The Result of My Timidity

I gained a pinch of inspiration for Anne Marie Caughell's poem "The Girl With Death In Her Eyes."

I wrote this a little while ago and wasn't sure if I should post it because it was so sad. But I decided I would. It's sad, but there's truth in it, too.



I was looking in the mirror


And she looked back at me


A face with scars and blemishes


And unattractive deformities.


Turning away from the ugly sight


I saw you standing there.


Your jeans so dark and stylish


And your beautiful hair.


Your nails blinded me


With their brilliant shiny paint.


In contrast to my sinful self


You played the perfect saint.





I asked you for a couple tips


So I could be as pretty


You looked me up and down as if


I was so itty bitty.


"A touch of foundation there," you said.


"And there, and there, and there, and there."


You touched my ponytail with disgust,


"What product do you put in your hair?"


You caught my eye and held it tight


With a disapproving glance.


"Shampoo...and then I rinse it off."


You leaned back to distance us.





You listed lots of brand names


I'd never heard before.


But just at that moment I'd seen something


And I wasn't listening anymore.



It was on the chair you'd sat on,


I say it lying there.


A cell phone showed a text message

That I could barelly read from here.


"ur the wrst gf ever,"


I could barelly read all.


You reached up to fix my hair,


And I saw the marks of needles.


Now that I looked with sympathy


Upon your pretty face


I aw your foundation covered


A bruising on your face.



"You should part it down the middle..."

Was that what you said?



Your bracelet slipped down and I saw



Where you'd drawn your own blood.


"Thanks for the tips," I said




When you declared that was it.




"No problem, any time,"



You said and turned to leave.

I waved and flashed a smile

But inside was a nagging thought




"Stop her! You must help her!"




And I replied, "But...but."





You grabbed your cell as you walked passed



And headed for the door.





I'll never forgive myself




For not stopping you before.

It was a week later that I heard you were pregnant.

A week after that they found you dead.

Your tips were effective, thanks for helping me.

But I wish with all my heart, I had helped you instead.

Oh God please forgive me

For killing your daughter.

For by being a little timid,

I committed manslaughter.

I called you on the phone...

Some of you were having trouble commenting, but I think I fixed it! :)

The following is a little something I wrote for no particular reason other then passing the time. It doesn't really have any depth to it at all, but not all do of course. :)

September, 2011.

I called you on the phone
But you didn't pick it up.
I sent you an e-mail,
And you didn't reply.
I wrote you a letter,
And you sent it back.
So now I wanna know why!

I'm standing on your porch
And knockin' at your front door.
I've got you stuck and you
Cannot hide anymore
Cuz I saw your light
Turn off a moment before.

If you want this to end
Then come out here and finish.
You're not leaving again
As long as I'm here to
Bar your way until you
Come out so we can
Make the adequate amends.

If you wanna ignore me,
Sit on your couch and watch me
Through those dusty blinders,
You'll be watching for days
Cuz as long as you sit
That's as long as I'll stay.
Cuz I am never goin' away.

Don't Want No Second Hand Man

Aaaaaaan country...here we go!

I was eight when we first met.
He was laughin' with her on the big play set.
He asked me to come up and play with them, too;
My first thought was, "Boy, I'm gonna marry you!"
When he wanted to play house
She was his, though I wanted to be his spouse.
We met each day and it was always the same.
For the next ten years, she's be the one he'd claim.
I couldn't sleep each bed time
Cause I was begin' God one day he'd be mine.
Commencement day, I saw the ring on her hand.
It broke my heart cause he'd never be my man.
A week before they'd unite
She got in a car crash and abruptly died.
When he came to my door I was mistified;
Some how he thought I could replace his dead bride.
"You're second choice for my bride.
Now that she's dead, I'm askin' you to be mine.
I know you've always dreamed I would be your man."
He held out the ring that had been on her hand.
"Can't put women on no shelf
To be picked and choosed like you own them yourself.
Don't want no second-hand man, so in that case--"
I threw the ring back and closed the door in his face.

"May I have this next dance?"

This is just a short poem I wrote after a Winter Ball I went to. I don't know why I wrote it, either because I was very tired, or I was still mad at the gentlemen for abandoning me after a dance instead of escorting me to wherever I wanted to go (that always drove me crazy.)

Even though it's short and silly, and probably neither of us has actually experienced it, I want you to try to picture what it would be like. A large room. Music. Many people dancing. Your eye is just on one, and has been many years. However, he's never asked you to dance and you don't expect him to now. And then, he turns and looks you in the eye. He starts to walk towards you...


Ten years I'd been waiting for:
"May I have this next dance?"
And as he came across the dance floor,
I knew the moment had come at last.

"May I have this next dance, please?"
He might have said, "Be mine!"
"Of course you may," I said and squeezed
His hand that was held inside of mine.

Floating out on the dance floor,
The music filled the air.
Music I had loved so much before,
But right now, I didn't think to care.

And he danced with me that night,
Such a moment of joy
Ever printed on my mind. That sight
I wont ever forget till I die.

Then the lights dimmed and blacked out
The music was no more.
He smiled, and turned, and then went out.
Alone I watched, there on the dance floor.

Written December 14th, 2010

Remember the Tale of Bruno

I'd like to tell a little bit about this poem. The very first poem I wrote was called "The Warrior" (see profile at bottom of page). The poem told the story about a young warrior who did what was right even though it meant death, while every body else ran away. The poem itself was terrible, but I liked the message. So, several years later, I wrote a second poem. It is less obvious, but it has the same idea. "forbidden love," "sacrifice," and of course a bit of tragedy mixed in. As you read this poem, think about the theme. I know it's not very original. You've seen it in many action films, but it's still a little example of what Christ did on the cross. Think about that, okay?

And by the way, go ahead and fall in love with Bruno. It's okay. I already have.

Many tales have been told

By minstrels, old and young.

But have you heard that tale old

Of Bruno, yet been sung?

It is an ancient tale now

And known by very few.

If it pleases you to allow

I'll proceed in telling you.

Behold a man of bearing rough

That lived upon a farm;

His face was kind, but manner tough.

(Think not this be a yarn!)

Within his arms there dwelled a might

Unmatched by almost all,

And when they saw him, such a sight!

So righteous...and so tall!

The people called him Bruno,

Meaning 'good and quiet' both,

And when I finish, you will know

Of Bruno's love, and wrath.

Behold this Bruno had his eye

Upon a maiden fair,

And when she lightly passed him by,

He could but only stare!

But she, she had no love for him

Except as for a kin.

So Bruno had to hide his whim;

His heart, he kept it in.

But everybody knew of this--

Of Bruno's fervent love.

Yet pity on the heart of his!

There was another 'love.'

A wealthy count of Cristoph land

There was, not far away.

Behold the power in his hand,

The cruelty of his way!

The maiden's father was a man

Determined in his heart

That she should be a wealthy one,

Not to be set apart.

And so, despite his daughter's plea,

He vowed unto the count,

That maiden and he should marry...

In return for a large amount.

It hurt the maiden very much

To know that soon would she

Be married to that vile such:

A countess would she be!

And so that night, she cast her shawl

About her, and then went,

To see him that loved her more then all

With whom her youth was spent.

At Bruno's door there fell her knock,

Answering it he came.

To see her late was quite a shock,

But ever was he tame.

Then th maiden that Bruno loved

Told of her dreadful fate,

And on her knees, she crying beggen,

If it was yet too late.

"The villian!" cried our Bruno, roused,

His anger now awake.

"A duel! I'll crush him to the ground!"

He roared in a fiery quake.

The maiden, seeing his sudden rage,

Began to tell him, "Nay!"

But once aroused could not be caged

That Bruno's rightrous hate.

And so it was that Bruno did

To the Count message send,

And summoning him, Bruno bid

A duel, the next day's end.

At sunset on the dueling day,

The Count and Farmer met

To end a fight in a man's way,

Their lives to Fate did let.

At dropping of the cloth their came

The ring and shout of sword.

The two men fought, each one afamed,

A Farmer, and a Lord.

The men were equal, it was clear,

And still the battle fought.

Until the men began to wear,

And tiredness was wrought.

The maiden and her father watched

And with them was the town.

The breath of each was tensely caught,

Each mouth marked with a frown.

The ring of steel, not quite so fierce,

The night, so very late!

But death would very soon appear

In it's most cruel shape...

A shrill cry was heard from one man,

In the dark falling down.

The darkness deepened in the land

As blood dripped on the ground.

This man had given his your life

For chance of his lover

And though she's never be his wife,

She might not be another's!

Yet now he lay as dead as Seoul,

From earth, gone forever.

And with the parting of his soul

Rose the sobbing of her.

Remember the tale of Bruno

As this world you live in.

He gave his life for another

Knowing he couldn't win.

Rachel Lees's Song

If you've read even half of the poems I've written (not necessarily the ones in this blog) you'll find that they don't really make any sense at all if you really study them. An excellent example is "The Sunset's Breaking Of The Day." (I have not posted that one). Here's another one. It's not written to be realistic, or to tell a story. It's written to SUGGEST a previous reality. It is SUGGESTING a story. The story I leave to your own imagination to create.

By the way, this is actually a song, with the chorus repeated after each verse.

In the Wood of Rachel Lees
In the shadow of the leaves
In a clearing in the center
There is heard a moaning banter.

Oh song of moarning,
Song of death,
Sing of morning,
Sing of life!
Forget the sorrow of your love.
Recall the sun is shining above?

Through a mist of cloudy chants
Can be heard a hollow dance.
Through a haze of bell been wrung
We can see the Rachel sung.

Oh song of moarning,
Song of death,
Sing of morning,
Sing of life!
Forget the sorrow of your love.
Recall the sun is shining above?

Remorse, hate, guilt, sorrow
Can be felt to the marrow.
The fact is shivering in the leaves:
Mercy can't be found in Rachel Lees.

Oh song of moarning,
Song of death,
Sing of morning,
Sing of life!
Forget the sorrow of your love.
Recall the sun is shining above?

She never forgets, she never will miss
As long as her heart still sings of his.
She wont forget, even though it's over--
Feel it in the air, smell it in the clover.

Oh song of moarning,
Song of death,
Sing of morning,
Sing of life!
Forget the sorrow of your love.
Recall the sun is shining above?

He's been dead, and she is, too,
But she wont forget her rivaling foe.
She has remembered her enemies,
So you remember, Rachel Lees!

Worst Day of My Life

If you have read my other posts you will see that I tend to have a somewhat depressing theme in my stories. Here's a little more comedic poem, though I had to have a sad twist in it, too. :) This isn't a real story, by the way!!!

Enjoy.

Written February 13, 2011

This morning I woke up to

My dog had eaten my left shoe,

And in the fridge I beheld

My bread had grown a field of mold.

"Though I'll have no breakfast toast,

With scrambled eggs I'll make the most!"

Alas, I saw the shells broke,

And out popped peeping chicken folk.

I settled to some milk so sour.

No matter what, I would not glower!

I faced the day with glad words,

But I'd regret them afterwards...

The day turned out to be a

Day to scare any other day.

The bathroom flooded in the night:

The plummers bill was such a fright!

The oak out back fell over

And crushed the house to a smother.

Op'ning the mail with good will

I discovered it was all bills.

Headache came to pound away

So I tried to sleep away the day.

Day was stubborn as can be,

So in came the squirrel from the tree.

He thought mine should be his bed,

And I could have the cot instead.

Trying to argue, I found he was,

A territorial ball of fuzz.

So, this evening, now I write

About the worst day of my life.

When with Misery I played "Tag"

I've found "Base," in a sleeping bag.

Clarified

This can be interpretted in two ways. I leave it to your own imagination to decide one.
Written March 16, 2011


The shaking world around her thrashed
The blurring colors swayed.
She struggled to control her mind
Enough so she could pray.

Her dizzy mind felt light inside
As if to float away.
She clutched her head to keep it there,
Fighting to make it stay.

Above the swirling chaos of
Her life she saw a spot
Calm and still like a gentle lake,
A steady, measured thought.

She struggled to look up and see
That haven, far up there,
But flashes of confusion fought
Against her longing stare.

They held her down within the vale
Of colors, blurred and shot,
Refusing to comply with her,
So see that happy spot.

The more she struggled against it,
The more it pushed her down.
The light above was fading fast
As she pressed to the ground.

And then...a hand that touched her face
Puller her from the fury.
The mist around her cleared and took
Away the pain and weary.

She looked into the steady eyes
And light there shown above.
The world was clear and now made sense!
Life clarified by love.

"Farewell confusion, hate and guilt,
Farewell to broken hearts!
I put my hand in his and leave.
And Never Will We Part."

Presents Everywhere

The first time I wrote this was probably about two years ago, so it's an old one! However, I editted it recently. To tell the truth, I don't really know why I like it so much, but this is one of my favorite poems that I have written.

Editted February 13, 2011



The places are all empty;
The smiles gone away.
The presents are a plenty
Because it's Christmas day.

Where have the children gone?
Will they soon be back?
They left but only one,
The eldest of the flock.

The Christmas tree is waiting.
Lone, a figure there,
Stooped low, for he is crying.
There's presents everywhere!

All the children, gone away.
Their laughter is no more.
On this quiet Christmas day,
The children are no more.

For now they are all mothers
In their happy homes,
And they have left their father
Home alone. All alone.

The presents are around him;
The lights give no cheer.
Spreading round, but for just one
Are presents, everywhere.

His wife has long since passed away,
His daughters are gone.
All they left this Christmas day
Is presents for just one.

Heartbeat

When you read this, I'd like you to think about who the speaker is in the later words. Comment or send me a message on who you think it is and what you think they mean.

Heartbeat
by Esther Pillitiere
Written March 26, 2011

Frail creature, faint cries.
Scared to be exposed
for the first time.
All that matter is
The bright light and noise.
A stranger, without a name.
Then warm arms hold her close
Tell her she is loved.
The same arms that one day will pass her to her Beloved.

A stranger without a name.
Warm arms...
Ignorance...
Heartbeat.
Thump Thump. Thump Thump.

One day she'll be an Honor Student.
One day she'll go to college.
One day she'll marry
And have her own child.
She'll be a grandmum
With a happy life,
And then the beatings of
Her heart.will.stop.

But in between the moments
Of joy there will be tears
Of anger, strife, sadness and fear...


"You have a personality;
You have a beating heart.
You have a destiny
That starts
Right now.

Is it worth it
To live this life?
So many before you
Would tell you, 'No.'"

She has a happy mother
And already a brother.
A family with a responsible father.
She has yet to be named...

"I want my baby home.
I don't want her to suffer.
Her destiny doesn't have to be
Like all the others.
So skip the years of toil,
Of age, and hardship grim!
Become an immortal...
As soon as you are born."

In loving arms, a mother's arms,
Ignorant of sin.
Innocence takes her leave,
And she goes directly home.

Thump Thump. Thump Thump

She meets her Daddy.
He gives her a name.

Thump Thump. Thump----

and never thumps again.

She Ran Alone

I wrote this poem on April 6, 2011. Free verse is not my favorite type of poem, but sometimes it's a good way of describing things.

It flows better when it's sung. :)



Within all the laughter
She stood and watched them all.
A smile crossed her face,
But inside was only pain.
When they said, "What is wrong?"
She smiled, but ran from them.
They watched her disappear from sight
And presently forgot the pain in her face.



But she still lived, though she didn't laugh.
She lived but in tears all alone.
Within the sight of the ones she loved,
She cowered in a courner and cried.

She prayed for an angel, a friend to notice.
She asked for arms to enclose her.
But she hid in a courner, shaking with sobs
And still nobody noticed.

When the pain was too great
And the tears hurt too much,
She picked herself up
And said farewell.
She gathered her pain and embraced
The hurt that she felt feep inside.
The piercing pain pulled her to her feet,
And made her run. She ran.
She gave them a chance to show their love
To see her crying and comfort.
They didn't see or understand
And so, she ran, and ran!



He...saw her leave...and wondereed where she went.
Then he went...back...to the merry conversation...
And laughed.
He laughed...with the group.
She ran...alone...with her hurt.