Poetry · Uncategorized

An Attempt at Something Gothic

Father tells me not to swing at night,

I don’t listen.

Something dark remains in the corner of my sight,

I turn my music up louder so I don’t hear my name.

 

Momma heard the groaning of the swings at midnight

Momma heard the squeaking of the trampoline at midnight

momma heard the creaking of the see-saw at midnight

she doesn’t dare look out there

she doesn’t want to know what’s out there.

 

The shop light is on, it is always on

we dare not go in to turn it off

perhaps it is hiding and will not run

but we won’t turn the light off.

 

I live in a room that has a locked door

at night I think I hear a knock,

at night i think I hearĀ  creaking,

at night I think I hear footsteps

I don’t look when I hear it,

I pretend I just think it.

 

Why do we never see spiders standing still?

What are they so afraid of,

that they never stand still?

I hope I never know.

 

The cats want outside,

but they dart back behind the couch,

the lizards are still, they listen, and then they hide

what did they hear, I don’t think they’ll say.

 

Father tells me not to go out to swing at night

I listen.

The swings still groan.

 

Julie K.

Here’s an attempt at something new. I will probably never do it again, but it was fun trying it out! (=

Uncategorized

Escaping from the Escape

I am tired, ever so tired, ever so.

My escape is now what I must escape from,

and I never made plans to go.

My escape used to be the peaceful hum

Of the wind gently coursing through the trees.

It used to be the small waves gliding onto the shore.

It was a haven and I was the only one with the keys.

But now there are bars on the door,

and I cannot get out, I cannot.

The place was once my beautiful escape.

It was the refuge and the solitude that I sought.

It was my hero with a billowing cape.

But now the wind is tearing down the trees.

The waves are crashing rocks to pieces on the shore,

and the door willfully stands against my keys.

My escape once clean is now filled with pain and gore.

And all I want is to get out, but I can’t get out.

My escape, the dream that was used to flee from reality

I cannot now tell you what it is about.

I now know, to me, this world has never sworn fealty.

This world, I made up in my mind, has a mind of its own.

And I cannot escape the hold it has on me.

Because alone, I created it, and now I suffer by it alone.

And how can my thoughts let me be?

How can I silence this monstrous mind of mine?

If you know, I beg of you to tell me now.

But I guess I’ll be fine. Should I say that I’m fine?

Because, I want to escape but I don’t know how.

Uncategorized

My Favorite Place

In my backyard is a swing set

My father put it together years ago

That thing will last longer than I will, I bet.

On that swing, I forget my troubles below,

as I swing higher and higher

Sometimes I swing until my tears are gone

I imagine the trees to be sentinels and the stars to be fire

And if I could handle the cold, I’d stay till dawn.

Because there is no other place

where I can simply breathe and think or not think at all

where no one can see the smiles or tears on my face

Where I can pretend I’m a giant and all my problems are small.

 

-Julie

 

Poetry · Uncategorized

Procrastination = My Stupidity.

Procrastination. Why on earth does it exist?

It is simply us stopping ourselves from doing what is on our “to-do lists”

In general it all needs to be done, so why do we put it off?

It’s not like the stress of just having to do it in the first place isn’t enough…

But for heaven’s sake, it makes everything so much worse

Especially when it makes you want to curse.

I don’t understand procrastination at all

and yet it is my greatest pitfall.

So here I have had weeks to study these 7 chapters of this old book,

and the night before it is due, I have finally managed to take a look.

I am doomed, I am sure to fail

But I am the most frustrated that my stupidity is my only scapegoat bail.

I cannot blame anyone but me,

but that isn’t stopping me from being irrationally angry.

I have promised I will never wait to do what I can do today,

but then again…that is what I always say.

 

 

Poetry

If I Were

If I were a pirate

with steady banter and ready wit

I would sail the open sea,

from danger and adventure never flee

I would not care to be feared

as those menacing creatures, such as Blackbeard

But, to see new lands?

To hoist the sails with these hands?

To smell the exotic and wild scents

never to be held back by a fence.

But if I were a soldier

I should wish to be bolder

I would wish to serve

allowing nothing to sever my nerve

And if I were a renegade

I would not stand for a barricade,

but I would flit around

and run where I couldn’t be found

And if I were born

A beast with horns adorned,

A monster with wings of flame

and it’s rage on its treasure to blame.

A dragon on its treasured hoard.

And when from sitting there I get bored,

I would fly to the closest star,

for me, I don’t think it would be too far.

I would then gather every sparkling gem,

and plant them till they flourish and stem.

I should watch as it grows in measure

with the brilliance of a greater treasure.

For a millennium I would sleep

my treasure and my thoughts, the only company I’d keep.

Oh but what if I could be,

a master or student of sorcery.

I’d be different from the other’s somehow

I would be kind and not cruel, I’d vow.

I would make magic so beautiful the world would cry

and even after death, I would not die.

And if I were a child again,

I would not be held back by man or woman.

I would dance in the rain

and laugh away my pain.

And I would run

and lie still in soft grass when I’m done.

But I should also like to be a fairy.

I would sing and be merry.

I’d dance in the wind on top of the leaves

and live on light that breathes.

I would laugh to see the sunrise

and even bask in the cloudy skies.

But then, it would be fun to be a mermaid

and swim in a sea of green jade.

Perhaps even explore the darkness in the deep.

I would never in fear cower and weep.

I would dive through the waves

and fall into the water that saves.

The only thing is, I am not all of these things.

Not a free pirate nor am I the richest of kings

I am not a bored dragon, or once again a child

an exploring mermaid, or a fairy of a painless mind.

I am simply a human being. I am simply me.

I’m not strong, nor wise, nor free.

But instead I read books about every adventure

live through words as it were.

But I guess i do not mind

I am with good friend, I find.

I am alright just being myself

and reading the souls on the top shelf.

I like being who I am, you know?

I will read, I will write, I will grow

I will be me,

and I will be happy.

 

Julie K

 

 

 

 

Poetry · Uncategorized

My Dear Old Friends

I haven’t read a real book in so long

And that feels wrong.

Sometimes I’ll look at the shelves

and reminisce about my past lives and selves.

I feel guilty that I’ve abandoned my friends

letting them become like odds and ends.

But my old dear friends have not forgotten me

for they still comfort me and let me be free.

And when I need to be reminded of what I learned

I look again through all the pages I’ve turned.

My books never let me be lonely, even when I was alone

And no matter how hurt I was they never let me be stone.

And then there were days when my anxious heart

tossed and turned like restless waves to tear me apart,

and my books gave me a sweet simple dream

when my demon’s eyes began to gleam.

Shelves and shelves of villains and heroes

fighting with their hearts, souls, swords and bows,

they taught me to take my stance,

set my sword and dance.

I am here now because they taught me to fight

I am here now because they taught me all will be alright.

I am here now because a dear friend of mine,

gave me my first book of poetry on each line.

A sister found comfort from these words

gave them to me and my thoughts flew like birds.

She saw in me what she fought herself

and gave me the first I would put on my shelf.

A small book of Edgar Allen Poe’s poetry,

that little book became a founding stone of me.

The depressing stories give me hope for my own

by the depressing words my happiness has grown.

I did not understand his words at first

but in the beauty and emotion I was immersed.

Reading that poor man’s words helped me to stand,

knowing there were people out there who understand.

And to this day on my own soul’s door

are the words that strangely enough bring me hope: “Nevermore.”

 

Julie K

This is dedicated to my sister, teacher and friend. She saw me struggling at a young age and showed me an escape. She introduced me to the world of books and I can never thank her enough. I’m still going to say thank you though: THANKS CHUSHA!!!