Poems

I really want to be an author when I grow up, so I need to practice some writing now.  Every now and then, especially around certain holidays, I'll write some poems that maybe someone will give me feedback on; I love to know what I'm doing right and what I'm doing wrong.  For my first time writing a poem publicly on my blog, I'll do three short poems, one stanza each.

Under the sea of glimmering darkness,

Of diamonds, of crystals, 

Of stars in the night sky.

There on the clifftop I stood, waiting for the spark of dawn,

So I could find a new hope.

I'm not quite sure how I came up with this one.  Maybe I was thinking of the night stars.  Maybe I wasn't.  It was just a time when I sat down to write, and this is what I came up with.

Looking up at the pencil,
scratching across my surface,

Like a perfect massage.
Ready for any type of novel;
Fantasy, sci-fi, romance, anything.
It makes me feel important,
As I am in the writing process.

For whether the story is typed and printed,
Or written upon me;

It doesn't matter.
I am still used,
Because I am the paper.

This poem is about writing.  I wrote it a while ago at a writing course that I took in in the summer.  We were told to write a poem about writing, and I decided to do it in the place of the paper.  I kind of had to put myself in the view of the paper (and, yes, I know that it is inanimate), and think about how it would feel about being written on.

Like a cherry glistening under the dew,

The flower begins to bloom,

Like a bird chirping it's first call of the morning,

It lets itself be seen and heard,

Like the rustling of a bush, as an animal searches for food,

It shifts in the wind.  

And in the last glow of daylight, it shows to the world,

That anything can blossom, in even the last hours of a day.

This is about a small flower, maybe a poppy, or a poinsettia, or some other type, that begins to bloom, and that even in the last hours of the sunlight, it can still grow.  It was weird, because when I was writing it, I was thinking about Christmas and poinsettias, but reading it now, it seems more like a springtime poem.  I guess it could be either.

Hope you liked the poems!