These are two poems I wrote for my creative writing class. We had to take seven of the poems in our collection, and imitate them, seeing where we could go with it...
(imitation of Twilight: After Haying by Jane Kenyon)
“Summer Storm: After Planting”
Yes, the sun falls over
the sky’s arch; and yes, today
must give way to tomorrow;
what else could it do?
Peace on Earth
Hakizimana took a deep breath and tugged on the bell rope. The swinging great bronze bell nearly pulled him off the ground. Bong…bong…He released the rope, letting the tolling bell slow to a gentle whisper. As he stared at the floor, he drifted back into memories. Screams and the clash of machetes echoed in Hakizimana’s mind.
“Peace?” he buried his head in his hands. “No, Lord, I do not have peace. How can I when the floor is stained with the blood of my brothers in you?”
In a few days, it’s rumored, that Obama will make a treaty with the U.N. that will take away our constitution. It will make us equal with all the other countries of the world. We will no longer be a world power. How can this happen!!! This has no advantage to anyone. Well, except for the guys who want to kill us. Obama is such a Communist. Please pray that this bill does NOT pass. If we unite, God may act on our behalf.
"Be still, be still,” He said to me.
"But Father, do you not see?
I must pray, as I do, at the end of the day,
'Pray constantly,' did You not say?
"Father, I'm weary,
My days feel quite dreary,
As I struggle to follow your will,
'Tis quite hard to simply 'be still.'
"I try and I sigh,
But quite often I cry,
Out to You with distress,
More than the sum of our thoughts
is our parallel December,
moving like a swordfish
under such inclement weather
We are but lonely beings when the wind comes,
to give us feathers
Less than the sum of a soul
is our parallel December,
cradled like an acorn
in such a deep and dark forever
We are but children sleeping when the wind comes,
to say, remember
More than the sum of our coins
is our parallel December,
crouching like a lioness
a tawny, starving mother
**An excerpt from a may-soon-to-be-novel that lives in my mind, and has for some time.**
I was stuck on this for the longest time. Until one night, when I was supposed to be sleeping, the prologue came to me, and it worked out many of the glitches (many, not all, I discovered another one last night).
**Before I start I want to ask that you please, please don't make your comments into a debate. Just keep it friendly and respectful. Etc.**
In regular school, this feeling I'm having right now was very familiar. Sweating palms, pounding heartbeat, a kind of rush in the ears that after a few minutes I realize is the sound of my own heavy breathing. This happens whenever I am a combination of scared and impassioned, when I find that I must raise my hand and say, No, this is wrong! And then, class would end and I would turn to writing as my outlet.
Rest in peace, little one
Rest in peace
Your troubles are over, little one
Rest in peace
You looked death in the face
Little one
And did not flinch
Pain
Oh, the pain you endured
All because of your love,
Little one
Be not afraid
They talk of justice, little one
They talk of peace
But who, little one, noticed
When you suffered?
Pray, little one
You are safe now