For One More Night

 Set me free

For one more night

Where I can taste

The bliss of flight

 .

And feel my wings

Upon my back

Before I have to

Give them back

 .

Before I return

Unto the night

A life of slumber

Without sight

 .

To wait within

My gilded cage

To live forever

And never age

 .

To live in heartache

In freedom’s want

The cage of gold

I’ll forever haunt

 .

So tonight I’ll fly

And soar and hope

That I’ll learn

Of how to cope

 .

And while I fly

I’ll remember this

The taste of heaven

And starlight’s kiss

 .

So set me free

For one more night

Where I can taste

The bliss of flight

.

I don’t know where this poem came from. I don’t know why it speaks to me, when I’m the one who wrote it. And I certainly don’t know why I felt sad when I wrote it.

It’s funny, how, sometimes, the words just appear on the page for what seems like no reason. Like your just a tool for your own imagination. It’s a weird feeling.

Perhaps I’ll just sit down to write freely more often…

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Alberta, Alberta

Alberta, Alberta

Let your blue skies sing

Let your praises ring!

With golden fields

And sunny days

A glorious summer haze!

.

Alberta, Alberta

Let your mountains soar

Let their grandeur roar!

With snowy peaks

And glassy lakes

For you my heart aches!

.

Alberta, Alberta

Let your wild rose bloom

Let it never meet it’s doom!

With wild, wild flowers

And blushing wild rose

Whom everybody knows!

.

Alberta, Alberta

Let your rivers rush

Let the land be lush!

With valleys low

And hills a-rolling

The very sight consoling!

.

Alberta, Alberta

Let your freedom roam

Let this place be home!

With emerald lakes, snowy plains

Golden fields and mountains high

Always under your blue sky!

Ah, what home means to us! The grandeur! The life!

Just kidding. In all honesty, this was a wee bit of a dare. Somebody asked me to write a pompous poem. ‘About anything?’ I asked? ‘Anything’. They said. ‘Just make it as fancy-pants as possible’.

So I sat down to write something. What could I write about? Top Hats? Will and Kate? William’s Nude Photos? Prancing Unicorns?

Unfortunately, none of those really came into play, though the Prancing Unicorn one got pretty far before I realized I sounded like a six year old girl who had just discovered a thesaurus.

What else is pompous? I thought? And suddenly, the American anthem played on the TV I had on in the background… (though, truth be told, NASCAR is hardly fancy and well-to-do.) Then I thought, of course! Write about home! Like a crazy, fancy, Alberta National Anthem type deal. And so, with great speed and pompusness I proceeded. And with a flourish, I finished said poem, then ran off and announced to the challenger; ‘Look at all this fancy pants, well to do, specialness! ‘Look at the fancy words and the ohs and excessive use of exclamation points!’

And so, my challenger read it. And looked back up at me in surprise.

‘Oh,’ they said. ‘I was hoping for a top hat wearing royal unicorn poem…that’s what you would usually write.’

I didn’t think of that…

Breathless

The ocean blue

And its whispering hue

Has always sang to me

.

A song to hope for

To long for more

Within it’s beauty bold

.

For in its thralls

It calls and calls

To come to it, to live

.

To love its power

To accept its shower

Of salt and spray and sea

.

For to touch the sea

 Is to become free

And let my soul take flight

.

To accept power and might

To conquer my fright

Of things this bold and daring

.

For the rumble, the roar

Is what I live for

In its terror, there is love

.

For the silky caress

Makes me confess

My love of this ocean blue

.

Okay, okay, so a couple of things to say.

Firstly, I apologize for the long break I took from here…though I have several valid excuses. Of course, the first being my break in Hawaii (which was awesome, lovely, and a heck of a lot of fun), the second being my laptop deciding to go kaput (I now write this on a shiny new MacBook. I know, fancy.) and thirdly, I was going through major, major writers block.

Not to worry, however! I’m back, and I’ll do my best to be sharing my poetry and picture quotes every Thursday/Friday, as per usual.

Moving on.

While in Hawaii, I noticed something that I’ve noticed before, when in California, Vancouver, etc. I love the ocean. I find it daring and bold and beautiful. There’s a peace to it, but also a strange power about it. And I really enjoy being by it, listening to that great and terrible beauty that is the sea. It  didn’t hurt either, that in Hawaii, the ocean is a heck of a lot warmer than in Vancouver. It has a silky, warm quality that you don’t find anywhere else.

I think that part of it could come from the fact that I was born by the sea. I lived in Surrey until I was two. So maybe its just a psychological thing…or maybe I’m just crazy. Either way, I love the sea. Almost as much as I love the prairies.

And with that, adieu.

Hope

It’s the budding of the flower

The spreading of the wings

The spark that creates a flame

The way the caged bird sings

.

It’s the smile of a stranger

The promise of a friend

The smile of someone loving

The person on the mend

.

It’s when the world is dying

And there’s little left to save

That everything looks different

The light at the end of the cave

.

And when that day comes

Everything will bloom

The world will turn once more

And never meet our doom

.

It’s just a short poem for today…a happier one, to offset the last one. Sadly, I haven’t been too creative in the past couple days, so I don’t have anything truly exciting to post. However, I will say, that now that it is summer, I feel more light hearted, more awake, than I have the past couple months. And, oh my goodness, I’ve been able to sit down and read. Holy mother of ducks. I now have run out of the books I was lent…already. Oops.

And, on that note, I’m going to have to find some more. My parents announced a couple days ago that they are taking us to Hawaii for two weeks, and I’m so excited. So, hopefully, I’ll come back from there inspired, rested, and with a good tan. That’s not for another 20 days yet, so I will keep posting until that day, and then, I guess, have a two week hiatus from here. 

Anyways, hoping your enjoying your summer so far.

Where The Angels Sing

The rain is falling down

The sky is grey and bleak

Everywhere is silent

A cheerless, lonely town

.

Like ghosts along the pier

Like phantoms in the night

We can only cry and wait

For our ending to come near

.

No place for us to run

No place for us to hide

We can only hold each other

As history is spun

.

As we see our town in ashes

The baker’s store, the willow

The cobbled streets, a better time

That comes to me in flashes

.

And it includes a young man, grinning

A man that I have loved

With sparkling eyes and barking laugh

A way that made him winning

.

And when days were good we’d meet

In a summer valley

With dewy tress and singing creek

The only place I was complete

.

It was there that he first kissed me

It was there that he proposed

It was there that our hearts came together

And helped us both to see

.

It was out there in that glen

When war’s whispers finally came

We’d hear about it; its bloody trail

Every now and then

.

And he and I, we waited

For what we knew would come

The draft, the uniform, the soldier’s gear

The fight that we both hated

.

And when we said goodbye

In a lingering kiss

He whispered a sweet promise

And I could only cry

.

And so I watched him go

In a uniform we both loathed

But we knew, our time would come

My lover, my beau

.

But not long after he had left

New lines of war were drawn

And our lovely, carefree town

Suddenly, was bereft

.

For the enemy soldiers came

Took over our poor town

Used it as a battleground

And used us in their game

.

And like pawns, we were used

To help them win their war

A disposable town, pathetic people

A resource to be abused

.

So with optimism we responded

Hoping it would help

Hoping that our boys and men

Would receive what we corresponded

.

But nobody came to help

The battle lines drawn clear

The soldiers were here, here to stay

And they treated us like whelps

.

They used us as their servants

They abused us their leisure

Made us treat their wounds

Let nothing but observance

.

And anyone who disobeyed

Suddenly disappeared

As we became their slaves, their whores

Every whim to be obeyed

.

So when the gunshots rang

And the front lines started closer

We wondered if our men could return

As the bullets and shout all sang

.

And these soldiers were suddenly smart

When they looked at our old town

As they realized just what they could do

Se we could become a part

.

And now we play a part, in this wicked war

We became hostages of these men

Suddenly fine pieces

Better than before

.

We were given a warning

‘Be good to us’, they said

And now that we’ve been good

We’ve see the dawn of morning

.

And with the dawn came fire

As they burned down our poor town

They let the rain sting our faces

While they built our unmarked pyre

.

So now there’s little left

Of this place that we called home

Where children played, where people laughed

Our hearts torn with the theft

.

And now, while we wait

All sentenced to our death

I can only think of him

And what happened to our fate

.

Where a white dress waited

And a violin would play

Where a kiss would seal our hearts

A hope now desecrated

.

The barn where we once danced

Will now become our tomb

As these monsters light the fire

I think of his romance

.

And thus, I whisper my goodbye

I whisper ‘I love you’

And as I find my happy place

I let out a sweet sigh

.

And focus on the better times

Focus on the love

Focus on that valley

Where pain was once a crime

.

And as I twist the diamond ring

And think of his sweet promise

I can only hope that one day we’ll meet again

Up where the angels sing

 

 

Okay, so I know this isn’t my usual type of poem. Very dramatic, very dreary, very drastic. In truth, though, I wrote this months ago, and it sat on my computer because I was worried about putting such a touchy poem up.

Then I watched The Boy In The Striped Pajamas. Suddenly, that very dramatic, dreary, drastic movie helped give me confidence in this poem, and it’s story.

I will be the first to admit that the atrocities of World War Two are very, very interesting to me. Not in a morbid way, but in the mere astonishment of what people will do to others. From the Nanking Massacre in 1937-1938, the Oradour-sur-Glane Massacre in 1944, and, of course, the murder of six million Jewish people, along with the masses of the mentally disabled, Romanian, gypsy, homosexual and other cultures killed in work camps throughout Europe. This also includes the horrors of what the Nazi party did under the orders of Hitler, including the twisted Josef Mengele who preformed brutal experiments on children.

However, there was also some light in that dark time. Viktor Frankl is one of my favorite psychologists; I find him to be an uplifting and highly intelligent man; a psychologist that was more human than say, some of the psychologists such as Freud andSkinner.

The horrors of war are awful, and many of them leave scars on many of us. However, there have been many, many other awful wars and massacres even recently. The Rwandan Genocide in 1994, The Srebrenica Massacre in 1995, and some massacres and genocides as recent as 2001. Hate still is in our world, and apparently, we don’t learn from our mistakes.

I guess what I’m trying to say here, is although I wrote this poem with one of the World Wars in mind, it honestly, could be any country at war, any place that has brutality. World War Two was hardly the end of such atrocities such as the concentration camps. All we can truly do is learn from our history, and not doom ourselves to repeat it.

Believe me when I say that I am not usually so ardent in my ideas of peace. But by doing two projects (Nanking and a all-too-short bit on the holocaust, here and here) and yet still reading about some of the awful things that go on in our world can make me a little upset.

So, there’s your summer history lesson for the day. I’ll be more light hearted later, but perhaps, sometimes, its good to introduce something for people to think about. Don’t think poorly of me for it.