Musings triggered from the past...
I've been going back through old posts, and I found poems I put up YEARS ago. I figured it couldn't hurt to compile them all into a single post for archival purposes.
I don't remember writing this one, but I like it. Apparently, it was an English class assignment in which I had to use free verse (no set pattern) and NO RHYMING. Normally, I use rhyme and make the equivalent of song lyrics, so this is definitely a little different from my norm. The assignment's theme was apparently "celebrating your America."
I celebrate myself, and sing myself.
I celebrate America.
My bow is drawn, its hairs touch the voice,
I sing myself melodious notes:
The sad for exiled men.
The joy for peaceful freedom.
The short for time and history.
The long for land and future.
The high for towering castles.
The low for humble homes.
The loud for victorious battles.
The soft for sleeping children.
These notes I raise as I sing myself,
My wooden voice shouting celebration.
The bow I halt; a note still lingers:
I hear America singing.
A set of poems, also free-verse. I apparently was experimenting with a lack of rhythm and meter.
COMPANY
I am myself.
Alone? No, never by
Myself. Not yesterday, not
Today, not ever. One might ask--
How? The answer is simple:
Everything keeps me company.
Ringing bells, singing birds, whistling wind;
It causes comfort within myself.
Alone?
Never!
DEPENDENCY
Please tell me that phrase,
And repeat it again.
Never stop saying it. I
Depend upon it
Although I never show it.
Not really a poem, but it has that meditative feel to it. I would like to remember these words for contemplation.
This is my hope. This is my fear. It is a fictional story of the imanigation. It is a true story of reality. You decide what's true. You decide what's false. This is fantasy. This is life.
I sit here writing when I know I should be doing homework. What more I should do, though, I am not sure. My life is a normal life filled with school and extracirricular activites. It it a struggle to define real from imagination. It is part of a web in which one only sees her own string, but knows the others are connected to her string's every turn. It is the fight between me and myself. It is a facade.
I know I'm different, but am I, really? How does one define different? Is it in looks? How one acts? Or is it in the heart, the soul? How do you know what's real and what's not?
I am therian. Exactly what does that mean? I act like a cat, I prefer some kitty-like activites. But how does that make a difference? How is it "different?" Tell me the differece between different and "different." Because there is a difference. If you are different, you are unique and special. If you are "different," you are weird and outcast. Why does society do this? Why must those "different" hide?
It tears you, you know. It makes you question everything. Where does the real stop and the fantasy begin? Is there even a line? What if there is no difference? Pablo Picasso once said, "anything you can imagine is real." Is that life? I don't know. Life doesn't just give away her answers. She is tricky, and does not like to reveal anything. The mysteries of life. Isn't that what eveyone wants to know?
Tell the world: the "different" ones have more of a clue what's there than anyone else. I feel the wind, can sense the change in weather. I hear things much higher pitched than most people hear. I sense when someone is within my vicinity, whether I see them or not. I can feel an energy, a song, life, flowing and singing from and through everyhting. Or is it all my imagiation? Anyone can see a weather change comming. My ears are musically trained. And air currents are not hard to feel, if someone moves.
Is it real? Is it fantasy? I don't know. Somebody pet me.
Another comment I want to preserve for future thought, from 2004:
My life is a sitcom. It is, it really is. I try to stay as ignorant as possible sometimes; it bites me back just for avoiding it. Looking at life as an endless distraction doesn't always help, you know. Trying to stay in what I call "Wildcat's mindset" can only protect me so far. After that point.... life is life. It plays around you, like a river that refuses to let you get the hang of the currents. As soon as you're happy, it throws something else, causing you to want to drop something to get control again. But that's the thing about life that's so admirable: if you don't let go - you get the world. And every pain that goes with it. And every sorrow it brings. And every joy.
Oh gosh... I'd forgotten about the post in which we got into a haiku conversation. It started with one I wrote in the post:
Light hits your wet face.
As the cherry blossoms fall
Their peace fills your eyes.
And all the comments are in haiku format, lol!
http://wildkat137.livejournal.com/17749.html
I don't remember where I found this one:
We have not succeeded in solving all our problems.
Indeed, we sometimes feel we have not completely solved any of them.
The solutions we have obtained have, generally, only served to create a whole new set of problems.
In some ways, we feel we are as confused as ever, but we think we are confused on a higher level and about more sophisticated things.
I think that pretty well sums up the poems and meditations that caught my eye from 2004/2005. Besides, this post is plenty long enough already, and I need to go do something with my day.
I don't remember writing this one, but I like it. Apparently, it was an English class assignment in which I had to use free verse (no set pattern) and NO RHYMING. Normally, I use rhyme and make the equivalent of song lyrics, so this is definitely a little different from my norm. The assignment's theme was apparently "celebrating your America."
I celebrate myself, and sing myself.
I celebrate America.
My bow is drawn, its hairs touch the voice,
I sing myself melodious notes:
The sad for exiled men.
The joy for peaceful freedom.
The short for time and history.
The long for land and future.
The high for towering castles.
The low for humble homes.
The loud for victorious battles.
The soft for sleeping children.
These notes I raise as I sing myself,
My wooden voice shouting celebration.
The bow I halt; a note still lingers:
I hear America singing.
A set of poems, also free-verse. I apparently was experimenting with a lack of rhythm and meter.
COMPANY
I am myself.
Alone? No, never by
Myself. Not yesterday, not
Today, not ever. One might ask--
How? The answer is simple:
Everything keeps me company.
Ringing bells, singing birds, whistling wind;
It causes comfort within myself.
Alone?
Never!
DEPENDENCY
Please tell me that phrase,
And repeat it again.
Never stop saying it. I
Depend upon it
Although I never show it.
Not really a poem, but it has that meditative feel to it. I would like to remember these words for contemplation.
This is my hope. This is my fear. It is a fictional story of the imanigation. It is a true story of reality. You decide what's true. You decide what's false. This is fantasy. This is life.
I sit here writing when I know I should be doing homework. What more I should do, though, I am not sure. My life is a normal life filled with school and extracirricular activites. It it a struggle to define real from imagination. It is part of a web in which one only sees her own string, but knows the others are connected to her string's every turn. It is the fight between me and myself. It is a facade.
I know I'm different, but am I, really? How does one define different? Is it in looks? How one acts? Or is it in the heart, the soul? How do you know what's real and what's not?
I am therian. Exactly what does that mean? I act like a cat, I prefer some kitty-like activites. But how does that make a difference? How is it "different?" Tell me the differece between different and "different." Because there is a difference. If you are different, you are unique and special. If you are "different," you are weird and outcast. Why does society do this? Why must those "different" hide?
It tears you, you know. It makes you question everything. Where does the real stop and the fantasy begin? Is there even a line? What if there is no difference? Pablo Picasso once said, "anything you can imagine is real." Is that life? I don't know. Life doesn't just give away her answers. She is tricky, and does not like to reveal anything. The mysteries of life. Isn't that what eveyone wants to know?
Tell the world: the "different" ones have more of a clue what's there than anyone else. I feel the wind, can sense the change in weather. I hear things much higher pitched than most people hear. I sense when someone is within my vicinity, whether I see them or not. I can feel an energy, a song, life, flowing and singing from and through everyhting. Or is it all my imagiation? Anyone can see a weather change comming. My ears are musically trained. And air currents are not hard to feel, if someone moves.
Is it real? Is it fantasy? I don't know. Somebody pet me.
Another comment I want to preserve for future thought, from 2004:
My life is a sitcom. It is, it really is. I try to stay as ignorant as possible sometimes; it bites me back just for avoiding it. Looking at life as an endless distraction doesn't always help, you know. Trying to stay in what I call "Wildcat's mindset" can only protect me so far. After that point.... life is life. It plays around you, like a river that refuses to let you get the hang of the currents. As soon as you're happy, it throws something else, causing you to want to drop something to get control again. But that's the thing about life that's so admirable: if you don't let go - you get the world. And every pain that goes with it. And every sorrow it brings. And every joy.
Oh gosh... I'd forgotten about the post in which we got into a haiku conversation. It started with one I wrote in the post:
Light hits your wet face.
As the cherry blossoms fall
Their peace fills your eyes.
And all the comments are in haiku format, lol!
http://wildkat137.livejournal.com/17749.html
I don't remember where I found this one:
We have not succeeded in solving all our problems.
Indeed, we sometimes feel we have not completely solved any of them.
The solutions we have obtained have, generally, only served to create a whole new set of problems.
In some ways, we feel we are as confused as ever, but we think we are confused on a higher level and about more sophisticated things.
I think that pretty well sums up the poems and meditations that caught my eye from 2004/2005. Besides, this post is plenty long enough already, and I need to go do something with my day.