Beethoven

Here's another poem I wrote during class, I hope you like it!

Reality suspended,

Momentary silence,

Leading to tremendous crashing,

The dancers moving above the floor,

Bows in motion,

Body’s never ceasing movement,

Until…

Silence,

Reality returns,

They float gracefully back,

The fabric still moving,

To the current of the music,

Another crashing,

Dancers once again returning to the air,

All joy returning,

Faster,

Faster,

All move faster,

Call of musician to feet,

Not ceasing,

Energy rising and,

Finally,

Falling.

Something I wrote in Torrey the other day:

Grass Stains

Boys pretending to be men,

Stomping around in trousers too big,

Carrying on like they’re so in the know,

They make me laugh,

They make me smile,

Their innocence,

Their honesty,

Their love,

The only thing,

That gives these little men away,

Are the grass stains upon their knees,

To remind me they still play.

Here's a sample of a story I'm working on. I'd love to hear what you think!

A Modern Shakespeare

Scratch of quill upon parchment, ancient skill passed from generation to generation. Father to Son the skill and title of Scribe has been passed down in my family finally coming to rest upon my own shoulders. Sadly there are not Kings and Lords and Nobles to be employed by anymore. My father is now just a secretary for some political figure, which is still a scribe in some aspects. I just got lucky though, I’m the only child in the family but I’m also a girl, had I been born a century or less earlier I would have been completely overlooked and never learned the skill from my father. But enough about me. It is not my history that I am recording. I sat down here to record the tale of my dearest friend-a bright, happy man I met many years ago when I was the new kid on the block…

 The autumn air was sharp, the crunch of leaves upon the path under my feet made the most beautiful picture my soul had ever seen. Never had I experienced a true autumn day, in sunny San Diego I had missed out on seeing the turn of the season, Here in wild northern New York there was nothing familiar about the weather but I had never seen anything as beautiful so the homesickness I felt was dulled by the pure wonder of everything that surrounded me. There it was the bright red schoolhouse where I was to receive the rest of my basic education. I could hear the other children playing in the schoolyard before I could even distinguish them from the lush foliage that encased the play yard. I was thankful I had persuaded Mother to let me walk alone, since Grandma had taken me there many times during the summer I had been with my Grandparents. Grandma and Grandpa’s house was just down the road from the school, Grandma had told me so many stories of how she had been taught by the handsome school marm. In fact it was Grandma’s stories that first introduced me to the great playwright William Shakespeare. I had read everything he had ever written and often it was my observations of Shakespeare that filled my letters to Grandma. I wrote her often because she was my “kindred spirit” as Anne of Green Gables would have said. It was one of Grandma’s stories that made me walk straight into Charles Macarthur. I was so engrossed in my thoughts and Charles in his book that neither of us saw the other until we were both on the ground. Charles picked himself up and offered me a hand. I noticed the spine of his book bore the name Shakespeare; I apologized for my careless clumsiness He smiled and said that the fault was entirely his “being so caught in Shakespeare’s woodland as to forget his own duty to be alert.” I asked what piece of Shakespeare’s work he was reading; he answered simply “Midsummer Night’s Dream”.

Alrighty so now its really been forever but I'm gonna be posting some of the projects and such that I've been working on. Enjoy!

    Heart Song        

So much heartache,

So much heartbreak,

So much pain,

I think I’m just starting to feel numb,

No longer am I stunned,

Turn on the T.V. and all that I see is hurting,

I think I’m start to forget,

So tell me what is pain?

So much sadness,

So little joy,

I think I’ve forgotten what compassion is,

Why aren’t our hearts breaking?

Why don’t we feel for those who hurt?

Little babies dying silently,

Little children starving and cold,

Why don’t we hear their pleas?

Why do we turn a deaf ear, a blind eye?

Has compassion been completely left behind?

And I’m so lost in all this hurt,

I don’t know where to start or what to do,

So I drop to my knees and plead their case before the judge,

The almighty counselor,

The one who knows and sees them all,

I know he’ll hear and I know him to be just,

I don’t always like the ruling,

Sometimes I wonder why,

Why do innocent babies die?

Why do good and godly people get called home “too soon”?

I don’t have all the answers but I trust that,

When I drop to my knees and plead the case before the judge,

He’ll hear and I know he’ll be just.