Hey guys. I hope you all are doing well. Those of you who are done with school, I hope you are enjoying the start to your summer. And those of you like myself who are still studying, persevere ’til the end. It’s not too far.
I decided that I wanted to post the poetry I was assigned to write in my Intro to Creative Writing class. We were assigned to write 3-5 poems of any kind. Here are mine. Enjoy!
Skorts
Janie worked as a manager-clerk
In a clothing store with a customer-quirk.
This store clothed not just humans,
But animals too,
Talk about Christmastime being a zoo.
One day, Janie,
A girl of only 14,
Saw a sight she had surely never seen.
In came a tigress, on its hind legs,
Wearing a perfume smelling of eggs.
“I’m Betty,” she announced, “Betty the Blue.”
Janie, amazed at the feline’s hair-doo,
Said, “Excuse me. But why are you blue?”
“You see,” Betty began, “I got it dyed at the hair salon
Down on the corner of 1st and Vaughn.”
“But I was wondering,” she continued to say,
“Do you have any skorts on sale today?”
“Skorts!?” Janie exclaimed. “Well I’ve never heard of such things!”
“Well, they’re popular in spring: half skirt and half short,
I’m surprised you’ve never heard of the sort!
They come in all colors: purple, white, red and green,
And my personal favorite, dark-denim-blue-jean.”
“Wow!” Janie said, “Those are unique!
I think I’ll order some later this week!
I’ll order grass skorts and jean skorts
Long skorts and short skorts,
Oh how I’ll order skorts of all sorts!”
Betty chimed in, “Order right now! Or tomorrow the latest!
Then, in this town, your store’ll be greatest!”
So Janie did as Betty commanded.
She called the skort makers and firmly demanded,
“I want green skorts, white skorts, and skorts of all sizes!
I want skorts for any event that arises!
And so, a few days later,
Waltzing out of the elevator,
Came the deliveryman.
Janie’s skorts had finally arrived!
And ever since then, her store has thrived.
If it weren’t for that blue cat,
Who knows where Janie’s store would be at?
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To Be a Disciple
Rugged was the cross on which He died,
So that we may live this glorious day
To proclaim that he’s the only way.
Loud the pleas on the cross he cried,
Many the things at his feet we lay,
“Holy, holy holy” we humbly say.
Christ leads us, in him we abide.
We follow as sheep; we do not stray,
For he paid a price we cannot pay.
—————————————————————-
Goodbye
He waves goodbye as he walks backward toward the plane.
His boots squeak, his rifle clanks.
“It’s hot over there, stay hydrated!”
“I will. I love you mom!”
“I’ll miss you baby!”
The sniper didn’t.
—————————————————————-
I’m a Writer
I write prose.
I’m not an artist.
I’m a writer.
Poetry is a painting.
I’m colorblind.
Poetry is a beautiful sketch.
I can’t draw.
My left hand smears ink or lead.
I’m a writer,
Not an artist,
Not a poet.
—————————————————————-
No Match for Death
A car passes.
There goes another.
I wonder if anyone is going to stop and help.
I am dizzy because of the heat, or maybe it’s the blood loss.
I can’t be sure.
The blood flowing out of my head cools me.
My sweat burns.
I try to pry the door open,
But I am too weak.
“I’m coming!” I scream.
She turns her head to look at me,
She is calm.
Death has arrived in this heap of metal
That was once my car.
I am no match for death.
She is no longer mine.
She is His.
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I hope you guys enjoyed my poems! I will be posting a more insightful post in the next week or so, I promise.
-Chris
