Old Poems

Jul. 21st, 2009 10:53 pm
vorpal: Illustration of Alice from Alice in Wonderland putting on a crown (Default)
The Effect

One look and I
shatter into
a million pieces.
No need to try
to pick myself up;
it would only be in vain.
Lips tremble as
words pour out
like a waterfall
with no direction.

One smile and I
melt into an
unrecognizable lump
of wax and
adoring eyeballs
staring up at you
as you gather me
and hold me close
against the heartbeat
that keeps mine beating.


My name is Procrastination.
My best friend is Never On Time.
My days are spent in sleeping
And my nights are all out of line.
My bed is much too comfortable.
My desk is not comfortable enough.
The stairs are much too long
And the ground is much too rough.
My life drags on too slowly
Sometimes I think I should change.
But then I think I'd have to get up
And that would be insane.

(c) Alyssa H. 2009
vorpal: Stock image of a sugar maple in autumn (autumn tree)
Originally posted at my LiveJournal on April 5, 2008.

Going home from work the other day, a pretty 70-degree day when everyone was outside trying to enjoy the weather while it lasted or get one good lawn mowing in before the spring rain started up again, I had my window rolled down and could smell the fresh green grass. I breathed in deeply, over and over again, trying to keep the scent from escaping my nostrils. It reminded me of my childhood...

I used to play outside in the springtime with my cousins, Ryan and Darin, who were also my best friends. It didn't matter whether we were at my house or theirs because both places were home and both had huge, expansive yards. The scent of grass was always prominent. We'd go on adventures upon adventures -- whatever we could think up. Our tree house was a spaceship, taking us to a different planet each time we descended the ladder. The fort we built in the woods was a hideout from our enemies or a shelter for our expedition. One spring, a tornado blew through our backyard and felled a tree. That huge, fallen tree provided a perfect hideaway for "secret meetings" beneath its branches.

We'd climb trees, dig our hands into the earth, run through weeds and brambles, and go back inside a mess of pine sap, dirt, and scratches. We'd take baths, down glasses of chocolate milk in just a few gulps, and dream of a new day outside until the sun rose again.

Rainy days meant forlorn faces staring out windows, hoping against hope that the downpour would let up. We'd occupy ourselves with video games and comic books or attempt to have our adventures inside the house, much to our parents' dismay. No day spent fully inside was as satisfactory as one surrounded and nurtured by nature.

That was my childhood, and that's what the smell of grass reminds me of. As long as green grass grows, I'll always have those memories.

January 2012

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