Hola, reader! Here’s one of my original poems, inspired by J.R.R. Tolkien’s poem The Road Goes Ever On.
The winds of time
Whirl ever on,
Out from the dawn
When they began;
Blowing me on,
Onward I go,
Though not knowing
The path they lead.
The winds will whirl
Some certain scene
And then pause there;
Then swirling on,
Faster they'll blow,
To tarry there.
Though I know not
To where they blow,
Still I'll follow
With grateful feet;
'Till they slowly,
Drifting to the
When I created this poem, I was trying to think of a good metaphor for time, and wind came to mind. It’s always there, always exists, but it travels both quickly and slowly–just like how sometimes time flies and sometimes it sleeps. Memory is a funny thing, too–whether or not an event seemed to fly by or take forever, memory is very picky about what it keeps. It’s interesting trying to figure out why you remember some small things and not other (sometimes heavily impactful) things. Time flies, and so does memory.
Anyway, thinking of time as wind, and time travel as sailing on the drifts, produced this poem. Then the poem just seemed to fit into the meter of The Road Goes Ever On, which I’d recently read (and listened to).
And voila! Out came this poem.
Hope you enjoyed it! What’s one of your favorite poems by Tolkien? What’re some things that inspired your own (or another poet’s) poems?
Thanks for checking out this post! May God bless your week and your adventures at home.
Today I am sharing one of my simple poems, “Laughter.” I wanted to describe as many kinds of laughter as I could. If you can think of other kinds of laughter, or have any critiques on the poem, please let me know in the comments below!
There is a kind of glee, That makes one slap the knee, Rolling around soundlessly, Tears outpouring from the eyes.
A kind that rolls around the seas, And leaps into the playground leaves, And slips amid the shifting sands, And dashes with the dancing rain.
A kind that's like a bellow forge, Blazing fire deep within, And catches fire in other souls, And for a while uplifts hearts.
A kind that mimics hyenas, Skipping around so gleefully; Embarrassingly filling cantinas, Yet when children do it sounds so silly.
A kind that sings so quietly Inside the soul quite willingly, Only showing in a small smile, Shining forth under firelight.
A kind that echoes chillingly And fills its foes so fearfully; Filling their backbones up with ice, Gripping their heart with cold black fear.
There's a kind that jeers in the ears And laughs at other's sorry plight. At their expense they laugh, Pointing fingers meanly.
A kind that's pointless, meaningless; It is used only to agree, To gain approval and allies. "Just smile and nod," that's what they say.
Then an awkward, halting laughter, When you don't know how to respond, Or when you say a joke but then No one hears or finds it funny.
Then a kind so welcoming, It invites all people in; They calm right down and want to stay, And by the warm hearth always lay.
What do you think is the most interesting kind of or thing about laughter? Did I get all (if not most) of the kinds of laughter you know of?
Thank you for reading! Have an awesome week and God bless!
Today I am sharing one of my own poems, “When Sorrows Come”. Enjoy!
I always liked the imagery that inspired this poem: that clouds are the sorrow that block out the sun, but all you have to do is fly above the clouds and enter a world of fluffy white clouds and bright, clear sunshine. It doesn’t claim that the clouds aren’t there; rather, it sees the beauty in and above the clouds, and recognizes the eternal presence of the sun.
What do you think? Do you have any critiques or tips for the poem? What was your favorite part (if you had one)?
Today I am sharing yet another one of my poems: “The Idea”. This is another one of my favorite created poems.
The words mingled in her mind Swirling, whirling, a golden find. She raced up to her room Praying to find some paper soon Grasping, clasping the memory close Before the lovely lines bid adios. In a swirl in a frenzy scratched the feather Upon the little tree bound in leather, Blocking all sound ‘cept the supper chime. She did not dare to dine Whilst remained the revelation.
Insistent rang the bell, still did she not come. Fought she fiercely, struggled strongly, Wrestling the idea’s resistance singly. A slip, a dash, a tackle down– ‘Till at last the battle was done. Heart beating, heavy breathing, Slumping to her seat, the wing- Feather flying with the weary wind. Her feat was recorded and The deed by dinner rewarded. Her mind was done, but then was fed.
Anne B. Caitlin
While this was one of my more… old-fashioned-words style poems, I loved “the idea” of this poem. This describes a lot of writers’ experience with ideas. The frantic search for paper, pen, phone, computer, or typewriter before they forget the idea. The suddenness of the inspiration–it doesn’t wait for a good time to appear. It just pops into your head, demanding immediate attention and insisting to be written down at once.
What do you think? What was your favorite/least favorite line(s)? What do you like to write your ideas down on?
Today I am sharing one of my own favorite created poems. Let me know what you think of it in the comments below!
Oak stood upon a hilly ridge. Wind whirled and whistled And all bowed before his will. He swept Oak’s sorrow from her gaze And blew her burdens away. She gazed in awe at the glorious Swaying, worshipping grass Which hummed and fluted Praise to Wind’s wonderful power.
Wind whispered and wondered At Oak’s thoughtful stand. “What are you thinking?” Asked he. Slowly responded she.
“I watch motion’s mysteries, I ponder the path of the breeze. What wisdom does Wind contain? From whence he came, No one has been informed. To where he goes, No one knows. Can you tell me please, Who your Maker be?”
“He is the Master of the sea, The Word, the Life, the Light be He. He directs my path, All knowledge He hath. I know not where I go, Except that where He says, there I blow.”
Anne B. Caitlin
My favorite line(s) out of the whole poem has to be, “I know not where I go, except that where He says, there I blow.” Too often in our lives are we blind, uncertain, and scared of the future–we have no idea how it will go, or what will happen. We can only live on a day-by-day basis. But the pressure’s not on us to know exactly what we’re going to do and where we’re going to go. All we need to do is “trust and obey” God every moment of our lives. He has the plan and knows what will happen.
Thanks for reading! What was your favorite (& least favorite) line(s)–if any? Any critiques? Comment below!
As you know, I post rather irregularly. I struggle to find a good posting frequency that works with my busy schedule. So now I will be trying to post at least once, if not twice a month. Every week (or every other week), I will be posting a poem–either of my own or by someone else. Then, once a month, I will post an update on my writing/reading. Sound like a good plan? Let me know what you think below!
Unripened words on the tree of the mind When ripe they're split open and eaten Some are rotten and thrown away Others are juicy and full of meat.
For what are words but the fruit of imaginations? What are words except the whispers of the wind? What are words, the forces that drive all emotions? What are words, the ideas that flip the world upside down?
No man can live on bread alone But on the very words of God; Words have power though they're unseen Words can't be explained by science.
In order to grow words A mustard seed must be first planted And watered and loved so that it grows Into the solid tree that develops fruit.
It can't be abandoned or it will die It oughtn't be left a seed forever It needs firm roots and a solid soul for soil Then it will grow into the tree Where birds will nest in its branches.
If it doesn't grow no birds will come There'll be no shade under its branches Ideas won't blossom and prompts won't roost Within its nonexistent branches.
These ideas make the world And change it for ever Don't waste the fruit of this seed Or it will take down other seeds.
Words have the power to burn the trees They have the strength to fly the bees Whispers untold will fold the world And exclamations shake it.
-Anne B. Caitlin
This poem came out in a kind of song form, rather than just a poem. I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think of it in the comments below!
Let me know if you have any suggestions for posts and/or post frequency! What did you think of the poem? Did you see any ways I could improve it? Comment below!
I was lucky enough to have a poetry war with one of my friends, and I spontaneously created this poem. (Isn’t it great when that happens?) I edited it slightly once we were done with the poetry battle to help it rhyme, and here it is:
Perhaps this the reason be
Why my self in one piece stays;
For if the same all my days
I ‘twould fly apart and flee.”
The friend & I were commenting on how different we ourselves are compared to when we are with friends and when we are by ourselves. So this poem spontaneously came into my brain: since there are opposites of nature within us and opposites attract, we stay in one piece.
However, it’s rather strange; because the people who have the same personality and character no matter what situation they’re in are typically more consistent, reliable, and stable. So the “opposites attract” doesn’t really apply to within people, it seems to only apply to people-to-people and electrical charge-to-charge relationships.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the poem! Have a great day! 🙂