Poetry Collection

This is the poetry collection I turned in for my Creative Writing Course. Read it and forget it, if you like. Don't read it, and forget about it. Or, you can read it and tell me what you think...or not. Whatever you like.

insecurity
When you read my anxious words,
Will you think that I’m a nerd?
Will you say, “Is that all?”
Heaven knows, I am quite small.
Will you like the way I rhyme,
Or will you think it’s a waste of time?
Will you think that I’m too shallow?
I can’t help my being callow.
Will you enjoy my simple lines,
Or will you deplore my simple mind?
When you’ve read me wall-to-wall,
Will you remember me at all?

Nouvelle Auteur
There once was a girl liked to read,
She devoured great books with great speed.
‘Til one day she parted
From books ‘cause she started
To write them instead of to read.

Look
Forty-two feet away
In a mob of people, a mall of faces,
One couple stands out, walking hand-in-hand.
At first glance they seem like a normal couple,
But something invites the eye to take a closer look.

Thirty feet away
One speaks, one is silent.
I see her lips move, but her words don’t reach me.
Perhaps she talks of nothing, something, everything.
But that’s not why I look.

Twenty-six feet away
He nods absently at her words,
His ears are clear, but I don’t think he’s listening.
All he can hear is the rich sound of her voice.
Perhaps that’s why I look.

Ten feet away
His arm slips ‘round her waist,
I can see his face in the shifting light,
My breath hitches in my throat;
This is why I’m looking.

Seven feet away
I now see his face with startling clarity;
Shining through it is his heart, brimming with contentment.
Nothing else matters to him but this moment,
This shining moment. With her at his side, his life is perfect.
Does she know?

Five feet away
They pass a glassy storefront;
Her head turns briefly and she sees his reflection.
Her lips pause and then fold into a soft smile
As she sinks into his embrace.
She knows.

Two feet away
This is what I was meant to see:
Two people realizing the value of what they possess,
A small, bright world of light protected in the shelter of their arms,
A thing too rare and precious to let go.

Three feet past
Two people pass me by;
Both are silent.

Fred
You’re making me angry, Fred.
I need these pages by tomorrow, Fred.
Just print them and I’ll go away.
How hard is it to print on two sides?
I thought all printers could do that.
Apparently not.
Fred, get it right.
I don’t want page 7 on the back of page 3.
No, Fred, printing a blank page isn’t any better.
Fred, I’m warning you…
I’m trying to save ink, Fred,
And you’re wasting paper.
Just print, please, Fred!
Do it right or I swear I’ll throw you out.
What’d she just say?
Ok, she’s right, I won’t.
I never throw anything away.
But Fred, get it right, or I swear…
Fine! One-by-one, we’ll take our time.
It’s not like I have a lot to do tonight.
Oh, wait, I DO, so just print!
Finally!
Thank you, Fred.
Can I call you Fred? How about George?
Do you like that better?
Fine, ignore me, power off.
We’ll talk later.

-A tale in three parts-

1. Choices
There once was a girl who couldn’t choose
Which language she wanted to use
Instead of a decision
She made it her mission
To use indecision as her muse.

2. Respuesta:
Había una niña que amaba
La lengua español y la tomaba.
Mais aujourd’hui elle veut
Parler le français surtout.
Y mañana no sé que ella hablará.1

3. This just in:
There once was a girl who had spare time,
Which she spent on a bilingual rhyme.
She forced it a bit
To make it all fit
But she hopes you forgive her that crime.

...Which Way?...
On no particular day, in no particular place,
Two strangers crossed paths in the street.
The girl was quite late, and quickened her pace;
The poor boy was lost and quite near defeat.

Asked the boy of the girl, address in hand,
“Can you tell me how to get from here to there?”
Said the girl to the boy, after a quick scan,
“I can tell you how to get from here to there.”

His destination she double-checked,
And drew a map in her head.
When the full path she could project,
She turned to the boy and said,

“Up Street A you must progress,
And then turn onto Street B-”
“Pardon me,” he asked in some distress,
“But which way onto Street B?”

‘Oh, dear,’ thought she, ‘which way indeed?’
That question was always a bother.
Was it toward the hand to write with she needed,
Or was it, perhaps, toward the other?

Raising her arms, she imagined taking that route,
In the direction of the turn, she put forth the appropriate hand.
That it was the hand she wrote with, she had no doubt,
And whether or not she could name it, she had to take a stand:

“You turn right onto Street B,
And pass Diner 1, Gas Station 2, and Hotel 3.
When you’ve passed by the third tree,
You have to make a turn onto Street C-”

“Which way onto Street C?”
Came the exasperated query.
The answer refused to come freely
Although she knew she was making him weary.


Again she pictured herself taking that path,
Letting her hands turn an imaginary wheel.
It was in the direction of the hand she didn’t write with,
Although she still couldn’t name it at will.

Embarrassed, she turned to her side for a brief spell.
On both hands, she extended her first finger and thumb.
It was in the direction of the one that made the shape of an ‘L,”
And at length she was able to answer, although she felt quite dumb.

“You turn left onto Street C,
And continue past Theater 4.
Once you pass the marquee,
Your destination will be on your...”

Once more her words paused in their flow,
Confusion paining her sight.
“It will be on your left. Wait, no!
Yes. No! It will be on your right.”

Her stumbling directions assigned,
He thanked her for her time,
And then presumably went off to find
Someone with reason, and not just rhyme.

When his form was a blur,
She let her frustration show.
Why it was so hard for her,
She just didn’t know.

Shrugging it off, she tried not to despair.
Her eyes on her feet and the ground below,
She didn’t notice it until she was already there:
A fork in the road; now which way did she go?

She fretted for a moment, and then a light came on overhead.
Thrusting a hand into her pocket, she pulled out a paper and read:
“At the fork in the road, turn left; the garden is just out of sight.”
Relieved, she tucked the paper away, and then promptly turned right.