Puzzlement

This is a poem I wrote for a Spanish class I took. 

Un Rompecabezas

Los tonos y los pedazos

parecen corretear lejos.

Mi agarre de ellos es débil a lo mejor.

Aunque las líneas y las formas parecen

encajar y formar una pista,

no puedo determinar la imagen

que ellos crean o la causa

de este revoltijo de locura.

Los colores parecen combinarse

en una expansión de gris.

No pienso hallar

el orden en su caos.

Puzzlement

These scattered shades and bits

Seem to skitter or shift away.

My grasp on them is weak at best.

Though some lines and shapes seem

to fit together forming a clue,

I cannot pinpoint the image

it creates or the cause

of this jumbled madness.

Any color seems to blend

into a vast expanse of gray.

I don’t think I’ll find

any order within its chaos.

Time Stands, Still Waiting

Time Stands, Still Waiting

Upside-down brooms bristling pearly condensation.

They sweep up heavy silence into the wind

whooshing delicate strands and seeping slowly

into my bones, expanding with ice

they crack like cemented earth.

Green specialized needles hold no fluttering

of wing, chattering of squirrels.

The only living chatter is my teeth.

Time stands, still waiting for a glint

of sun to wake up splattered mud.

The Teacher's Friday Afternoon Treat

The Teacher’s Friday Afternoon Treat

My mouth watering around a lollipop,

I gaze up to my teacher’s soft eyes behind glossy glasses.

Her smooth voice molds itself to give

each character a slightly different inflection.

I still become awed when the reader can leave

behind themselves without making their influence completely lost.

Whenever stopped, she trances her fingers over the page to regain the place lost.

My tongue begins examining the chocolate tootsie center of the lollipop.

My mouth tingles from the sticky residue it begins to leave.

Creeping closer, I can clearly make out my dim reflection in her glasses.

I twist and chew the gooey center causing the fibrous stick to have an inflection.

I savor every morsel of this Friday afternoon treat she would always give.

Every word, sentence, and paragraph open to give

me a doorway into a world in which I can get lost.

As the plot and character unfold, I feel an inflection

of my senses overwhelm me so that I forget completely about the lollipop.

I watch as the king adjusts his glasses

to see a little mouse scurrying to leave.

In desperation, I watch as the mouse is forced to leave

and go to the dungeon with the red thread, which will not give

way, around his thin neck. He must say goodbye to stained glasses

in the castle and submerge into the pitch-black maze in which he will surely get lost.

Having completed devouring it, I now chew mindlessly on the stem of the lollipop.

My teacher has created a severe mood with her dramatic inflection.

Being the end of the chapter, she loses her voice inflection

and tells us it is time to leave.

I discard the white stick of the lollipop.

It gave every bit of flavor it could give.

I yawn and feel all the energy I lost.

My teacher, rubbing her eyes, removes her glasses.

I observe the bright string attached to her glasses.

She, too, yawns with a sharp inflection.

Looking outside, I see the tree has lost

most of its dry brown leaves.

I smack my lips to give

the juices in my mouth a stir to taste a hint of lollipop.

It was much more than a mere lollipop

which she would give.

She built in me a passion for the written word which would never leave.

The Legend of the Snowflake Pixies

The Legend of the Snowflake Pixies

There are pixies living on a fluffy cloud

between the earth and the sky.

In winter they work swiftly to enshroud

the earth with snow piled high.

Without being seen, for they are not proud

but rather humble and shy,

they always begin to whisper aloud

where to go as into the air they fly.

You see in the past they vowed

that every raindrop the Sky Lady did cry,

for she was know to sadly sough,

they would catch after falling from her eye.

But the tears they caught started to crowd

that rather little cloud making one pixie sigh

then all the pixies were gleefully wowed

for in the place of the tear a crystal did lie. 

The First Snow of Winter

Yet another poem I wrote when I was younger. I think I remember writing this in middle school.

The First Snow of Winter 

Snowflakes                

dancing                      

encircling                    

each other.

A light                        

dust                            

unintended                 

to smother.

Making                       

a perfect                     

pair.

Floating                      

and wandering                       

through the air.

Whipped by   

winds                         

that swirl.                   

Gliding from  

cotton clouds

of pearl.

Landing                      

gently                         

on the

ground. 

Fluffiness                   

that

diminishes                  

sound.

Snowflakes                

dancing                      

encircling                    

each other.

A delicately                

sprinkled                    

snow                           

cover. 

The Deconstruction of Disappointment

The Deconstruction of Disappointment

Your absence leaves a desire for more.

It is a potent but light thickness.

It bites my nose.

Viral speckled cells emerge within my thin skin.

My knees become jellied rawness.

These cold bumps are firm and heavy.

Shiny wrinkles fold around my yellow crackled lips.

Your words ooze and explode sharply.

Your threaded projections are pungent.

I am a green star stuck within your tart freshness.

Spirit

This is yet another poem I wrote when I was eleven. It's funny how I still feel this way when the wind blows and about the moon. Some things just never change.

Spirit

The wind is a spirit

That touches my cheek

And it brings me up

When I’m feeling weak

Now it’s night &

There’s no light

The moon shines down bright

as a helpful friend