So, hello, friends of Musings. Cathy/Rose posted a stunningly beautiful poem here about two months ago, and commented that site has been rather devoid of new stuff lately. That's partly my fault, since I'm one of the contributors to this here blog, and since I've been over at WordPress starting a shiny new music blog that I've grown to love, I've kind of neglected Blogger quite a bit. Well, that, and I simply didn't really have any strong poetic inspiration the past few months. (I can't tell you how many times I've wanted to write a poem to post on here, but I just couldn't get a good one started.) Tonight (or rather, this early morning), that all changed, and here is a poem I just wrote a minute ago. It has to do with music and the profound power it can have. I could write poems and poems upon poems about this subject, but this particular group of verses was inspired by a specific experience I had tonight. I hope you enjoy it, and I give my deepest apologies for not posting for so long. :)
the music plays on
suddenly, simply, subtle as a wandering wind
a breath of life, a waking moment
eyes and heart, with the softest warning
change for the better
the music plays on
time inconvenient, thoughts unexpected as a change in the weather
before you know it, the hour is dim
sun almost rising, world almost waking
caught up in something
the music plays on
beauty discovered, something unlocked like a key turning slowly
quickly forgetting all worries and cares
the essence of living, the bliss of existence
this is the music
it always plays on.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Monday, October 25, 2010
Comes From Living in the Desert...
...wow, this blog has been rather barren lately. I may have to fix that...
My Grandpa died this past May. He was my last surviving grandparent. It was very sad, as he committed suicide. He had survived several bouts with cancer, but he was about to face the prospect of going through all the treatments another time and decided to end it on his own terms. He was a good man. He wasn't the best man, but he did what he could. He became a good man in time, and we are comforted by the surety that he is now praising his Savior in Heaven.
I wrote this poem right after his death, when the shock and sorrow was still fresh and painful.
You've gone, and left the world and me behind
it's never been so empty, or so cold
I'd follow, but I know it's not my time
though many prayers have pleaded for it so
I didn't know you well; I should have done
and now I'll never get the chance to try
I'm sorry that I couldn't see it come
so I could say "I Love You," and "Goodbye."
P.S. I'm depressed, yes, but I'm not suicidal. Don't worry! :)
My Grandpa died this past May. He was my last surviving grandparent. It was very sad, as he committed suicide. He had survived several bouts with cancer, but he was about to face the prospect of going through all the treatments another time and decided to end it on his own terms. He was a good man. He wasn't the best man, but he did what he could. He became a good man in time, and we are comforted by the surety that he is now praising his Savior in Heaven.
I wrote this poem right after his death, when the shock and sorrow was still fresh and painful.
You've gone, and left the world and me behind
it's never been so empty, or so cold
I'd follow, but I know it's not my time
though many prayers have pleaded for it so
I didn't know you well; I should have done
and now I'll never get the chance to try
I'm sorry that I couldn't see it come
so I could say "I Love You," and "Goodbye."
P.S. I'm depressed, yes, but I'm not suicidal. Don't worry! :)
Monday, July 19, 2010
Ignition
I wrote this while driving from Phoenix, Az to Philadephia, Pa with my dad. I think we were going through Texas at the time...
Swiftly though I travel
in the face of driving rain
boldly striving on ahead,
the wind to numb my pain
the moonlight soothes my aching heart,
the sun ignites my soul
stars above sing lullabies
and your love makes me whole
Swiftly though I travel
in the face of driving rain
boldly striving on ahead,
the wind to numb my pain
the moonlight soothes my aching heart,
the sun ignites my soul
stars above sing lullabies
and your love makes me whole
Sunday, June 6, 2010
hotel view, 1:30 am
Yes, this is Brandon. Actually posting a new poem. :D Last night, I was listening to music in Room 574 of the Westin Los Angeles Airport (me, my dad, and grandma were in LA for the weekend because I had a Jeopardy! audition...anyways, not the point...), and looking out the large window at the street and whatnot, and I thought, "Hey, I should write a poem about this mysterious, interesting-looking view of Los Angeles." So I did. :) It is yet another poem inspired by California (I believe this is my third or fourth CA-related one), but I actually wrote it while sitting down, not in a car for once (haha...), it's not necessarily about nature, and after I wrote it, I noticed it was stylistically a bit different than what I've done before (then again I always say that, and could be wrong... :) ). Anyways, enjoy!
hotel view, 1:30 am
there's a world outside my window
it's almost 2 am
the cars have picked up again
humming, moving in a rhythm
irregular and arbitrary
ebbing, flowing
back and forth, white and red,
muted colors, spinning wheels,
pass me by.
a nice view of the city
it's after 1 am
lights poking through the dark sky of a nameless color
hundreds, thousands, millions
palm trees with their green
momentarily borrowed
to a distant shore
there are shores near here
but i only see the lights
a few--on wheels--pass me by.
it all goes on forever--the lights and the moving
it's halfway between 1 and 2.
the city is deciding between
waking and sleeping.
breathe in, breathe out.
the roads, the houses, the buildings, the palm trees--
they all
pass me by.
even as i sit here
with a world outside my window.
hotel view, 1:30 am
there's a world outside my window
it's almost 2 am
the cars have picked up again
humming, moving in a rhythm
irregular and arbitrary
ebbing, flowing
back and forth, white and red,
muted colors, spinning wheels,
pass me by.
a nice view of the city
it's after 1 am
lights poking through the dark sky of a nameless color
hundreds, thousands, millions
palm trees with their green
momentarily borrowed
to a distant shore
there are shores near here
but i only see the lights
a few--on wheels--pass me by.
it all goes on forever--the lights and the moving
it's halfway between 1 and 2.
the city is deciding between
waking and sleeping.
breathe in, breathe out.
the roads, the houses, the buildings, the palm trees--
they all
pass me by.
even as i sit here
with a world outside my window.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Enough
That face which haunts my brightest dreams
of shining light and things to be
That hand which guides my wandering feet
down winding paths, past closing doors
That voice which beckons silently,
through all my years it calls to me
Those arms which wait and promise love
beyond the gates flung open wide
All these I long to see and hear
and touch and know above all else...
of shining light and things to be
That hand which guides my wandering feet
down winding paths, past closing doors
That voice which beckons silently,
through all my years it calls to me
Those arms which wait and promise love
beyond the gates flung open wide
All these I long to see and hear
and touch and know above all else...
...but until then
I have
Enough.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
The Lonely Angel
This is a new poem, fresh, never before seen by human eyes!
...other than my own, of course... *awkward cough*
I wrote it just this morning, 5:50 a.m. Why am I up before 6 writing poetry, you ask? Because I Can.
enjoy.
The lonely, wandering Angel
straining for the light
The darkness gathers round us all
with only you to fight
Closer, nearer , creeping in
your seconds growing few-
one thousand ways to save the world,
but who’ll save you?
...other than my own, of course... *awkward cough*
I wrote it just this morning, 5:50 a.m. Why am I up before 6 writing poetry, you ask? Because I Can.
enjoy.
The lonely, wandering Angel
straining for the light
The darkness gathers round us all
with only you to fight
Closer, nearer , creeping in
your seconds growing few-
one thousand ways to save the world,
but who’ll save you?
Monday, May 3, 2010
Bill Murray + Poetry Reading = Epic Win
Hey! I'm finally making a post! And it's my first blog post with video too. Anyways...I found out about this video on EW.com, and it's a fun little thing where Bill Murray reads poetry to (and hangs out with) the construction workers that built the new home for Poets House, which according to Wikipedia is "a national literary center and poetry library based in New York City." Now I want to go there, since it's free and whatnot. :) Thought y'all might like this, since it's related to poetry, and I don't quite have an original poem to share at the moment. :D
Friday, April 30, 2010
Surrealty
Here's a short poem I wrote last year when something I wished for actually happened. And no, I'm not telling what it was! ;D
"Visions dance before my eyes of what could hardly seem to be
yet dare I trust remembrance when it, too presents such fantasy?
Illusions fade, the truth’s revealed before my ever reaching heart
and there I see my dream is real, a living, breathing work of art."
"Visions dance before my eyes of what could hardly seem to be
yet dare I trust remembrance when it, too presents such fantasy?
Illusions fade, the truth’s revealed before my ever reaching heart
and there I see my dream is real, a living, breathing work of art."
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Goodness Gracious!
We are so terrible!
It's been forever since either of us posted anything, and I don't know about Brandon, but I certainly don't have any excuses for this sort of behavior. Bad Rose, bad!
Anyway, here's a sonnet that I wrote, well, for me really, but I used it as an English assignment also.
An’ Sense Be Yielded Up
"What joyous shouts shall issue forth from those
whom true Love’s bolts will pierce with ready flair
‘Tis cert’, on such as they a fair wind blows
an' sense be yielded up unto the air
For who can turn away the sounded call,
when heart strings twang and Providence intrudes?
And strength hath who to bear sweet Echo’s ¹ fall,
to persevere ‘gainst all of Love’s foul moods?
Such madness! None its fury can approach,
which, lovers, drives to desperate, disparate mains ²
Mere words could not themselves the subject broach
that cleaves the heart and rends the soul in twain
Though Love be not the most productive scheme,
it may be Life’s most inter-active theme."
¹Echo- in Greek mythology, pined away for love of Narcissus, who had eyes only for his own reflection, until she had no more substance than just her voice.
²Mains- the open ocean; high seas
It's been forever since either of us posted anything, and I don't know about Brandon, but I certainly don't have any excuses for this sort of behavior. Bad Rose, bad!
Anyway, here's a sonnet that I wrote, well, for me really, but I used it as an English assignment also.
An’ Sense Be Yielded Up
"What joyous shouts shall issue forth from those
whom true Love’s bolts will pierce with ready flair
‘Tis cert’, on such as they a fair wind blows
an' sense be yielded up unto the air
For who can turn away the sounded call,
when heart strings twang and Providence intrudes?
And strength hath who to bear sweet Echo’s ¹ fall,
to persevere ‘gainst all of Love’s foul moods?
Such madness! None its fury can approach,
which, lovers, drives to desperate, disparate mains ²
Mere words could not themselves the subject broach
that cleaves the heart and rends the soul in twain
Though Love be not the most productive scheme,
it may be Life’s most inter-active theme."
¹Echo- in Greek mythology, pined away for love of Narcissus, who had eyes only for his own reflection, until she had no more substance than just her voice.
²Mains- the open ocean; high seas
Friday, March 26, 2010
Visuo-lunarally Inspired Poetry
I wrote this one for my English class last year.
Bella Luna
"Oh silvery orb, how dost thou hang
in the vast dome which arches now
above my crown?
Why liest thou so silently behind
the wispy, smoky clouds that slink
across the night?
Shine forth thy bright, bonny face
to light the darkened world below thy
crib of shadows!
Come out tonight and spread your glow
o’er shattered hopes and broken hearts,
bathing them with hope."
Bella Luna
"Oh silvery orb, how dost thou hang
in the vast dome which arches now
above my crown?
Why liest thou so silently behind
the wispy, smoky clouds that slink
across the night?
Shine forth thy bright, bonny face
to light the darkened world below thy
crib of shadows!
Come out tonight and spread your glow
o’er shattered hopes and broken hearts,
bathing them with hope."
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Three Poems About Precipitation...
As you may have noticed from my previous post, I really enjoy writing poems about nature. In fact, since coming up here to Utah for college, that's pretty much ALL I've written poems about. Living right next to the mountains and having beautiful (albeit highly schizophrenic :D) weather is like a gold mine for a poet like me! Here are not one, not two, but THREE poems I've written this year (one of them in October, the second in about February, and the other just a week and a half ago while on the bus back from our Men's Chorus tour in St. George) about the gorgeous Utah weather...namely, about the wonderful rain and snow that it brings. (Side note: I set the first poem to music, and it became my first structured, planned-out choral piece! Here is a link if you'd like to see/hear it: Click here. )
song for a stormy day
sheets of gray
pierce my soul with happiness
dark clouds
rend the skies with clarity
and the rain falls
in pieces
of a puzzle
of emotion
they wet the ground
they warm the heart
i am
a small part
of an ocean of green
and brown
and colors natural
and unseen
growing, slowly growing
in the storm
rain pounding, my heart
reflecting the drops
of the storm
feeling the rhythm
of the storm
song for a stormy day
sheets of gray
pierce my soul with happiness
dark clouds
rend the skies with clarity
and the rain falls
in pieces
of a puzzle
of emotion
they wet the ground
they warm the heart
i am
a small part
of an ocean of green
and brown
and colors natural
and unseen
growing, slowly growing
in the storm
rain pounding, my heart
reflecting the drops
of the storm
feeling the rhythm
of the storm
reflections on snow
a blanket of gray
suspended
over
white
a moody sky
paints the ground
white
with its tears of
joy
a light from within
all nature
glowing
whispering
you, me, us
the falling
flakes
envelop
mankind
in seas of
white
and the ground's a bed of
white
tonight, the earth will sleep peacefully.
white road
traveling along a snowy sea
endless rows of fences
disappearing into white
the blank, cloudless air
is.
i am too.
the hum of the motor
i feel no winter chill
but it feels me
it feels all of us.
it is.
it is white and sky and moving stillness.
muted fields of pale things
that once grew, that will grow again
cars running swiftly
over the path
that leads through the white
the white is.
we are too.
open, breathing, living, visions of white and freshly fallen snow.
the snow is.
the ground is.
the road is.
the earth is.
i am too.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Woohoo!
Yay! Another post!! Okay, so it really makes me giggle when someone tries to refute claims that people who believe the way they do are stupid and makes elementary spelling and grammar mistakes all over the place. I know I’m not the best speller myself, but I really try hard not to make those kind of mistakes when trying to convince people that I actually do have functional brains in my head, despite what I believe.
That said, I really hope that this blog will be a place where we can just discuss literary pursuits and not go into politics even the littlest bit, because conflict really stresses me out.
That good with you people?
Do we have any people…?
*Hellooooo…… Hellooooo...... Helloooo.....*
O.o
That said, I really hope that this blog will be a place where we can just discuss literary pursuits and not go into politics even the littlest bit, because conflict really stresses me out.
That good with you people?
Do we have any people…?
*Hellooooo…… Hellooooo...... Helloooo.....*
O.o
the valley
So the previous post essentially took care of welcoming and whatnot, so I'll just cut to the chase with a poem I just wrote a few minutes ago. :) It was inspired by a ride back tonight from Spanish Fork to Provo. I love the Wasatch valley's endless array of views at night. You really can't drive anywhere on the freeway without being able to see a huge blanket of lights across the valley. And of course, the mountains surround pretty much everywhere in the valley. Thus was born this poem, which structurally (and content-wise, too, I suppose :) ) is probably one of my more abstract. :D
dots and dots and more
dots of light
to guide us as we glide
through the peaceful still darkness
cloud-touched mountains tower over us
in placid silence
a view of the light
a world of brightness and mystery
i see it now
remembering
but i am there
it is here
remembering
treasured memories
dark, unpainted scenes
remembering
the darkness
the light
the mountains
the valley
-3/24/10
Welcome to our blog!
We are thrilled that anyone would want to read our wild ramblings...well, at least I am :p
Now for my first poem. This one's from a couple of years back, but it partially explains my choice of Nom de Plume. It's not really meant to make much sense though. Enjoy!
"I am the wilting leaf that pines for the sun in the dead of winter.
I am the desert plant that longs for the rain in the midst of drought.
I am the twisted vine that mourns for an oak on which to lean.
I am the wearied sapling that wants for a post to lift it up.
I am the flower without the bee, the bird without the tree.
I am the bell without the steeple…
…a rose…
…that is me."
We are thrilled that anyone would want to read our wild ramblings...well, at least I am :p
Now for my first poem. This one's from a couple of years back, but it partially explains my choice of Nom de Plume. It's not really meant to make much sense though. Enjoy!
"I am the wilting leaf that pines for the sun in the dead of winter.
I am the desert plant that longs for the rain in the midst of drought.
I am the twisted vine that mourns for an oak on which to lean.
I am the wearied sapling that wants for a post to lift it up.
I am the flower without the bee, the bird without the tree.
I am the bell without the steeple…
…a rose…
…that is me."
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