A Quick Note: My Writing Style

I realized that my writing style has emerged. Mommy said 2 years ago, that in starting this blog, if I wrote every day or every other day just a little, while experimenting, my writing style would emerge. That made no sense at the time. But I am noticing a pattern. At first, when I wrote poetry, each time it was different. But as I have picked it up this year again, unfailingly, if you go back to each poem, it is free verse, no set meter, rhyming scheme; it is really just as it comes. Oh, and short lines. Those are predominant. 

So my writing style is free verse poetry with short-ish lines. It is weird thinking back to "The House" and seeing how very different that is. I would never have thought that I would be a poet. Whenever I was asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, it was an author/writer. Of what? people would ask. Anything, the answer would come. 

But now it is seeming to be more poetry than anything else. It just comes naturally to me. I have a way with words, Mommy says. I guess that is poetically.

Enjoy!

Also, it occurred to me to write a poem about the pope, maybe the papacy, the Vatican, some history... I think that will be like the Eucharist Poetry: a pamphlet-like piece of work, different styles, etc. 

Eucharist Poetry

O Lord, enter my heart,

Enter my heart so gently,

Enter with the aid of Sacraments,

the Sacrament of Eucharist.

The Sacrament of Eucharist,

Communion with Christ,

Never ending, never stopping,

Perfect join to You.

O Lord how I love,

When the priest will lift You up,

In silence I adore,

the Perfect Host of You.

You love me Lord,

That I know,

When I kneel in adoration,

adoring You in monstrance,

gold and silver, lifting You

up to Heaven,

Sweet smelling incense,

filling up my nostrils,

oh how I love You.

Prayers and prayers,

on my tongue,

begging to be released,

yet my mind unable to form words,

sits in awe, trying

trying to comprehend 

this Love,

this great great Love,

that would come down

for me, for me

in this Precious Form,

my heart knowing,

my mind resisting,

the knowledge my soul has.

Why, oh why,

Would you come down,

descend unto this bread,

this humble Form of exsistence,

Oh Creator of all,

when the priest,

as You

repeats Your words,

those holy, holy words

"This is My Body and My Blood

of the holy Covenant"

to be comsumed by me,

tainted, torn by sin;

the answer is for Love.

For love would you come thus,

To humble bread and wine,

to be with us, to live in us,

always, oh Lord Divine.

I thank You Lord, for this gift,

This great gift of Your Soul,

To join with mine,

to be with mine,

forever, ever, Lord.

- The odd capitalization was to put more emphasis on God, while detracting form other words. The long spaces between stanzas show a new "poem".

It was all written together, in about half an hour, but I could sort of sense slight differences between the way they were written and the subtle differences in style. I realized you have to have the right rhythm when you are reading it, because reading it over made me confused until I corrected my reading. Just experiment a little I guess on that matter.

This is a pamphlet of poetry for IMPACT for the Sacrament of Eucharist. Mommy told me to do a project by myself, without Architect A. The poems don't have individual names because, even though it is separate, it is sort of meant to be read together. Also, I've realized I'm a bit lazy when it comes to making names for poetry.

I have never before been able to really express myself in religious poetry before. But this came so naturally and simply to me. I am finding that even in prose, am I writing poetically. Such as then. And I think poetically, not prose-y, so it sort of feels like poetry is taking over my life, but I don't care.

Habemus Papam!

We have a pope! God bless Pope Francis from Argentina, formerly Cardinal Jorge Bergoglio of Buenos Aires, first non-European, Argentinian, and Jesuit pope, and the first pope who took the name Francis!

We love you Papa!

Sealed in Christ

A bishop's hands,

coming, stretching,

toward my face,

dripping with oil,

chrism,

blessed to confirm,

peace and joy,

flooding my soul,

I am sealed in Christ,

the Spirit.

- I wrote this for an IMPACT project I am doing about Confirmation. Architect A is drawing a picture of a bishop confirming, and I am writing the text for the poster. And, seeing who I am, Architect A set me to also write a poem, which I probably would have done anyway.

I wrote this at co-op sitting outside on a rock, with nothing else to do. Everyone was in class and I had nowhere to go. I thought, "Oh, I'll write that poem". It came together in about the space of 5 minutes. Afterwards I felt very close to God, and rather joyful while I waited for Silly Sally to get out of class.

It is probably the shortest poem I have ever written. But it was done.

The House

When once I took a sorry stroll,

Saddned by a tale untold,

that dreary night in mid-November,

(Why I was there I can't remember),

While I stood there watching, waiting,

Waiting, watching, while debating,

Debating whether I should or not,

go home for a bun all nice and hot.

I decided no and proceeded on,

proceeding to a place now gone;

to find the house still there intact,

was quite a shock for me, alack!

I had hoped and pleaded with all my soul,

Pleading it be still not there my goal,

To see it there was troubling to my mind,

a mind that needed saneness, and things kind.

'Shall I proceed?' I asked myself,

'Should I proceed into this place of stealth,

Or turn back and attempt to forget?'

But before my mind was set,

I heard a hoot from an owl.

Looking up I saw the feathered fowl and scowled,

scowled at that annoying bird.

And there am I still, breathing not a word.

.

- I wrote this poem exactly 2 years ago. Well, I meant to post it Saturday, but I wasn't home all day. I like it so much that I felt that I should post it on my blog, and I was going to do so about a month ago, but realized I could pretend to have a reason by saying it was the 2 year anniversay/birthday whatever of when I wrote it. I've blown that obviously, but whatever.

.

Mommy decided that since it was Edgar Allen Poe's 203 birthday the day before class, her assignment for my creative writing class at SMA would be to write a 3 stanza poem with some of the same elements (e.g., onomatopoeias, alliteration, assonance, repetition, etc.) as "The Raven", by Mr. Poe. It was also supposed to have a creepy, somewhat scary feeling to it, like "The Raven".

This is what I came up with.

I cannot tell you why, but I am very proud of this poem. I just am. I have been proud of it for 2 years. Sometimes with my writing I think, "Oh, I should have done _______". But not with this.

If you haven't read "The Raven" yet, it is one of the best poems and probably my favorite (though I haven't thought about it much, but if you gave me 2 seconds to come up with my favorite, I'd say this). So here is a link to it: "The Raven" by Edgar Allen Poe.

Friendship

What is friendship?

Something confusing,

complicated 

at first sight,

but upon

further inspection

you find

Friendship is simple, yet much more.

What is friendship?

Playing together,

crying 

over bruises together,

But as you grow older

it becomes

more than that,

sweet, kind, 

loving,

Cherishing the other.

What is friendship?

That lovely thing that enables two,

Two to be

in harmony

like siblings knowing

 the other

Helping herself 

to the other's

snacks,

possessions, rooms,

things, accomplishments,

as if it were hers

What is friendship?

That thing when two
will laugh

and chat
for hours

about nothing

never caring,

For they are friends.

What is friendship?

It is love.

-Perfect example of what I said the other day about all my poems being different.

My friend told me to write a poem about friendship because she was appalled by my lack of posting. So here it is. Well, you've already read, I'm presuming.

This is probably my quickest poem ever. I started it less than an hour ago, at 1:55 (posting time wrong). Then at about 2:10 I was startled by having most of it finished. Since then I've just added a few words and the 4th stanza. And separated a few lines. It's amazing the world of difference it makes when you just separate those lines and change/delete some words. As soon as I did the last thing to make it to how you see it now, I though,"Yes! It's done!" I didn't know why, but it was. You can just tell. 

This is good.

I just made myself a goal. 2 poems/week, how that will work out, I'm not sure. And then the random writing assignments.

Thank you, Architect A!

Nativity Poem

Nativity, Nativity, such a sweet word,

Bringing to mind the great joy of Christmas that comes to all the world.

In the weeks leading up to that joyfilled morn,

My family watches candles slowly burn

down, and violet, anticipating,

anticipating that day, 

that day when Christ comes down to us,

in a form as ours.

I remind myself as I wake,

That God sent His only Son to me

Because of His great unending love for me

In the freezing cold,

Where the wise men gave him gold,

(So I have been told,)

And I He shall never forsake.

On that Christmas morn I find myself desiring one gift solely,

That gift of God's Son to me,

In all my sin and loneliness,

Only to have 

him die on a tree

for me, for me!

-Mommy got an email about a Joy to the World! Prayer Contest*- well, contest. The challenge was to create a piece of artwork, essay (not really an essay, but a short paragraph; it was only allowed to be 50-100 words), or poem portraying family traditions, how you felt about Christmas, how you remind yourself of Christmas everyday, etc. I, obviously, wrote a poem. The entries have to be submitted by Friday via mail, so I wrote this yesterday, with some editing/additions earlier today.

At first I was so lost as to what to do. I started wondering,"How on earth did I write "The House" [coming soon] 2 years ago?" Well, I'll tell you how. Sitting in front of the computer for half an hour trying to come up with something. And then the words just start coming to you. Slowly, but they come. Sometimes they're just ideas that get translated to words in several seconds.

Now, I know what you're thinking, I know there isn't really a set meter, line length, or even really regular rhyming. But sometimes, and you can really only understand this if you are a poet (I'm not claiming to be up there with Edgar Allen Poe or something, just someone who writes poetry occasionally), something feels right about whatever it is, like I felt like I should add another 'old' rhyming in the 3rd stanza. It just felt right. And I had an incredible urge to do something about it until I wrote that 6th line. And it's hard to explain, and it might not make sense if you don't write poetry. I realized that while Silly Sally was looking at it and said something about "Change this to this. It'd sound better", and I was offended and she didn't seem to understand that that was the way it was supposed to be. I just realized it's like what Michelangelo said once,"In every block of marble I see a statue as plain as though it stood before me...I only have to hew away the rough walls that imprison it." The poem is already there, and even though I don't "see it", necessarily, when I start, changing something that's supposed to be there is like lopping off the nose of a statue, if that makes any sense.

I guess my point is, all poetry is different. I can see that looking at all the crazily different poems I've written.

*name of contest

P.S. And no, it doesn't have a name. Yet.