National Poetry Month – A Poem A Day
In honor of National Poetry Month, I'll be writing one poem a day for all of April. Since I was without computer this weekend, below are my first four poems for the first four days of April. You may notice a theme of...remembering - as this is a general theme in my life right now. Please leave comments and links to your poetry as well! With love, xoHeather Fairytale Once upon a time there lived a girl who dreamed of a life with more than slamming doors, angry words and sadness. One day, the girl set out on her own determined to do it all differently and far better. Challenges befell her, and many a night she faced slamming doors, angry words and sadness. But, she soldiered on sure that she deserved more and would one day find it. Then, one day, she did. On a beach with water spread out as far as she could see. Suddenly, she remembered. Her dream life lived inside of her beyond slamming doors, angry words and sadness. The peaceful life she craved was not to be sought after and found, it was to be allowed out of her soul and birthed into this life. The girl sighed, and smiled her biggest smile. She was going to be okay. ---------------------- Love Asks Love does not ask me to run It does not ask me to hide. Love wants my soul, 100 percent of who I really am. But, I am scared. Smiling bright, I pretend that I don't know what it is love requires. But, I do. Love is asking me for surrender For total, gut-wrenching honesty Love wants me down on my knees Begging for the light, yearning for all I am. And then, I remember. I was given this gift. This man, this opportunity to love And love is not asking for me to play the same, old, tired games. Love is demanding my full participation On every level - mind, body, soul. And so, I do. ---------------------------------- I Am Here I am not good enough for your program, your magazine, or your publishing house. I won't follow the rules or bend to regulations of which I find lacking and irrelevant not to mention terribly uncreative. I am here to write And some days, it is wretched But, I cannot care I must do what I came here to do. I didn't come here to write for your program, your magazine, or your publishing house. I came to write my truth I came to shine it so brightly For all who resonated and were drawn. Somehow, some way it would matter Somehow it would find its way Into the right hands Of my perfect people. I thought you would understand. Instead you bore me with meters and rhymes and statutes that say poetry can only look like _______. I smile, though, remembering that I did not come here for you. --------------------------------- Me My safety does not lie within you It lies, within me. It is buried deep. You see, I put it somewhere so I wouldn't forget. Although, like those pesky car keys, I often do forget. But now, now I am remembering: It is me I am me It all adds up to one - me. Copyright 2011 Heather Strang
Posted: April 4th, 2011 under Uncategorized.