I wish I was a little girl filled with deep emotion
And everywhere I'd choose to go, to be met with pure devotion
The breadth and depth of his closed heart would open at my touch
And he would see the heart in me, and know that I loved much.
He'd place me on a pedastal, and wait for me to call.
Not as a servant, but a Prince, to catch me if I fall.
And I would know, while I stood high, and returned his love's kind gaze
That ever constant he would be, however long the days.
His calming strength would be my own, causing me to stand.
And only he could keep me there--with the strength of just one hand.
Wow. Wasn't that sappy? Careful--I might do it again!
Forward march, and all that jazz, I'm here to win a war.
I've been almost everywhere, but I ain't been here before.
So move on back, give me space, I'm here until I leave.
I'm not quite sure when that might be, so give me room to breathe!
Wait--what's that? What did you say? You aren't so sure of me?
Why, buddy, listen here! you'd just darn better be!
I've got two hands fit to fight, and strong arms to back them up!
Think you can deal with that, young son? Well, boy, you just stand up.
I'll show you what I'm made of, kid--you'll wish you didn't know.
Eh? Believe me now, you say? Cool. Now show me where to go.
There we go. One for the men, and one for the ladies. ...or maybe not...
I'm off to bed now. Goodnight.
12 comments:
if I find you "posting" anything after 10:00pm.....young lady...your grounded !!!
but nice work anyway ..
jake
Dear Tracy;
If you wrote those poems I am seriously jealous. My attempts have all been pathetic compared to those. But I must interprete, or imply from the first poem that in your dear heart of hearts you long for the convent! I agree with Jake that you gotta get to bed at a decent time little girl, I can't stand crabby people in the morning.
God Bless Always, Padre Stetson?
Oh my goodness, Tracy, those were awesome! Why would you have kept writing's like that inside your little head when you could share them with so many people who would love them?
Really, they were really good.
Beth
To Jake and The Padre,
Okay, obviously I *enjoy* being up so late. It's reminding me of the good ol' days when I actually wrote entire stories. I'm realizing that I do some of my best writing at night...late, late, late, as is apparent.
Jake, what are you going to ground me from...the clinic??? ::laughs:: By the way, I won't be there this weekend. Sorry.
Padre, don't try to interpret anything I write. It's not possible. I'm a little too crazy to understand.
I wrote both of those poems with particular reasons in mind, and only one person will get what they mean. And of course I'm talking about the rude girl who won't read my blog unless I force her to type my blog address in....
Aaw, thanks, Beth. That was really sweet of you.
: )
Well Tracy, I decided that because my busy sister wouldn't be able to read your blogs, I would.... Now about this blog. First of all I would like to agree with you about having the best ideas at night. It is often that I slip into bed only to jump out of it, rush over to my desk(or the piano) and write my idea down before I forget it.
The other thing I have to say about this blog is..... I know what you were saying it that first poem. ;) As for the second... Well, you'll have to actually talk to me if you want my opinion.:-)
Um, excuse me, 'anonymous person'...but who are you? I know a few guys who have busy sisters that don't read my blog. How am I supposed to ask you about my poem if I don't know your name? Besides, you're goofy. You told me last night that I had to read the comments you left here to find out what you thought. Make up your mind.
Dear Tracy,
Your poetry is angelic. Is it about me?
You are a teardrop on the cheek of history and I am a silk handkerchief waiting to sweep you off your feet!
I do think however that a heart of stone is preferable to a heart of flesh. Flesh changes and change denotes imperfection. The commandments were written on stone, which suggests that stone stands firm. Although a little stern, stone can have its little unpredictable explosions like when a volcano erupts. Makes life rather exiting, don’t you think? Yes, I prefer a heart of stone.
JB
Beyond the Grave
His heart opened up, so your wish came through
There was red everywhere since his blood did spew
He saw your heart ‘cause he was bright
And hauled it out without fight
He proved you had a heart ok
But without any blood he was there to stay
Dead as a stone he eventually dropped
And without his support, you just flopped
The end.
Professor Moriarty
Professer "Mori-geeky" is more like it. Wha-ZOOSH that poem was bad! I mean like *shh-yaw* SuXXor Rama! Not like TRACY'S little gem. Ah, what a poem. What a teardrop. But I think our "friend" JB got it wrong though... he's not really a silk hankie. I think he's more like a peice of toilet paper that just happened to wipe the wrong cheek. EWWWWW! What a gross analogy JB! You're disgusting! Exile yourself!
Anyhoo, try THIS little baby on for size:
Out of the creepy darkness black
Creeped the native with a sack
Full of disgusting body parts
Full of dripping, sappy hearts
Hearts of lovers, hearts of friends
Hearts of seminarians
This native, you see, was iriquoi
And butchered alike girl and boy.
There is no stopping this savage feind
he's really, really REALLY mean!
THE FREAKING END, BUDDY. YOU WANT A PIECE OF ME? COME GET SOME, AND BRING YOUR CAN O' WHOOP @$$ 'CAUSE YOU'RE GOING TO NEED IT.
-The Restless, freaking CRUEL and MEAN Native
:::shakes head in disbelief::: That was surprising, I must say. A little harsh toward the end, but interesting, nonetheless. Thank you, Restless, for your contribution. It was a bit cynical, though....
JB, don't listen to the Restless Native. He's just a wee bit restless these days, and he doesn't quite know what to do with himself. But I must say I disagree with you. A stone heart is only useful in that it presents an opportunity for a woman to melt it. That's it. And you know it. So there.
Professor, come now, where are you? I wish you would post again.
Dearest Tracy;
this is getting wierd, I can't believe I'm a part of this mess...
God Bless, the Padre
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