Winter

Composed 11/29/11
Description: This is a poem I wrote several years ago; though, it is  one that continues to be relevant to me. I saved posting it until now (for obvious reasons).

It’s not summer when I miss you
When the sun is warm on my skin
And shining
And there’s running
And laughter
And fresh water
Splashing against my face

It’s winter
When snow falls and we bundle up
Eager for warmth
Eager to cling to each other
To sit by the fire
And hold deep conversations
While drinking hot chocolate

That is when I look up
To the sky and wonder
Where you are

It’s winter when I long for
The exhilarating rush of
The frigid wind whipping my cheeks and
Laughter as we crash
Rolling around in the snow

It’s winter
When we are thankful for each other
And eager to please others
To love
And be loved

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Knowing

Composed 4/‎‎22/11
Description: One of my old favorites, probably because of its subject matter, which is still as relevant today as it was two years ago (and will undoubtedly remain relevant for awhile longer).

How do you know?
A look?
A smile?
Or is one only sure
After talking awhile?

Is it a physical chemistry?
Mental stimulation?
How he acts in
Various situations?

Is it a mathematical mix;
A list of compatible traits?
Simply liking the same things?
Enjoyable dates?

I’m starting to think
I’ll never know
Or maybe I just need
To develop, grow
Learn what I want
Or what I need
A man who can laugh
Who has goals to succeed
A man with intelligence
And humility
A passion for life
And eventually me

Honesty’s important
As is commitment and trust
But how will I know he has this,
Or even tell love from lust?

Can you ever know?
Or do we just guess?
Ah! Love!
It’s too much stress.

Unfortunate Reality

Composed Summer 2012
Description: I scribbled the majority of this poem down on a scrap piece of paper while I was working in an office last summer. It was just one of those times when I was (randomly) hit with these feelings (feelings, strangely enough, that would come up again, more fiercely, a little less than a year later). I lost the paper and for the most part forgot about it until I found it today. I edited the original and added a much needed last verse this evening. Enjoy!

Sometimes I think about running back to you
But the past always makes me change my mind
And yet I can’t help it on these bitter lonely nights
I think about your laughter and I smile

We really had it good there for awhile
Though you might not see as well as me
You sang and we laughed on your old van’s worn-out seats
Even now I could tell you anything

And then I have to break out of my daydreams
And remember why our love can never be
Even though I care for you and yearn for your embrace
You will never feel so strongly about me

Some Advice

Composed around 2009/2010
Description: Another oldie. Different from my usual style; though, I am still entertained by this one…

Never ever use a bathroom with a window. It may just be the last thing you ever do.

Don’t believe me? Ask my uncle. He’s dead.

I mean, when you think about it, what better time is there to kill someone? They’re distracted, vulnerable. And I’ve never known anyone to carry a gun or a Kevlar vest with them to the bathroom.

I dated a girl who took a dagger with her once, but I’ve dated a lot of weird chicks.

Anyway, in my opinion, the guy who started the trend was pretty clever. Besides the vulnerability, there’s also the fact that there is usually only one person in the bathroom at a time. Granted, you‘ll get some frisky newlyweds or old bickering couples, but the point is that at least once a day the target will be alone in the bathroom in a vulnerable situation, lulled into a false sense of security. And if you’re a decent sniper it’s not too hard to find a spot to sit and wait. Or, if poison is more your style, the window probably isn’t locked, and it will be simple to slip in there right before your target hits the restroom and spike their toothpaste or gas the place.

So don’t ever buy a house with a bathroom window. If you’ve already got one, first off, congratulations on surviving this long, and, secondly, take my advice and replace the old window with some bulletproof glass while you’re ahead.

Paranoid? Maybe. But, hey: tell that to my uncle. Putting a window in the bathroom was not a smart idea on his part. Of course, maybe the real moral of this story is don’t have an affair, especially if your wife knows a good hit man.

I really felt bad when Uncle Cameron died, but Aunt Becky paid ten grand in cash.

Arlo

Composed 1/4/11
Description: A little piece I was inspired to write after seeing this picture.

It is in the region of the Egova in which this tale takes place.  There it is said that the spirits once lived, for the deep slopes of the hills and mountains are cut into hundreds of tiny stair steps which lead to grand, smooth plateaus.   The plateaus are said to be where the houses of the spirits rested for thousands of years until these spirits, exasperated with humanity, destroyed their earthen residences and disappeared into the heavens – a world they created in which they could be alone and truly rest in peace.

However, it was rumored that some spirits stayed behind in Egova.  These few had grown so attached to this place that they would not leave; instead they vowed to stay on Earth forever, to watch over and protect the land.  The Great Spirit, who created the heavens and the earth, looked favorably on these few and blessed them with powers similar to his own.  This way they could protect the earth during his absence.

Humans moved into the mountains once the spirits left, building small settlements directly into the ancient stairways.  In these first days, many villagers witnessed ghostly forms strolling in the distance, circling the communities.  Frightened by this, they built shrines for the spirits to show their good intentions.  The visions then stopped.  However, the villagers kept a wide birth from these shrines, arriving only once a year to tend to the shrines and present gifts to the spirits.  Disturbing a spirit’s shrine on any other day was considered bad luck – not only for the individual, but for all the people of the mountain.

Spirit sightings had been rare since those first days.  Only a certain few had witnessed bizarre or extraordinary events, things that could only be explained as the work of a spirit.  Miraculous healings, massive, destructive fires… Both were considered signs of favor or disapproval of the spirits, respectively.

But seeing a tangible form of a spirit was rarely heard off.  What they looked like was only known because of myths, and even they were contradictory.  Some believed they possessed human-like forms, while others claimed they took form as animals.

Nevertheless, as the years passed, villagers continued to pay homage to the shrines; though, stories of spirits were always told in past tense, as if the species had died off long ago…

Snapshot

Composed 1-3/2010
Description: This is a piece I wrote for a creative writing class my senior year of high school. I loved that class, and this was by far the favorite thing I wrote for it. This piece was a practice in describing scenery. We were to pick a time period and location, do research on it (including clothing, games of the time, etc.), and describe an accurate “scene” from that time period using the elements we researched. So, while it lacks much of a plot, remember: the point of it was to depict an accurate, vivid atmosphere of the time period/location. It’s something you might see at the beginning of a chapter. It must have made an impression on me, as I would go to join swing club my sophomore year in college and become an avid swing dancer.. and next year I’ll be the president of the swing club!

It seemed appropriate to post it today: the day of my university’s spring swing dance!

This piece had the privilege of being published in the 2010 Spring Edition of Anderson University’s Literary Arts Magazine.

Shadowed by the high walls of the alley they waited, huddled around the door as if to fight off the night’s wintry chill. For many tense minutes they spoke only in muted whispers, but soon an excited murmur rippled through the dense crowd as the guard finally permitted entrance. Both music and light leaked out through the crack of the open door, and, jittery with excitement, each guest shouldered and squeezed his way to the front.

The wooden dance floor teemed with young men and women. Had it not been for the vibrant pinks and blues of the ladies’ dresses, however, all would have faded into the darkness behind veils of gray smoke. Light burst forth, yet, from the stage, where a dribble of sweat sparkled briefly before slipping down the deep brown skin of a trumpet player’s brow. The saxophonist, drummer, and pianist too suffered from the heat of bright lights and a snug stage; though, they continued to pierce the air with the clear, high riffs and syncopated beats thousands had come to love due to the popularity of the radio.

Below the stage, mini rainbows formed as the ladies spun in their colorful skirts. Their parents would have shunned their exposed knees and collarbones, but the young women only laughed as their partners joined them in the Charleston or swung them up into the air in the more daring Lindy hop. The way their bodies smoothly flowed from one position to the other gave one the impression of flying and inspired daydreams of Charles Lindbergh’s recent solo flight over the Atlantic Ocean.

Cursed

Composed: 11/21/07
Description: I will periodically interrupt this mass of poetry with a series of (unrelated) short stories that I have written over the years, starting from a very long time ago. I’ve labeled this as being composed roughly November 2007, but in all honestly it is probably much older than that. This is simply the day I posted it on DeviantArt, and it was old then.

So here we are then, with a pre-high school piece. It reveals a lot about me at that time, I think (and not just by how much my writing has changed/improved). Firstly, this piece was inspired by a RPG I used to be a part of, and that basically tells the story of how I got writing; I was a roleplayer-turned-writer. Fortunately, the people who ran the RPs I was a part of had standards, so I actually learned a TON. I honestly would not write nearly as well without their guidance, especially when it came to creating realistic characters. This piece also gives you a clue into WHAT I enjoyed writing about: fantasy. And specifically angels and demons.

This piece is probably the best standalone piece of writing I did during that time period; it was the only one I do not TOTALLY cringe at while reading. So it’s significant by being the only “old” piece of writing that I like and have kept.

Anyway, onto the piece. In this fantasy RP one could choose to audition for one of the seven deadly sins. Meanwhile, my character was a royal who would have been significantly targeted had the RP thrived. I always thought it would be interesting to see how she would react if tested by one.

And alas, this piece was born. (Ezra, whom she mentions, is her guardian angel.)

She slipped the spoon delicately between her fingers before she dipped it into the gooey dessert, meanwhile observing her bowl with faint interest. It was a fine looking conclusion to the meal – a creamy white pudding with thin swirls of deep brown mixed within. On the top of the mixture tiny crumbles of another flavor were sprinkled, probably some kind of caramel as the dark tan color suggested. The smell was pleasing as well; the sweet vanilla mixed with the other two flavors to create a faintly warm but rich scent that made the young woman’s stomach ache in approval. A kind, serene smile on her lips, the young woman nodded to the maid in thanks. She then brought the spoon to her pink lips and let the gooey combination ooze into her mouth.

Ah! It was so delicious! The pudding was the most amazing thing she had ever tasted. Every amount of flavor was perfectly balanced, the texture smooth and pleasing to her tongue, ah… everything so rich, but not overly so… Just marvelous. The young woman let her tongue slip over her lips once the spoonful was swallowed, savoring the amazing taste. The spoon was stuck into the pudding again, this time bringing out more of the dish. The young woman let the sweet taste rush over inside her mouth again, and she quietly moaned in pleasure. The taste sent a shiver down her spine… Oh! She had to have more!