07-20-2015, 02:04 AM
I'm really glad this thread exists.
First poem ever (written in Kindergarten):
Untitled
"Boom, boom!" goes the Cheetah.
The submarine left without him.
First poem ever when I started writing in earnest (Junior or Senior in high school):
The Freeze
This morning, the earth spun away from the sun.
The grass was frozen into upright pinpoints
pointing upward, threatening the overcast sky.
Even the normally stretching, swaying redwoods
became stiff, brittle, and taut when the freeze came around.
And all around the planet,
a siren called nature screamed in hypothermic agony.
Last I saw of outside was water droplets
slowly drip down a fogged glass bathroom window.
Now, tiny icicle spiders weave webs of frost on my sill.
Now, the ground is encumbered with an oppressive snow,
the kind that crushes the earth like an aluminum soda can;
the kind envelopes men
and waits, time keeping beat by the shallowness of his breath.
Tomorrow is nothing but an uncertain thought.
Chaos may ensue, building and destroying societies,
or nothing at all, a white desert of frozen ambition.
I am drastically over thinking my situation.
The world has stopped moving, should we not follow suit?
Cold finally reaches me,
And with frigid feet, the spiders begin climbing my body.
Yet stagnant men freeze before their time is up.
The feeling that a larger cataclysm
Is rocketing toward me becomes pervasive.
Man must stay in motion, anticipating
troubles, even when passing under their glare
Happy to be warm, I will laugh aloud,
Rabid biting winds carrying the sound of the last comfortable nap.
First poem ever (written in Kindergarten):
Untitled
"Boom, boom!" goes the Cheetah.
The submarine left without him.
First poem ever when I started writing in earnest (Junior or Senior in high school):
The Freeze
This morning, the earth spun away from the sun.
The grass was frozen into upright pinpoints
pointing upward, threatening the overcast sky.
Even the normally stretching, swaying redwoods
became stiff, brittle, and taut when the freeze came around.
And all around the planet,
a siren called nature screamed in hypothermic agony.
Last I saw of outside was water droplets
slowly drip down a fogged glass bathroom window.
Now, tiny icicle spiders weave webs of frost on my sill.
Now, the ground is encumbered with an oppressive snow,
the kind that crushes the earth like an aluminum soda can;
the kind envelopes men
and waits, time keeping beat by the shallowness of his breath.
Tomorrow is nothing but an uncertain thought.
Chaos may ensue, building and destroying societies,
or nothing at all, a white desert of frozen ambition.
I am drastically over thinking my situation.
The world has stopped moving, should we not follow suit?
Cold finally reaches me,
And with frigid feet, the spiders begin climbing my body.
Yet stagnant men freeze before their time is up.
The feeling that a larger cataclysm
Is rocketing toward me becomes pervasive.
Man must stay in motion, anticipating
troubles, even when passing under their glare
Happy to be warm, I will laugh aloud,
Rabid biting winds carrying the sound of the last comfortable nap.
-"You’d better tell the Captain we’ve got to land as soon as we can. This woman has to be gotten to a hospital."
--"A hospital? What is it?"
-"It’s a big building with patients, but that’s not important right now."
--"A hospital? What is it?"
-"It’s a big building with patients, but that’s not important right now."

