3rd in a Series of 4!

Snow, A Banana Peel, Starlings

Staring beneath crimson trees,
attuning to
apples,
snow alights
harmoniously above
protesting moons.
Freezing regret passes
by and settles
along a child's
feet.
Whilst a banana peel,
spongy and yellow
from
vitamin deficiencies
rests atop a mailman's
head.
All around, starlings
clutch
bits of pink paper
in slender beaks,
preparing to nest
amongst
Thanksgiving feasts.

Interpretation swells
as I leap,
far beyond endless
collaboration
within remedial
oration.
Well past simple
comprehension,
thought exceeds
normal pacification
and ventures through
realms
originally far-fetched,
but now only
well-versed
nonsense.

Mourning

No, I am not mourning. Neither am I sad. I have just been writing poems rather randomly recently, in the sense that I just simply allow myself to write whatever comes to my mind as my pen hovers over the paper. So, this is what my mind came up with today. ^_^

Mourning

What can we
be,
but waywards ones
sifting through
years
of loss
if we continue
in this way?
Shaky memories,
torn battles,
and fallen loved ones
try to part,
to breathe a final farewell,
but are siftly
ensnared
by mourning souls.
Why can we not set ourselves
free
from the prisoners
we hold?

Easter-ish Poem?

I have another poem. Are we surprised?
...no, not really.

Anyways, it's untitled. Wrote it Sunday during a random inspiration attack during the song service at church. *hides*

Alas. It did not turn out the way I wanted.

Through the ages,,
we've looked,
watched,
waited.
An invisible nation
of many,
scattered impetuously
throughout the world
and time,
anticipating.
We are
linked as one
eternally,
though estranged,
isolated
from our people and
home.
Our King,
seemingly forgotten,
quenched by the
pathetic practices
of this fallen world.
Our King will
return,
bind together
those who have
never known
belonging;
He will rise up
as the ages begin to
fade,
delivering us up
into the promise we
were given.
Reunited
eternally.

Cure for Loneliness: Tea

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I have come up with an answer to Adwen's poem title, Cure for Loneliness: Tea. :)

Such a dear friend,
a warm cup of tea.
Comforting,
nurturing the
mind,
warming, heralding
to deeper skies.
It pursues tears,
sorrows,
distributing momentary
eradication
of doubts.
It encourages
thought,
bypassing the shallow
processes
accompanying loneliness.

(An extra section that I do not know if I should include or not. Comments?)
In an unfortunate turn
of events,
is it not logical
that one with no
preference for tea should,
indeed,
always be lonely?

...I do feel like I dipped into a Jane Austen flavor on that last section.

Poetry Projects!

So, on the DIOM forum, a group of us have decided to write poetry based off of one person's actual WIPs titles. I have taken initiative (I'm so proud of myself!) and written one already! :D

The titles that were proposed are as follows:
Snow, A Banana Peel, Starlings
Cure For Loneliness: Tea
Prior to the kidnapping
Document22

So, being as that I am a writer, and this is a piece of my writing, I am naturally going to post it on my blog. However, I must accredit the titles to whom they are due, Once Again White. *claps* I must invite her to join my blog. Skye, do you know if OAW has a blog?

Anyways, I present to you, the first in a series of four, my (hopefully) delightful poem!

Prior to the Kidnapping

Upon wings such as these
we had not believed it was so;
striving,
surviving,
till we fell unbidden
through stars,
ice,
and what was left
of what had been.
Only they remained,
relenting,
protesting obscurely
of perilous
dominion.
Having seen
that which
has not been beheld,
we waited.
Endless darkness,eternal black
plummeted by,
arced with embers,
and torn by light.
We waited,
ever-watchful eyes
scanning the distance.
Gold streaks slammed towards
the earth,
taunting our existence,
belittling trivial
ires
as we were
overcome.

A Poem Composed Among Sorted Paperclips

Why yes, you did read that right. I was at work today, and there was absolutely nothing to do. NOTHING. AT. ALL. I finished all of my work early. Anyways, I busied (somewhat) myself by organizing my desk, organizing the file cabinet next to my desk, organizing the drawer under the file cabinet next to my desk, then finally, decided to re-organize my already spotless desk. Meanwhile, I found some paperclips that were crudely thrown in a little storage space. Spotting an irresistable opportunity (you find things are much more amusing when you're hopelessly bored), I snatched the pile of paperclips and sorted them by size. Once they were neatly arranged (this process, I daresay, took a mere fifteen minutes), I seemed strangely drawn to my purple paper tablet (why yes, it really is purple, and no, I didn't bring it to work, it was there before I was), so I tentatively picked up my pen and twirled it in my hands once or twice. It was as if the pen had a mind of its own(this is all sounding strangely familiar); I set the tip down on the sheet, and proceeded to produce a precedented poem of primarily permissive purposes(amongst paperclips).

Alas, I present to you, yet another titleless poem. *bows profusely*

The wind promises
to sweep away
doubts, cares,
to reestablish trust.
Sighing breathlessly,
impatiently dodging
around eternal instability,
it flutters and leaves,
tiring of indecision.
Beckoning those
who leap
faithfully into tendrils of air,
forever grasping to
unseen arms
strong and unpredictable,
whisking away to adventure
and adversity
but always cradling
those
who believe.