Poem: Together

I won’t admit to being an expert poet, but I do like to wax poetic every now and then. There’s both a structure and a freeform nature to writing poetry — not that I always follow Iambic Pentameter (I tried that here, and it took me a good few hours to make it all fit). A poem is something you can often churn out in ten minutes, depending on the difficulty of the subject matter. It’s writing at its purest and storytelling at the speed of light.

This one goes out to a special someone. You know who you are.

 

Together

I was alone,

Trapped in a prison of my own making,

I searched for meaning,

In so many places,

But it did not fill my cup,

What I had went to waste,

And then we met.

You took my hand,

We stepped through the sand,

We held each other braving the wind,

You listened to me and I to you,

Your sweet smile filled my cup,

And your spirit possessed me.

I have you,

And you have me,

We are together.

Lyrical Sunday: From Boy to Man

Following this week’s prompt: Men.

From Boy to Man

Billy hated College.
Just hated it.

Billy was not a big lad.
In fact many called him tiny, scrawny, and small.

In P.E. class he was picked last.
Never included.
Balls never tossed his way.

Even in his final years when his peers were called young men, he did not feel it was true for himself.

He had no girlfriend.
No losing of virginity story to tell.
Girls would not touch him with a ten foot pole.

Even the size of his penis was an important discussion amongst the guys.
He wanted no part of it.

He had been picked on of course.
Insulted, tripped up, and pushed.
But he took it as punishment for his unmanliness.
He never fought back.

And that only made things worse.
As far as Billy knew, he was weak.
He had no strength.
Inside or out.
He would never be a man.
Or a young one at that.

Boy.
Kid.
Child.
Baby.

But then one day something happened.

He did not win a sports game, lose his virginity, or grow a few inches.
No, it was something much simpler.

A teacher brought in his young daughter to school.
She sat in a little desk next to her Dad at the front of the room.

The girl swung on her chair.
She looked restless.
Billy got up and gave her some coloured felts to play with.
He went back to his seat at the front of the class.
He tried his best to ignore all the judging eyes glued upon him.

Then it happened.

The girl leaned over her desk and whispered to her father,
“The nice man gave me these.”
She pointed to Billy.

Nice man, Billy thought.
Man.
He finally got it.
It was all a matter of perspective.
What he had or did not have, bore no meaning on who or what he was.

Billy, was a man.

Lyrical Sunday: The Woman

Following this week’s prompt.

The Woman

The woman I know
Smiles at me sweetly,
Whispers in my ear.

She is strong,
Picks herself up,
Dusts herself off.

Her confidence is
Sometimes shaken,
But always present.

She boosts me,
Lifts me up,
Believes in my potential.

She is a caring spirit,
Holding others
High above herself.

She nurtures,
Grows,
And Creates.

The woman I know
Brings me
To life.

Lyrical Sunday: Leap of Faith

Following the last prompt.

Leap of Faith

Baby bird in a nest,
Quivering and alone.

Peering overside,
Ground lying far below.

Shrinking away,
Curling up in a ball.

Lying cold and hungry,
Awaiting a saviour.

But no one came.

It stood up.
Unfurled its wings.

It was now or never,
Act now or die alone.

It peered again,
Looking down below.

Hesitant at first,
It shook off its fear.

It spread its wings,
As wide as it could.

It loosened its grip,
On twigs under feet.

Leaning forward,
The baby bird,
Let go.