writing
Winter 1994
Believe
Poetry
This poem was inspired by the
tree that I used to have in my front yard. After coming home one
evening around midnight, the thought of the tree just came to
mind. I honestly have no idea why the poem came to mind; it just
did, so I jotted down a few lines before I went to bed and I
finished it soon after. This poem shows my belief in God and how
his creation of the tree shows His genius. I also find it ironic that the cross is also called "the tree."
because of THE tree
I believe.
for Who else could have known.......
to have the leaves
f
a
l
l
off
in winter
so the sun’s warm
rays could give heat
in summer
they come back to
give relief
for this
I believe.
June, 2000
Toward the Unknown
Poetry
This poem I wrote seven years after my grandmother
passed away. I always knew that I would write a poem about the
experience, but it wasn't until I took a graduate class in the summer
of 2000 that it came to fruition. This is a true experience when
I was talking to my dying grandmother in the hospital. She was
unconscious; and after talking to her for awhile, I finally became
aware
that she had passed away while I was holding her hand. The "them"
at the end of the poem is a happy couple holding hands, walking down
the street, while I am leaving the hospital. This poem
I wrote for myself, but also for my
sister and my mother.
Here I sit in my blue T-Bird,
Driving to something unknown.
Remembering my sister’s words,
Get out here if you want to see here alive.
Here I sit in the medicine-smelling room,
Speaking to someone unknown.
Tubes in her nose and veins,
And her heavy, gasping breathing.
With my head in my hands and moist eyes,
I plead, Take her, please! Just take her.
Here I sit in a restaurant,
Thinking of someone unknown.
Then recalling my visit just a few short weeks ago
How she’d looked the best I had seen.
And many years before that
how I’d play on the
front porch
and the screen door
would slam shut
And Barney,
her faithful yellow
Heinz-57 canine,
would sit in
the chair
next to her
And her banana bread--
oh, so awesome;
no one to this
day can duplicate it,
even with her recipe.
Then I return to the medicine-smelling room
To find she had been waiting for me.
Here I sit, holding her hand,
Telling her something unknown.
Not aware that her heavy, gasping breathing
had been taken with my touch and His.
Here I sit in my blue T-bird
Driven away from something unknown,
And paralyzed with sorrow.
Between intermittent cries of confusion,
I stare out the window.
How dare they hold hands and laugh!
But to them this is something unknown.
February, 1996
Paradise
Poetry
This poem was inspired by my visit to San Juan,
Puerto Rico. I took two days off from school and had a
mini-vacation. As soon I arrived, I put on my swimsuit and walked
along the beach, sandals in hand, letting the water gently wash over my
feet. Upon my return, I immediately sat down and wrote
this poem on the hotel stationery. Here is my experience:
No one knows I’m here,
But soon my presence is known.
As I walk, they look at me and
Almost fear me,
As I do them.
One by one they creep closer,
Enticing me.
I leave a path for them to follow.
Bravely, one nips at my toes.
How surprisingly warm she is!
I am no longer afraid, nor are they.
Each ebbs closer and surrounds
My feet; they crawl all over
My legs.
But as quickly as the
Shake of an etch-o-sketch,
My presence is
Eras....
3/9/2004
Oh, Friend
Poetry
The inspiration for this poem came from my
frustration with a friend of mine. We have been friends for over
twenty years, but she moved away and now we hardly ever speak.
I try to call and write, but she doesn't get back to me. Finally, I rely on my one true friend.
Oh, friend!
Why haven’t you called or written ?
Is it because of your husband and child
who require your full attention?
Or is it the alcohol, the job, or just me?
Have I done something to turn you away
or is it because I am no longer
the person you want me to be?
Oh, friend!
Why can’t you just believe
and take it all by faith?
Is it the thought of no control
or your parents’ disbelief?
What is it
that keeps you from letting go
and turning it
over to Him?
Let me know!
Oh, Friend!
My Lord.
How much you’ve done for me:
Your sacrifice on the cross,
the peace, the joy in how
You set me free!
I surely will pray
That she will take heart
And realize that she can have it too
so that in the end we won’t have to be apart.
February 5, 2005
My Angel
Poetry
One winter just a couple of years ago, I was out
walking my dog. It had just snowed a good foot, and the snow had
hardened in some places. This poem was inspired by this
event.
Dancing on a frozen sea of white
With silver glitter,
I think, I'm Jesus
For a split second.
Then I'm
Sucked
D
O
W
N,
Reminded that I am not.
Up to my thighs in waves,
I trudge my way
Upwards and out, exhausted.
Taking the "Nestea Plunge"
For relief, I flap my arms and giggle
In childlike playfulness
And form my angel.
September 24, 2005
Under the Cover of Night
Fiction
This is a story, that I began in a graduate class in June, 2000, about my friends
and me encountering a UFO. In the class, we
did an activity where we had to draw a floor plan of the house where we
grew up. Upon drawing that floor plan, I recalled an experience
from when I was in junior high school. I struggled, though, with
how I was going to tell the
story. Since it was a personal experience, I thought I’d tell it
as it happened; but since I don’t remember all of the details (it
happened over 20 years ago), I didn't think that I could really make it
a decent story. I also had
already written several true personal experiences and wanted to try
some fiction, so I made my real story fictional. For
research, I called two of my friends, Jackie and Sallie, and asked them
what they remembered. They didn’t recall much either, but what
they told me, I incorporated into the story. I feel that I am a
much better poetry writer, so I don't know if I'll ever be satisfied
with this story or if I'll be motivated to do more with it.
I really don't like the ending; it sounds like I just wanted to end it, but here's what I've accomplished after seven drafts.
“It is the
steepest hill on the course; the best for sledding!” Sallie
declared with a skip up the snow-covered street and a silver saucer
sled tucked under her arm.
Jackie, with wisps of brown-blond
hair peeking out from under her red, purple, yellow, and green-striped
cap, grinned and added, “Yeah, and far enough away from the street so
no one can see us!”
They, along
with their two friends, Kristi and Melanie, had gathered together on a
murky winter night for a playful evening of sledding. Since there
was no designated sledding locale in town, the resourceful foursome
snuck onto the public golf course and trudged through the seemingly
bottomless snow to hole number nine.
With her blue
eyes open wide and eyebrows raised, Sallie replied, “Yeah, it’s really
dark out there. No one will see us!”
“That’s for
sure. Look! It’s all foggy,” Jackie stopped and pointed
towards their destination. “This is going to be a blast!”
This was a
welcome challenge for Jackie whose idea it was to go sledding in the
first place, and no doubt, was her idea to trespass onto the golf
course. She was notorious for her spunk and spontaneity. In
her later years, she would wear a tuxedo to prom, and would don a blond
spiked haircut--even though she was naturally a brunette--and a star
tattoo on her right shoulder. As for now, though, she liked to
play flag football on Sunday afternoons with her dad, her brother, and
her friends.
“Are you guys
sure? We could get into big trouble,” Kristi doubted.
“Plus, my feet are about frozen off already!”
“Come on,
Kristi. It’ll be okay,” Sallie, who was always up for anything as
long as it got her out of the house and away from her annoying mother,
encouraged with a pat on Kristi’s back. “We won’t get in trouble;
no one will even know we’re here! Right, Mel?”
Kristi glanced
at Melanie, who in return, quickly looked at Kristi then back to Sallie
and, with a half-smile, shrugged her wide, boney shoulders shrouded by
her fluffy black winter coat.
“Do you wanna keep going?” Kristi posed.
Shrugging again, Melanie peeped, “I don’t care.”
Atop hole
number nine, the four felt as if they were exploring the North
Pole. There was a feeling of tranquillity upon it being so quiet
they could hear the snow slip off the evergreen onto the already fallen
snow. The only sound was the crunch of each step.
There was also
a sense of accomplishment. Here they were, unlawfully on the golf
course, planning for an evening of innocent, childlike
entertainment. And it was Friday, so there was no school to get
up for in the morning.
“Well, there
she is, ladies,” Jackie announced, setting her blue saucer sled down
and looking out into the blur.
“But you can’t
even see the bottom, Jax. What if there’s something in the way,
like a tree!” Kristi protested.
“Fine, Kris. Stay up here; but I’m ready for some fun!” Jackie exclaimed, hopping onto the sled.
Abruptly, a
loud craft, adorned with a multitude of lights, appeared out of the fog
and hovered above the four. Its shape was indiscernible, but
bright, multi-colored lights swarmed around them like flashing lights
on an ambulance. Its deafening roar instigated commander Jackie’s
howl, “Hit the dirt!”
Immediately, the soldiers collapsed to their knees as their hearts
leapt into their throats. The craft had appeared as a predator,
hiding in the haze of the night, waiting to surprise its prey.
But as soon as the prey covered their heads in dismay, the predator
retracted back under its cover of night.
The commander
then hollered, “Run!” and all did, best they could in the abyss of snow
and hearts knocking on their chests to get out, leaving the sleds
behind. Kristi’s house was only two blocks away, once they
reached the street. Arms flailed, and mouths mumbled, “Ohmygosh”
between huffs of the dense, frigid air.
Kristi’s mom
was sitting by the fireplace, smoking a cigarette and blowing the smoke
up the chimney. Her knee shook up and down rapidly, and Where are
they? raced through her head. Suddenly, the gloved, scarved, and
booted beasts invaded her thoughts.
Barging through
the door, Kristi shrieked, “Mom! Mom!” as she flung her
red-yarned cap with a red and white ball on top onto the sofa.
Her mom inquired, “Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick!”
“What da ya mean? We were sledding. I told you that.”
“Kristi Lyn,
don’t lie to me. It is one o’clock in the morning! You
left, what? Six hours ago?”
“What? One
o’clock? Mom, we weren’t there for more than a…a minute and then
all of a sudden there were a bunch of lights. And it was
loud! We got so scared, we just ran back here. We didn’t
even go down the hill once!”
“What’s that on your neck?” her mom’s voice turning into more of a lecturing tone, not hearing a word she had said.
Kristi’s hand
jerked up to the left side of her neck and felt for the evidence.
About two inches below her left ear was a small, round, bumpy
protrusion which felt like a scab. Her eyebrows creased inward
above her dark brown eyes as she pondered the question, then searched
her friends’ blank faces for answers, getting only open, motionless
mouths.
“You guys have
them too!” Kristi screeched as she pointed at their necks. All of
them had a similar scar in exactly the same spot under their left ears.
No one knew
what to say. They couldn’t explain the scars on their necks; and
they couldn’t have been at the golf course for more than a half-hour,
at the most, but the clock on the wall definitely said one o’clock.
Epilogue:
The other
girls’ parents were notified the next day of their antics that evening
and all weren’t allowed to see each other outside of school for two
weeks.
The girls still don’t know what
they saw that night or to where the hours had disappeared. They
say that it had to have been an airplane or helicopter but still
couldn’t shake off the feeling of it being something other than
that. What they saw, loud and with many lights, came out of
nowhere and returned to nowhere. Was it a UFO? Well, to
them, it definitely was a flying object that was
unidentifiable.
Once every few
years, Kristi has hours she can’t account for. And as for the
scar, it still remains as an eternal reminder of that night.
District 145 Public Schools
and
Educational Service Unit #6, Milford, Nebraska
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