I always enjoy opening up my mail box and seeing something new. This comes to us from, well she didn’t really say. I’ll just assume it’s some place much warmer than Slush-ville. I just want to add here as a side note, that the email for toolbox isn’t just for submissions. You’re always welcome to say hello.
To the main event! Enjoy her piece of poetry!
Nothing separates me
Seen as I truly am
Not want to be
Or how others see me
But exactly what I am
Blessing and curse
I am wretchedly beautiful
The veil torn away
Lifted from my eyes
My saving grace
To see and be seen
And find absolution
Undeserved, freely given
A poem was sent in today, sans any additional commentary. Enjoy!
By Yvette Naomi and Mitch
Nothing rhymes with orange
So we ought make up a word
Like glorange or forange or sulonge
E’en though they sound quite absurd.
To make up a meaning defining each word,
I suggest golrange should be a cowherd.
Forange could be what we do at night
When we screw up our eyes to block out the light.
And solange could be the colour of puke
When mixed with bits of orange and pewt.
I only suggest these, but it’s up to you
To find some meaning for words that are new.
We could spread this news
And await the reviews.
But it’s about time
That orange should rhyme.
Today, when I got home this very thoughtful message was waiting for me.
“The reason why I wrote this is simple… while it’s important to move on and see the good in life, we all have to remember where we’ve been and what we’ve been through, this poem is centered on how we cannot ignore those events because these were the things that made us who we truly are.”
So now, I present:
Shards of Blue, by Kellie the Snowed in Scribe
Tumble, the shards, they tumble
down down down
into the black abyss they fall,
pooling at the base of darkness.
Never stopping, never ceasing,
those empty shades of blue hide a truth
none can comprehend
but all know.
The undeniable truth of fear and pain.
A darkened night only satiated
by the heavens crying.
Tiny droplets of tears are caught
in place by a single chalice.
A hand reaching out
in the midst of a hurricane.
That crystal cup amidst the darkening shards
is not half-empty nor half-full.
That is a cup brimming,
holding those minuscule droplets
as they dwell and merge as one.
Never letting them go.
But in that glass there are shards as well,
shades of dark blue against a shimmering crystal.
For even as beautiful the rose
one should never ignore its thorns.
From myself, a sonnet.
.:Cross Step Waltz:.
A moment can freeze:
In our close embrace
Just help me believe
In truths I can’t face.
Dance circles on air,
Lead me in escape
From fears laid bare.
Say there’s no fate
And lie to me tonight.
Just say you’ll love me,
Say life’s worth the fight.
The waltz carries us free
From thoughts’ tyranny.
Here’s a poem about Harry Potter I wrote for a class last semester. Woo-hoo!
“Through the Trapdoor”
It doesn’t seem like much,
Dead trees and ink,
Bound with glue,
What it holds,
The world you know,
Mitch from Alaska writes, “Here’s a poem I wrote just after my mother died. I was observing the seven day mourning period that is part of the Jewish religion. As an aside, I am constantly amazed by the brilliant insights into psychology that are reflected in Jewish rituals. I hope you enjoy my poem.”
My Initiation into the Society of the Royal Archers
First, we were brought to the place you don’t know,
And made to bow down to the Chief Archer’s bow. Continue reading