Goodbye 2010. Hello 2011.

As the end of another year approaches, I ask myself what I accomplished this year. I finished high school and got into the most amazing college. I made new friends and collected a new life. The year has really been one of change. It's the turn of a decade, it's time for change. As this decade passes, I realize how much I've grown, how much I've matured. I've come a far way in 10 years. No longer am I a young little elementary school kid, I'm an adult. I am responsible for my own actions and everything I do. I'm the one in charge of my life. This year has been a year of just that, maturity. It was realizing what does and doesn't work. It's facing your fears and knowing when to say no. It's standing up for what you believe in and embodying it.

Henry David Thoreau said it right, "Go confidently in the direction of your dreams and live life to the fullest."

As I sit here, I realize how right he is. You have to take life for what it is and just keep going. Your heart will break. Some dreams will be smashed. But among that debris, there is the little dream that peeks through. There's that little light screaming at you to keep going, that it will get better. It keeps you going.

So as I step into 2011, I'm thinking not of what was or how my year went, I'm thinking of the future. I'm thinking of everything I'm going to face and everything I'm going to dream. I'm looking towards the light and reminding myself that you can't change the past. You can only change the future.

Goodbye 2010. Hello 2011.

Turning the Claddagh

Dark eyes watch the snow melt outside,
Basking in the warmth of the midday sun.
Listening to the rumbling of the vacuum cleaner,
roar up and down the hallway.
Separation.
Torn from the world, thrown
into something more magnificant,
more blank, more wanting, yearning,
to feel the power again.
Taken over by the rush of control,
freedom as the beat brings the shadows
over the eyes. Hiding from the soul
inside and beating with strength of
renewal and regrowth. A strike of pain
hits the inner heart, but the eyes, the eyes
they push it away as quickly as it comes,
wanting to feel the blank, forgetting,
trying to forget what it feels like.

Hurricane

There's a storm brewing in my heart.
A tornado mixed with a bit of hail,
forming in the clouds of arteries
and the trails of blood.

There's a storm brewing in my heart.
A tsunami wave picking up the dust
and debris of a shattered heart,
tearing at the seams and foundations.

There's a storm brewing in my heart.
A hurricane ready to explode,
ready to rip through the cells,
ready to flood my heart with shadows.

A storm once brewed in my heart.
And it never stopped.

Merry Christmas

Dear Followers,
    Merry Christmas Eve! Or happy holidays. Whichever you prefer. With this great season upon us, I will be spending a lot of time with my family. I may get some poems up, but not as much. To me, Christmas is a time to spend with family and friends. It's a time of traditions and being around loved ones. Too many people today get so focused on the gifts and the material things. They think about Santa as a way to get things, not as a way to spread cheer and happiness throughout the world.
       So this year, I'd like to remind my followers what Christmas really means. I dare you to sit and think about the meaning of Christmas. It's not just, yay food, it's coming together and being thankful. This year, I'm thankful for a lot of things. I'm thankful for my health and the health of my family, I'm thankful that I have a roof over my head and food on the table. I'm also thankful for my new friends that I've met at college and my oldest friends that are my sisters. You guys are lifesavers, whether you realize it or not.
     This year, I will sit around the Christmas tree with my family tonight on Christmas Eve, eating Chinese food and watching Despicable Me and I'll be happy. Happy for this time of year. I may be desperately missing snow right now, but Christmas isn't about the snow. It's not about the cookies or the music. It's about the spirit of Christmas. So as we step forward into this holiday time, remind yourself of the Christmas spirit. The spirit of joy and giving and family.
   Have a safe and happy holiday filled with Christmas spirit.
    Love, Kait

this growing rift- by Steven Mertz

Whatever happened
to the way we used to be?
Always together,
always happy.
Never a care in the world
about what was going
to happen next.

These months apart
have created a rift
that can never be sealed,
a hurt that can
never be healed.
I would love to see
your face again.
It always brought a smile
to my lips when I was down.

I wish I could gaze into your eyes,
get lost in them forever,
like a wonderful dream,
I'd never forget.

My heart would skip a beat,
if I could see your smile.
It seemed to glow
brighter than a thousand suns,
but now all it does
is make my heart grow cold.

I still don't know whatever happened,
why things have changed so much.
As soon as we can find the answer,
let us hope the gap will close forever.

Wandering

Tiny feet stepping on the forest floor,
treading uncertain waters, testing branches,
not one solid, not one complete.
wandering, always wandering,
wandering into the distance, into the sky,
playing with the clouds and the fireflies.

Miniature hands reaching towards the vines,
trying to grasp just one stable one,
but they break, one by one.
tumbling off the trees,
snapping onto the moss floor below.
everything thought safe is not so.

Eyes look towards the future,
seeing the two paths winding away from each other,
currently intertwined and confused.
the little self hides in the shadows,
hiding from the decision ahead.
 
but she cannot hide,
cannot disappear,
the paths are always going to be there,
whether to go right or to go wrong,
it's a decision she'll have to make,
for she can not wander forever.

Little River- just a draft

He created the little river.

washed the pebbled dirt from the ground and hollowed

 the winding path. Forced the oaks and

 maples to part like Moses and

the Red Sea.

molded the circular mouth and graced its tongue with the gift of rushing rapids.

“Why do they do this? Why do they block off my beautiful work of art?”

he hurled boulders of hail at them.

stabbed them with shooting stars of blinding storms.

buried them in white blizzards.

and yet the dam stands.

they battled with his artwork.

they pierced its delicate waves with rocks

 and dug into its banks with dark washed wooden picnic tables and rigid docks.

breathes of ice froze the waves.

freezing the leaves that had fallen from the oaks and the maples.

chilling the tiny delicate feathered ducks to the splintering bones that had stayed over into December.

the slippery bridge overlooked his creation, its eyes watching over the little river.

a single iceberg drifted down the broken streams,

destroying, ruining all the icecaps in its path.

tearing down the old dam and allowing the ducks to settle on the rocks,

restoring and completing the landscape.

He smiled down at the little river,

at the work of the iceberg,

as the little river returned

to its natural state.

a light in this dark world- by Steven Mertz

 One of my new goals for this blog is to feature other poets I know, some famous and some that are just friends writing. One I came across that I really enjoyed was my friend, Steven Mertz's poem, a light in this dark world.

In this hopeless world,
our only salvation
is to find a meaning,
a meaning to live,
a reason to love.
For love is the key
to the gate of happiness.
I once had that key,
it seemed a perfect fit,
but alas it wasn't so.
Then a light appeared,
it bid me follow,
so follow I did,
for many weeks and many months,
this light led me on.
Whence it finally stopped,
there you were, right in front of me.
The light went through you,
seemed to surround you,
and that's when I knew
the key was you.
I can see that light in your eyes,
I know we can keep the flame alive.
For we can burn forever
in each other's arms.

A Silent Prayer

 To Lauren, my best friend and my sister. <3

A silent prayer, spoken in the soft soothing
voice of hope. Sent up to the heavens
above, with the grace of an angel's wings
beating against the sky. A sparkle
of brightness, buried in the depths of night.
Blackness folds in waves of velvet, blanketing
a cloud of silence over the brown of the earth.
The silent prayer, cast out from the hearts
of many with the love of a daughter to a father,
fiercely fighting against the darkness.
Beating, beating until the darkness is no more.
Cascading curls of silver down from the paled
sun, destroying the hidden black.
Light,
fighting, always fighting, fighting for the daughter,
and fighting to beat the dust from the darkness.

Snowfall

water droplets falling from the sky,
disappearing into the darkness
of late night shadows. wind chill
sets in as the droplets turn
from water to tiny snowflakes
drizzling from the clouds
hiding in the frosty
grass on the way down.
tiny snowflakes
gather in clumps of snow
dropping heavier by the minute, down.
down from the black clouds
and meet friends sitting
on concrete pathways and the branches
of towering tall pine trees.
scooped up by mittened
hands, scrunched together into a tight ball
whizzing through the sky
and crashing onto a bright orange knit hat.
hands roll into giant balls and stack
one on another, forming a face and body
of a little snowman out to play
with his blue and green cable knit scarf
and bumpy carrot red nose
and the coal from bad children's stockings,
a line of buttons and wide eyes, watching
the children run in the white,
drifting off into the wave of sterling snow.

Update

So after receiving an A on my portfolio, I am currently finishing up my final paper hell week and then will be back to writing a lot more! Thank you followers for being so patient. I could not do this blog without my loyal readers.

~Kait

When Christmas Comes to Town

On a dark chilly December night,
light broke from the clouds,
in the form of song from the spirit.
It filled the heart, it warmed the soul,
It removed stress and calmed nerves.
It let those pained let go of all the destruction.
It eased the mind and relaxed the body,
when Christmas comes to town.

It is the North Star looming in the sky.
It is the family surrounding the Christmas tree
and the ceremonial hanging of ornaments,
reliving each moment as each little ball of shining
silver is taken from its box.
It is the ribbons lining the railing,
supporting every hand stitched stocking
and filled with the goodies from Santa
when Christmas comes to town.

It is the spirit that runs through the house.
It is the cookies baked warm and decorated
carefully by hand and sprinkled with glee.
It is the music that fills the ears.
That holds the Christmas spirit,
Every man, every woman, every child,
embracing the light,
when Christmas comes to town.

The Definition of Love

His breath touches me with the gentle breeze of the East wind.
His fingers brush by the pearl of my skin.
His eyes watch me with the feeling of a thousand stars.
His arms slowly caress and embrace me in a circle of strength.

His sweatshirt hides me on a cloudy day.
His t shirt clings to the curves of my body.
His scent embodies me like a wave taking over the ocean.
His hat makes saddened eyes brighten like the sunrise of the day.

He makes me come alive with the blood pumping through my veins.
He defines love.

Running

Run away, while you still can, faster and faster like the rabbit
Stuck in the hole, deep in the ground, hidden from the big bad
World. Leap like the gazelle, through the sky, flying
From cloud to cloud. Run. Run. Run.
From the world that gave you the slap
In the face. From those that punched
In those bruises on your arms. Run from the violence,
The destruction. Free yourself from the terror.

Let go the problems.
Play keep away with the birds
High above you. Race
Them across the field of freedom.
Find the lucky fountain. Search
For the pile of gold. Go after the clouds floating away
Far from the dirt and mud.
Keep on running.
Run. Run. Run.
Til you can run no more.

Update about the Blog

Currently, I have not been posting many new poems. Many have been revisions because of a revision time for one of my classes. This had led to a multitude of rewrites getting posted. The older revisions may get erased as the finals are posted. I will be back to writing new poetry on Dec. 14th after my final portfolio is due in my class. Thanks followers for being so understanding!
   ~Sincerely, Kait

Believe- final

Underneath a floating cloud, like a bubble just sparking from a bright yellow wand,

Buried in a pile of never ending silver, assembles a magical dream from the fog of a unicorn’s hoof.

A dream that pushes the dreamer on the rocky pebbled covered path.

A dream struggles to be only a dream, the smallest ripple in the winding stream.

Some believe it worthless, a penny thrown into a fountain never to be seen again.

Others believe unachievable like grasping a piece of thread from a haystack.

But it is only a dream, a helpless dream, a drowning sea turtle lost in the waves.

It begs to be loved and handled with care, like a newborn puppy struggling to suckle.

It grovels to have effort woven into it, a quilt hand-sewn together piece by piece,

And the love of a couple married for a hundred years sown into its fields,

Plowed in by the hand of the farmer.

But a dream is strong like a boulder mossed by green time.

A dream gives the dreamer the job promotion they’re yearning for,

Like a lion in the first seconds of catching his prey.

First Love- final

Let’s just take a break. You’ll be

And all the memories begin

 floating away as red rose petals

from the first date

at Ruggeri’s wilted.

The Hatsfield carnival panda leaks

stuffing, and Be Mine Forever

Valentine heart

Rips in half.

In room, a museum to his memory,

I curl Indian-style in the middle of dull blue

 carpet, forehead on knees,

and cry at his green

hoodie hanging, a limp spirit

 from my bed post, and his Abercrombie navy blue t shirt

 I still sleep in, though wrinkled and dirty

and wet with heavy tears.

I can’t return to that high school,

where they all watch, all know

I no longer smell the rustic guy

scent of smoke and hazel and coffee,

no longer wear heart

charms, now scattered in rage.

I watch the torn and faded scorecard,

the third date, Fenway mini golf,

 June 4^th, sweep out on a wind

through the cracked window screen.

Okay?

Home Sweet Home- revised

The house and I remain in the middle of the block

And a little bit off

 the roadside surrounded by a grassy yard and worn

brick

steps leading up to the heart of the home and

Hedged by a row of dwarf trees and

I vacuum

 a dark blue carpet speckled red and white and stained

 with a dog and kids- now gone-

and I brush by a couch remembering many nights of a family frozen

 to the 42 inch flat screen, a product of a certain father’s heavy grasp

of the newest technology and I pace

 towards a door leading to the warmth

of the home, the beloved kitchen I stood around at its stone

stove and a crayon stained

table with its five chairs scattered

around it and where I baked

an autumn pumpkin pie, its scent suffocating

 and a hallway going deeper into the depths

 of a wooden

study and a dining room and a rainbow bathroom, the rubber duck from my bath falling

to the bottom

of the tub

 and the living room I decorated with its familiar

tan curtains and flowered patterned couch with vines

of blue and green and red and an ancient

brick fireplace I lugged wood to, roaring

with flames where many cold

nights were passed

And many Christmases spent around

the tree, colorful presents I wrapped

taking over

 most of the room and the stockings laying along the railing,

leading up to the sleepy woods

 of the home where the children slept, curled and tucked

up against the cold winter chill and little mud tracks

 leading a trail into the bathroom and

Towels dirty

with the house’s spring cleaning and allergy medicine burying

the cabinet behind the mirror and the home is once again,

 home sweet home.

Believe- formerly Behind a Dream

Underneath a floating cloud, like a bubble just sparking from a bright yellow wand,

Buried in a pile of never ending silver, assembles a magical dream from the fog of a unicorn’s hoof.

A dream that pushes the dreamer on the rocky pebbled covered path.

A dream struggles to be only a dream, the smallest ripple in the winding stream.

Some believe it worthless, a penny thrown into a fountain never to be seen again.

Others believe unachievable like grasping a piece of thread from a haystack.

But it is only a dream, a helpless dream, a drowning sea turtle lost in the waves.

It begs to be loved and handled with care, like a newborn puppy struggling to suckle.

It grovels to have effort woven into it, a quilt hand-sewn together piece by piece,

And the love of a couple married for a hundred years sown into its fields,

Plowed in by the hand of the farmer.

But a dream is strong like a boulder mossed by green time.

A dream gives the dreamer the promotion they’re yearning for,

And injects a needle of toughness and love in the mind and soul.