written 11/11/04

Yesterday I set my pencil runnin'
And it ran without the least reguard to me
It traveled high snd low, north and south, east and west
And some places were a pencil ought not be.
It started in my bedroom looking honest
And moseyed out along the busy street
Then somehow I was dragged along with it
Across the country to the open sea.
Before I knew it I was nearly drowning
And so I drew it back to my own home
That day I learned a valuable lesson:
One should not simply let a pencil roam.
So next time that I set my pencil runnin'
To see what new ideas it will show
I ought to have at least a vague idea
Of where I think my pencil ought to go.

Untitled

Written 4/05 (after reading several particularly depressing poems for school)

Poor tragic poet
So wrapped up in death
That when his life walked out the door
He never knew it left.

The Woes of a Rock

Started 11/4/04 (unfinished)

Each morning I feel warm rays touch my cold form
And I am jealous of the sun, for he brings life to the earth.

Each night I watch constellations roam across the sky,
And I am jealous of the stars, for they give purpose to the night.

Each day I hear the scamper of rodents gathering food,
And I am jealous, for I must remain still.

Each season passes by bringing change,
But I remain the same.

Impatience

Another exercise (and many thanks to Henry for making this format work): 11/16/05

The waiting... The wanting... The wondering...	The waking... The wishing... The wandering...	The watching... The weaving... The weighing...
Weariness... Weakness... Wholeness...	When?	The willing The wilderness Withstanding...
Working... Wording... Wrestling...	walking... waning... warming...	wearing... washing... wasting...

A Lie

11/15/05

My microwave is broken
But that's okay.
Cold soup is not
that bad.

A Truth

11/15/05

I am cutting the noodles
in my soup because
they are too big
and won't
stay on my spoon.

Rain Chain

Exercise from 11/15/05

leaving of rain leavings of reign leaves of rain leaves of reign love of remains loving remains love remains learning of rain leaning of rain learning of names leafing of rain leaving a name leave returning love returning love redeems loving redeemer

rain reigns reign rains raise leaves leaves raise love reigns reign leaves leaves reign weaving lanes weaving leaves waving leaves leaving waves leaning ways learning ways leaning waves waning leaves waning rain

rain of leaves reign of leaves reign of leavings rain of leavings remain of leaves remains of leaving rename a leaf running of leaves return of leaves rain of love remains of love return of love return of leaving reign of leaning reign of love renaming love redeeming love

Like a Tree

Written Spring '05

Like a tree I must-
from time to time-
Be stripped of my outer facade
That my skeleton may be
exposed, clensed
And prepared to bloom again.

The Gift

Written 10/14/05

You say, a Gift I give to you
It shines magnificent and new
Its mysteries you shall pursue
Until revealed

I take the object in my hand
I shake and tremble where I stand
But is it gold, or merely sand?
The heart's concealed

Within its darkness, light is found
And in ts silence, I hear sound
Thoughts both clever and profound
Are in its muse

It brings a smile to my face
But in my soul it takes the place
Of one more worthy of that space
And I must choose

So with a sigh I hand it back
And sorely feeling what I lack
I lumber slowly down the track
Of daily living

I know the Giver, fair and just,
Commends me for my act of trust
He will not let my treasure rust
Nor cease his giving.

Summer Storm

Written in 8th grade

Is it just me?
Or did the flowers stand a little taller today
When thunder rumbled
And lightning flashed

Is it just me?
Or did the trees stretch a little higher today
When dark clouds rolled in
And heavy rain fell

Is it just me?
Or did the bushes look a little fuller today
When birds took cover
And squirrels ran to hide

Then I understood
While on a clear day
The sun shows off their beauty
It is the storm that makes them strong

Writing

Written in 7th grade

I've been given the world
As a paper and pen
My imagination grows
My mind knows no ends

I can travel the earth
Without leaving my desk
I can choose not to lead
And follow where I'm led

I can live in a world
That only I know
From my mind through my pen
My thoughts, they flow

Through my characters' eyes
I see the world
I think their thoughts
As the plot unfurls

I hold in my hand
A powerful key
And no one knows about it
But me