The Punishment

Three pairs of hands
forever playing
that invisible game.

They knew the risk
yet played anyway
and this is what it cost.

Set out for an example,
the morbid sight warns
all others who may be
tempted to do the same.

Never again will they feel
with their fingertips;
hold what they love
in their hands.

This is the punishment.
Be careful not to fall
to the same fate.

*Inspired by "Church" By Emily Williams

Dark Guardian

She stands in the corner,
Cloaked in darkness.
Inviting is her appearance
with eyes downcast
and open arms.

But the darkness
overpowers all.
The exploding lights
bring chaos.
Where is the peace
her presence seems to promise?

*Inspired by "Guardian" By Carrolin Jackson

There is a divide

Between what is seen
and what you feel
when you reach the other side
there is a divide.

There is beauty in the view
from that window in front of you.
But something is holding you back
from crossing the divide.

If only you could see
how glorious the other side is
if you would only take a chance
and step over the divide.

Enter and do not look back.

*Inspired by "Van Gogh's Irises" by Emily Friesen

Run

You must run;
Run far from here
if you know
what is good for you.
Even if you don't,
please listen to me.
You are dying;
surely you see it.
Save yourself.

Narrative Poem (*Needs Title*)

He chattered constantly as we descended
on the moving stairs
It was a normal day at the shopping centre
Or so we all thought.
"Ow ow ow"
He began to cry,
and I slowly turned
my attention to him.
What could it be
this time?
Probably nothing
I thought as I went to turn
back away.
But no.
His foot was
trapped.
I couldn't pull him
out
no matter how hard I tried.
Others rushed to
help
as well.
Over an
hour
passed,
though it seemed like more.
Finally,
with much help
he was free.
I wipe my eyes
and sigh.

The Cup of Jesus

The cup is full;
Drink.
Many have,
but even now,
it is still full.
Waiting
for you.

First Draft of a Sonnet

The sky was bright with hope and peace for years
It seemed that all was well with everything
So tiny, insignificant were fears
And all events gave a reason to sing.

 But then darkness came; with sadness and fear

Though no one knew why this was happening.

The joy that once was, was no longer here.
But hope was soon to come like the new spring.

The hope that came was most unexpected

Who would have thought a mechanical wave?

Sneaking out of the dark, unsuspected
This hope is often the thing that will save

 So many things are not the same

But it’s better now than when we came.

Easter Lilies

Silent trumpets lift
their delicate heads to
the heavens.
A soft breeze
makes them seem
to share in
awe
and wonder
of the Risen Glory.

Tears (revision 1)

Thin, wet
trails
leave transparent
marks
on cold,
dry skin.

A Locked Door

The door is locked

Where is the key?

She keeps it hidden

So no one can see.

Its existence forgotten

Until one day

Something strange happened

But she knew not what to say.

Tears and rain

She is crying
The sky is crying too
Rain mixes
With the tears on her cheeks
Neither knows the reason
Why?
There is no answer

The cracks
continue to get larger
and more abundant
By the time it
shatters
will it be
empty
or
will it explode,
spilling everywhere
with still no
hope
of going back

Harsh lights
Blinding
a small, sharp pain
suddenly
relief
But not for long

darkness
silence
only breathing
Then
The noise:
An email.
It is 1:00 AM

Branches

Frozen, bony fingers
Reaching,
Scraping,
Never quite grasping
anything
at all

Falling.
Slowly.
Now falling faster
Covering the sorrows of yesterday,
but also
hiding
the joys
of the past

Many layers
of silk,
twirling.
Joy
in the air
All else
forgotten
for just
a single moment.

Tears

Thin, wet
trails
leave barely
visible
marks
On cold,
dry skin.

Snow

Silent
in the night air
But not so
under feet.

Life and love

Marry for money
They say
And your life is
Good.
But what good is life
Without something
to work for.
Work for love
They say.
But what is life
if love is not
first.

Memories of a Notebook

I remember using this notebook last year. It was my Biology lab notebook. I never thought I'd say that I miss it...but I kind of do. I don't miss the work-it was difficult most of the time, and sometimes I wonder how I passed the class...but the atmosphere...yes, I miss that. I miss Mrs. Blanchard somehow making the material seem interesting and the many times she would get sidetracked by the class-especially Areli. Like that time when she told everyone in the room what kind of car she thought they'd be driving in the future. To me, she said I would be driving a Lexus. And be married to a rich doctor. I really have no idea what car I'll be driving. Probably not a Lexus. Married to a rich doctor? A medical doctor? No, thank you. I would find that really weird. And I'm not marrying someone just because they're rich. That's dumb. But hey, if Justin somehow ends up getting his doctorate degree, then she could very well have successfully predicted at least part of my future. (Can you get a doctorate for Engineering? (is that was a Ph.D. is, or is that something different?) Haha wow...I really don't know very much...)
I remember doing a seed-counting lab with Justin as my lab partner and being so careful to try to make sure I didn't touch his hands while handing him the seeds. I wonder if I would do that now....It's very likely; distractions have no place in science.
Oh, and the time Mrs. Blanchard told us that people who are attracted to each other generally will have the same size lips and their eyes will be about the same distance apart. Because science. After that, Areli took some time to stare at us, trying to figure out if the theory working in our case. Does it? I don't know, but that would be based on physical/aesthetic attraction....and it's so much more than that for me. It started with Star Wars and physics. But that's a story for a different time.

Icicles

Like frozen daggers
They hang
Dripping in their own blood

Icicles

Icicles. I knew they were there, but hadn't thought about them until Maria said something. And even then, I only glanced quickly to notice them again. But upon returning to my room after dinner, I stopped to appreciate them. I even snapped a picture. They are a beautiful thing, yet they are cold and potentially dangerous. Icy water drips like blood from the tip of a cruel dagger.

Waffles

When we eat waffles at home, my dad always makes them. There is a waffle iron here in the dining hall always available for use. I used it only once, last September or maybe October. It has a loud "beep" to signal that the waffle you are trying to make yourself is finished cooking-though that is not always the case...they often get stuck to the top half of the waffle iron. I do enjoy eating waffles, so you may wonder why I never eat them here. After all, having something that I enjoy for a meal would give me something nice for a bit, would it not? perhaps, but waffles are special. they are a family thing, and so eating them here seems wrong. so I don't, that way I have another thing to look forward to when I go home. Also, the syrup here is the artificial kind-which I acutllay used to like better than real maple syrup, but now I miss the real stuff. At home, we always have pure maple syrup because that's what my dad loves. My sister and I used to wish we had the artificial syrup, but now I am perfectly happy with what we get.
(Thanks to my best friend for the inspiration for this)

My writing plan

The best times for me to write are probably in the morning when I wake up and before I go to bed. This is when I have the most time to do it without worrying about much else. Each time will be about 15-20 minutes. The exact time I write may vary depending on my schedule. The majority of the writing will probably happen in my dorm room on my bed, though if I am other places around the time I should write and get inspiration, I will do it there instead. Tools: Pen (most likely black), lined paper, bed, blanket, lights/open window. To avoid distractions, I will set aside my computer and make sure there is the least amount of noise possible. If the situation calls for it, I will find music to help me concentrate, though not usually since I am generally distracted from writing when I listen to music.

Descriptive Paragraph assignment - 3 February

Numbers. So many numbers. They are blue, green, and black. They all represent something. Standing out against the white surface of the dry-erase board, they create a pattern. "24, 25, 26, 27..." read the blue numbers. Their purpose is obvious: they are the date. "27, 26, 25, 24..." counter the green numbers in the opposite corner of the tiny boxes. These are the days until Spring Break (which isn't really spring...). In the centre of each box is a large, black number. "101, 100, 99, 98..." The days left until I go home for the summer. These small, colourful numbers are what give me hope each day.

Numbers
So many numbers
Blue, green, black
All representing something
Standing out
against the white surface
they create a pattern:

24, 25, 26, 27...
read the blue numbers.
They are the date.

27, 26, 25, 24...
counter the green numbers
in the opposite corner
of each tiny box.
These are the days 'til
Spring Break.

A large black number sits
in the centre of each box.
101, 100, 99, 98...
The days until summer
allows us to be free.

These small numbers
continue to give hope
as each day passes.

Welcome

I am Victoria, also known as Elf in many places on the internet. This blog has been made for my college poetry class for posting my poems in order for my professor to see them.

Here are my current thoughts and views on poetry, written on the first day of class:
Poetry is writing, usually formatted differently than other things such as novels or essays. It's often thought of as columns of text that rhyme, but it can be written without rhyme. Sometimes poetry follows specific "rules" and other times it is free-verse. To me, poetry is something that is beautiful in some way or another, but often difficult to understand. Many times there is a hidden meaning. Poetry can be a great way to express your thoughts and feelings creatively, either in a cryptic manner, or a shockingly straightforward way. It is often seen as romantic.
Although I do not always enjoy poetry, I am usually somehow fascinated with it and seem to think of it as more artistic than many other writings.

Previous poems and other writings, as well as some art, can be found here.