Period 1 Ranga piece

Hidden in the caves
Of our body,
The creases
Of our minds,
It sits and waits
for something -
anything.

It waits to be known,
to be remembered.
It collects dust on its
rough skin and still
is not recognized
by the home it lives in.

When do we learn to learn ourselves?
Each heart is a textbook -
or rather, a handmade anthology of poems.

They are contained in a library
of 6 billion. We wait to be taken home
and read cover to cover. Yet in a world
where reading is scarce,
what are the 6 billion to do?

Wait -
Wait for the right page to be turned
signaling you that it's time.
Time to become free of fear,
Time to be yourself.

But what a sense that is -
To be rid of fear!
It can no longer rule our lives at that point -
We will fearlessly chose for ourselves.

What makes us so afraid of ourselves?
Maybe we are really just afraid of our hearts,
Not just our actions.

Tonight

 Say goodbye

to the day –

it was only a day anyway.

we have tonight,

with the moon –

remember?

Don’t close your eyes yet;

the crickets have just started singing

and the stars have brought out their best

just for you.

Say hello

to the whisper of the night,

the chill of the air;

the fireflies were waiting

for you –

remember?

Run barefoot in the dew-drop grass,

forget about the sun and her stress –

this is tonight,

not today.

A Visit in the Night

   The young girl breathed deeply in her sleep. The white-bearded man placed the doll at her side.
    "Who are you?" She was awake.
   "Shh! Go back to sleep." He finished eating and climbed into the chimney. The girl scurried to the window to watch him fly away into the snow-speckled sky.

Distraction - 55 Fiction

The clock chimed once. Twice. Three more times, taunting her. Tick-tock. A drip of sweat, rolling down her temple - distraction. A tap of a pen - distraction. The buzz of the heater - more and more interruption. Tick-tock. She dropped her pencil. It echoed as it hit the floor.
   "Time's up," the teacher said.

5 Ways of Looking at a Tree

I. The stepping stone

Of imagination;

The two children

Seeing how close they can get

To touching the clouds.

II. The resource required

For warmth;

The breaking down of beauty

For comfort.

III. The symbol of love;

Holding the engraved heart

On its trunk,

The initials of the two young people

In love for the first time.

IV. The hands of nature

Showing us

What it can do.

Showing us

To reach up for life.

V. The old man

Leaning against his tree,

Their tree.

His finger hovering

Over the weathered heart;

Worn down,

But still visible.

Sense the Music

Speak the language

Of a saxophone - 

Pure and golden, 

A glimpse

Of a much-needed rainstorm

In a land

Clouded by drought.

Listen to the flute - 

The enchanting tune

Filled with twinkles of beauty

And innocence.

The notes falling from the speaker

As the autumn leaves do in October.

Taste the soul

On your tongue,

The passion bursting with flavor;

Savor the belief,

The desire of hope,

The echo of the song

Still dancing throughout your thoughts

Even after the final note fades.

The Rain

A bucket filled with chalk

Sitting on the front porch

Of the old brick house

A bucket filled with utensils

Used to draw their life together.

Did he ever see

These pictures on the sidewalk,

The memories that they crafted together,

While scraping their knees 

And stinging their hands,

These works of art 

Losing their color?

Losing their love?

She noticed the clouds were falling

Faster than they normally do

Breaking up quicker

Erasing something they drew.

The rain ran down

With more speed than ever.

It washed away the glimmer of the stars

On that warm summer night,

The color of his eyes 

As blue-enameled as the sky,

The swirls of color-

The rainbows of
 sweet happiness and pure love.

Her heart,

Once strong and brave,

Now fragile and cracked.

The rain swept it away,

Away from his hurtful hands.