I'm thinking of changing locations...

Blogger seems a bit outdated these days, is it just me? Anyway, I'm thinking of moving to some new digs. Tumblr has always been good to me, so I'm considering kind of switching everything here to there.

The hardest part (or, I guess, the biggest decision) for me would be deciding whether to repost everything here onto the new digs- not that that would be too hard, there's only like 23 posts already and not all poetry.

but it's not like anyone still reads this anyway lololol.

So yeah... just me talking to myself. NBD.

Tomorrow's Song

[Backstory: Jon Foreman, singer/songwriter for Switchfoot, challenged himself and his fans to each write a song of their own with the title “Tomorrow’s Song.” Here are the results of my last-minute efforts. ^_^ I also only wrote a couple verses and a chorus, so it’s definitely not a full song and it certainly needs polishing… but enough excuses. Here goes.]

Tomorrow’s Song

Verse 1
Teardrops resound in a melody
The haunting accompaniment
Torn from her grief-swollen eyes
The cruel refrain
A chorus of pain
The heartbreaking melody of today

Chorus
Maybe tomorrow’s song will be brighter
Tell me, is the journey ahead any lighter?
Everything’s wrong until hope comes along
A voice unexpected, I’m fighting to sing
To the music of tomorrow’s song

Verse 2
Heroes and saints, help me to hear
The beauty in dissonance, tell me again
Is it heaven or hell
The force that compels me
One lonely soul can’t sing this alone

So there, world.

I would write a poem
But the editor who lives
inside my head
won't let it out.

"This sentence
just sounds plain wrong.
The rhythm
is like a worn-out jeep.
And what a terrible
simile."

And that's why
I'm here to say
I can't write a poem
today.

Breakup: An Anecdote

Love means never
having to say
you're sorry.

So as he
walked out
he apologized.

Mosaic

This poem sounds way more melancholy than how I am currently feeling. But I felt like posting it now, so here goes. Not very edited nor my best poetry, but whatevs. ;)

Mosaic
Raindrops on the window
can collide, slide
down the window
together, merged in a graceful duet.
But a single strike
scatters, splits, strands.

In this mosaic,
patterns shift
drifting just out of reach
slipping away as you
set a finger on them.
When the picture is nearly
complete
Careless gusts destroy
progress, and the
process begins again.

A word count to make up for the past 8 months

Wow, it's been a while. I'm sorry I haven't posted in ages. I never really forgot about this blog; I just haven't been in a poetry writing mode for a while. So I may have lost all my readers... but that's okay. This blog is mostly here for my own benefit anyway. I'm not going to promise I'm going to start posting regularly again, because frankly I don't expect that to happen. But I will try to write poetry a bit more often... Today I wrote my first complete poem in *months*. I don't think I've written anything (poetry-wise) since I got to college. Sort of sad, but I've been having so many great experiences in the last almost 8 months that I don't regret it.

I'm re-reading some of my old poems right now. Not to sound conceited or anything, but my former self wrote some pretty good poems back in the day. Heh, to me that doesn't feel like bragging (although I'm sure it sounds like it to the rest of you) because it feels like such a different person wrote those poems. Just thinking about how far I've come... it seems a bit ridiculous just how much I've changed. A lot of that is, I'm sure, interior change, and maybe my old acquaintances from back home won't see those changes very much. But I know *I* can see them.

That's why I never deleted this blog, even though I remembered it and realized that I never posted in it anymore. No matter how much I change, I didn't want to forget all that I had come through to get to the point where I am now. High school kind of sucked for me. Actually, it sucks more in retrospect, if that makes any sense. At the time, I just got kind of used to the suckiness and went along with it, assuming I could never really improve in that situation. But now that I've been at college for 8 months and met some of the most amazing, funny, talented, kind, attractive (heh), caring, and genuine people around, I look back on my high school years and mentally cringe.

In fact, I never have really told any of my friends (even the awesome ones here at school) the "truth" about my high school years- how I had no close friends, except for ones who I had never met face-to-face (note: some of those people in the latter category are still some of my best friends); how the Christians I knew were often colder and less caring than the hardened atheists I knew; how I was probably way closer to depression at the time than I ever realized.

Those are probably the most honest sentences I have possibly ever written. The thing is, I am really insecure still and am afraid that people will write me off as a mental case when they read this, or think I'm just some loser who didn't have any friends in high school (which may or may not be true, I guess, depending on your point of view). There have been a few chances when a braver me might have told her new good friends about it- like telling my friends how my birthday will suck this year because it's right after I come home from school, and there are literally only one or two people back at home (outside of family) that I legitimately want to celebrate it with. But I still can't trust anyone- or rather, myself- enough to take that step. I've been hurt plenty of times, enough that when chances like that come, I would much rather retreat into myself and keep the old hurt inside rather than open up and possibly be rejected again.

Reading this, I *do* probably sound like a bit of a loser. :P It's like a part of me I feel like I can't shake. No matter how much I change, I'd never feel really close to anyone unless I shared this part of my life; on the other hand, I'm too protective of myself and my feelings to open up and let anyone in like that.

I doubt anyone who knows me personally (either at home or at school) reads this and/or has connected the dots as to my true identity. So at this point I feel like this blog is largely insignificant in regards to my relationship with others. But I am seriously considering posting a revised version of this on Facebook. I think it might be good for me to let go some of these emotions described above that I've kept bottled up inside. But on the other hand, I don't want to post something like this and then have people be like, "Whoa, TMI, why is this girl posting her life story on Facebook when I don't even care?" So I'll have to think about that a bit.

But in the meantime, this has been really useful. I totally wasn't planning to write over 800 words when I started this post. But sometimes the impromptu things are that much better than the planned ones?...

Anyway, I should be posting an actual poem pretty soon. Like I said, first one I've written in ages. And hopefully I won't go all school year without posting another one. Thank you to all who have read through this all... and even if you didn't, I'll never know, so hey! what does it matter?

God bless, all.
~Daisy

Little bird

When your silver song is drowned
By the roar of anger
or a rush of accusation
Sing out, little bird
Sing out.

If the headwind is strong
and your wings are weary
Duck your head
And sing out, little one
Sing out.

The rain hits like bullets
and the gale pierces like ice.
But dig deep for strength, push on
And sing out, dear one
Sing out.

This is practically poetry...

One of my recent favorite videos... it almost made me cry.

Pain

So I've been suffering writer's block, or maybe just plain un-inspiration lately, but I finally forced myself to write something. I hear that's the best cure, or first step towards a cure, for writer's block.
The inspiration for this one comes from a lot of places, I guess. I was listening to "Move Along" by the All-American Rejects today, so that's where a lot of it comes from, and it also just comes from those times where you're trying to get over something pretty painful- in my case, it's usually some hopeless crush that I know is going to go nowhere. While it hurts when you realize that and start trying to move past it, eventually you get to a point where you can turn around and realize it was for the better. :) Oh and PS, sorry if this isn't that great. I really just wrote this poem to get my creative juices flowing, and didn't give much time to critiquing or anything.

Pain (I'm not really feeling the creativity in this title here... sorry, haha.)

The hurt
is sharp
and strong.

Don’t stop
Just move
Push along

While it’s tough
And bitter
And real

These wounds
Will prove quick
To heal.

Just FYI

Hey everyone,
so it's been a while since I've posted on here... Truth be told, I've been pretty busy lately getting ready for college and whatnot. But I promise, I'll try to post again soon! I just wanted to make sure that you all knew this blog isn't dead (yet).
Hope you're all doing well!
"Daisy"

Dusk on the lake

During the retreat I mentioned in my last post, we leaders took our teens out on the dock and had some quiet time one night. It was really amazing, as was the whole camp, and the peaceful atmosphere was incredible. The hours after sunset are a pretty magical time, cheesy as that sounds. This poem just kind of turned out as the result of my observations of all the senses during this short time on the lake.

Dusk on the Lake

The lake is
a mirror of movement
as the deck
dips and sways.

The water is an
echo of light,
the windows casting
a liquid glow.

Guitar skims across the water
The whisper of wind
matches the murmer
of the shuffling bodies.

A highlight of white
is a chip on the dusty dark blue sky
bleeding lighter around the edges.

Flood

I was at a retreat this weekend for the Militia Immaculata. I've been a part of this camp for several years now, and this was my first year as a small group leader instead of a camper. Anyway, during the orientation for the leaders, we got a chance to have some prayer time with just us and the Lord. It was totally awesome, and my reflections sort of sparked this poem. (Keep in mind that I wrote this at 11:15 at night, and edited it while running on very few hours of sleep, so it may be a little odd.) ;)

Permeate me, Lord
Drown me in You.
Take away the old crud
and fill it with the New.

Seep through my veins
Inundate me
with the waves of Your grace
Your mercy, the Sea.

Make every move Yours
So I'm now just a part
of this Body of Christ
Let me follow Your heart.

Spinning

They say
The crazy people
don't know they are.

If I think I'm losing it,
does that mean
I'm not?

Rescuers

This is the final poem for my poetry class this year. (Hopefully that doesn't mean the last poem for this blog!) ;) It's a poem of gratitude, and it's addressed to you, dear Switchfoot boardie friends. :) I find it ironic that as I'm posting this, the song "Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own" by U2 came on my iTunes... appropriate!

Rescuers

When you found me,
I was underwater
Drowning
Crushed under the thick, blue, immovable
solitude.
Every rejection
Ignored speech
Snide look
Silence
Held me down like a vise.
The solid, black
alone
was my merciless prison
And no one would give me
the key.

Along came you
Thrusting a life preserver into my
Grasping hands
Pushing words
Where none existed
Turning the key
Opening my prison
My crutch, support, lifeline

Thank you.

(unnamed)

I just wrote this one on the spur of the moment. It's partially inspired by the song Love Is The Movement, partially by this quote from Jon Foreman:

Love is, as far as I can tell, the most mature response to any situation - the pinnacle of what it means to be truly human. Love is a wrench in the wheels of cause and effect, of reactionary living, of casual imitation. Yes, speed and events are all around us in the information age, but motion, true motion, is rare. Love is the movement. Keep moving, amigos.

Here's my poem:


I sit on the side of the highway
As the cars zip past.
Lives pass
Each one intent
Focused ahead
Eyes forward
Don’t look sideways
Don’t stop to breathe.

In a world of motion
We’re devoid of
emotion.
Our movement is
machine, metal, mechanical
iPod, iTouch
I think
we are losing touch with each other

On the side of the highway
One person pauses.
One movement,
the mindless,
stops.
Another
the movement of love
begins.
Make love your movement.

Urban Phantom

For last week's assignment, we had to write a poem based on a news story. You can read about it here. Basically this black bear was spotted roaming around the greater Seattle area, and eluded his trackers for quite a while! (I heard tonight on the news they finally caught him... it's been at least a week!)
Some phrases in this poem were borrowed from the original story, but it's mostly in my own words. (Part of the "point" of this assignment was to create a "found poem" from an old article, taking certain elements from the original source.) Enjoy!

Urban Phantom

Urban Phantom

Rummages through garbage
Scavenges for snacks
Lumbers over flower pots

Not your typical intruder
Fuzzy black bear
Spotted by joggers

Magnolia to Ballard to Shoreline
Where's he headed?

Pursued by police, dogs, wildlife experts
Urban Phantom gives them all the slip.

Just a Dime

Sorry it's been sooooo long since I last posted! I hope I didn't lose all my readers by being absent for so long. I was out of town for a while (playing at Carnegie Hall! no joke!), and I haven't had much time to write poetry lately. But here's an assignment from this week's class! We had to use some object as the basis of the poem, some object which was a symbol of something in our own life. Like if a certain flower had a special significance to you because your first boyfriend gave it to you or whatever. (haha I just made that example up.) Anyway, so your poem had to be about this object.
Anyway, this poem is about a dime which I picked up off the floor at the Fiction Family concert in February, the first time I met Jon Foreman. *heart flutters* ;) It's pretty self-explanatory, so read on!

Just a Dime

It’s just a dime
Ten cents only
Can’t buy anything with it
alone
It’s the smallest of its counterparts
Ten small cents
Ten years old
Dull and dim
So why is it
still sitting
on my dresser?

It’s not there for the
ten cents
But for
The memories

I spotted it lying
On the floor
As I waited to meet
My hero, favorite singer, musician
Anxious, looking for something to
Occupy my shaking hands
I pick it up,
fiddle with it,
slip it in my pocket.

Later that night, I pull it out again
Grin
And set it apart from
every other dime

Every day when I see that
Insignificant
miniscule coin
The memories flood back
I smile and
remember.

I'm alive (mostly)

Sorry I haven't posted anything in a few days. I've been inundated with school this week- we're about halfway through the quarter, so all my teachers decided to give us midterms/tests/speeches due this or the next week. Actually, the only class that didn't assign something was poetry- our teacher thought we'd be a little busy this time of year. So that's why I don't have anything to post currently! :) I've also been feeling a little writers-block-ish lately. Hopefully once this week passes I can write a little something more.

On the bus

I don't know why, but riding on the bus often inspires me to write poetry. Haha. Anyway, here is a piece written on the bus, somewhat appropriately about the bus. I don't really have a name for it... why not just:

On the bus

The modern-day dragon
lurches forward with a roar
Hisses and spits as it halts
Weaves through lesser vehicles

Inside, we clutch its ribs
as a jolt tosses us to
and fro
here and
there
His tennis racket hitting her pink
backpack
while the elderly man
clings to his ticket and his seat
like simultaneous lifelines.

Ding!
I thank the driver
and stumble off.

~~~~
My thoughts: I'm not sure how this worked out. I tried to kind of capture the feeling of riding a bus in words, breaking up the lines in different places and all that, but I don't know if it works or not. Your comments, please? :)

At Sea

This poetry class assignment was to base our poem on a photograph, beginning it with the phrase, "In this photograph, (the subject) is..." It also had to follow a 'real' form. :) This was kind of weird for me, because I'm not big on form when writing poetry (I'm not that creative!). Anyway, I decided to use a ballade form for this- three 8-line stanzas, and a 4-line "envoy."

I really enjoyed writing this. One, it's past 11 PM, and anything can be fun late at night. Haha. Also, I'm listening to Jon Foreman, always an uplifting experience. (Currently- the Winter EP, "White As Snow.") Thirdly, I adore my little brother. He is soooo cute! (click on the picture above and take a peek at his gorgeous face.) :D Spoiled to death, sure, but he is ADORABLE. Anyway. I hope you enjoy this poem a bit. :)

At Sea

In this photograph, my brother steers the ship
Hand over hand, navigating through surf and spray
He stands resolute on the deck
Feet (smaller than my hand) firmly planted
Socks irregular heights from the heat of combat
Tousled hair as the wind gusts
Eyes focused on the ship's wheel
Hand over hand, the fearless captain

Overhead, the clouds turn ashen
Blue is slowly being devoured
The sun still beats
Through a window in the heavens
Enough to take the sting off the breeze (no, the gale!)
The spritz the captain feels is the lawn sprinkler
But don't tell him that
Hand over hand, the stout leader

Moments before, he was cheering on his men
He dashes up the stairs
To guide the ship past yet another disaster
In his ears, cannons are roaring
Seagulls caw, debris splashes
A bullet whizzes past his ear
Unperturbed, he knows his duty
Hand over hand, the unyielding commander

You may see protective plastic
But he knows where he really is
The deck of a pirate ship
Hand over hand, my brother, the little sailor.