Anna Mae's Poetry

[Anna Mae]

This is a poem I wrote very recently. I'm dealing with the realization that I am a sinner. An awfully horrid sinner... and yeah. This is a poem about me wanting to be the person God wants me to be.(The formatting was important, so I had to have it in word document).

[Anna Mae]

Christmas Eve

The wind is whistling through stark trees,
the snow is falling gently.

The stars look down in bright array,
patiently awaiting another Christmas day.

In the church bright candles glow,
sending sparkles on the snow.

The moon is glowing steadily,
Christmas Eve is calling me.

[Anna Mae]

The snow is falling gently,
upon the hard-packed ground.
Falling oh so gently,
never making a sound.
As it transforms the world
into a land of white,
everything glimmers
in the soft moonlight.

[Anna Mae]

These last few poems are ones I wrote several years ago, at least. This one is as well.

[align=center]Infinity

I close my eyes,
and go deep within my mind.
To a special place,
a quiet place,
and I see the Stairs.
The stairs to
Infinity

As I begin to ascend,
the earth dwindles below me,
like a plaintive call to come back.
Yet, I go on,
I must reach
Infinity

The stars grow brighter,
the moon is like a giant pearl.
And then a wind,
shakes the Stairs.
Now steps are missing,
It is not easy going,
yet I am determined to reach
Infinity

Now, I am up to the clouds,
the sun is almost blinding.
And through the mist,
I glimpse something Beautiful...
Beyond all words...
Infinity

Not a moment has passed,
when I fall...
down...down...down...
Past the sun...
Past the moon...
Through the stars...
Not a fearful fall,
Not a swift fall,
more like a gentle Hand pushing me back, saying
“No, it is not your time.â€

[Anna Mae]

I wrote this one two years ago.

Music

My feelings of
love joy happiness...
All fit in here.

My feelings of
sadness anger frustration...
All fit in here.

It’s my own little world
that I can escape in.
We...
All fit in here.

[Anna Mae]

This is one I wrote several years ago. God has really used it to speak to me.

[Anna Mae]

Here is one I wrote about five minutes ago.

Looking Back

I began a journey one day.
I suppose I began on the day I was born,
But I didn’t notice the road I traveled until just recently.
Not too long ago was when I stopped meandering,
And picked up a dead sprint.

So I don’t have much to look back on.
But every moment I wait,
Because every moment passed is another moment I’ve spent with my Lord.
Every precious little bit he reveals, I joyously hold on to,
Anticipating when I shall look back on it with fondness.

I haven’t gotten very far,
The road is difficult,
But with every grace He showers on me
I run backwards a bit so I can see it more clearly.
I know He won’t let me fall.

I look forward to the day that my journey will be over.
The day when I can look back on His many blessings with a better understanding.
The day when I shall no longer be a child with its petty adventures,
But a seasoned warrior.
Alas, I am not there yet.

Inch by inch,
Millimeter by millimeter,
He reveals Himself to me.
I revel for a moment,
And then take the opportunity to look back at His goodness.

I began a journey one day.
I suppose I began on the day I was born,
But I didn’t notice the road I traveled until just recently.
Not too long ago was when I stopped meandering,
And picked up a dead sprint.

I don’t have much to look back on yet,
But I’m savoring every morsel
Until the day I shall see Him face to face,
And we will look back together,
On a long journey.

[uc pseudonym]

You're quite prolific, aren't you?

[Anna Mae]

A contraire, God is quite prolific.

[sunet]

Your poems are so beautiful and inspirational!!!

I love 'em all. ^_^

I look forward to reading more

[Anna Mae]

Thank you so much. It means a lot to me.

Glory to God!

[Anna Mae]

I Wonder

I sit here, alone, and wonder.
I ponder the past and think on things to come.
I have so many goals, and too many dreams.

I want to be an author, a poet, a musician,
an actor, a linguist, a dancer, a mother.
There are so many things I could do with my life, yet no way I can do them all.

I have so many things I would love to do with my days,
yet I spend them all in school,
and all other time is an extension of it- homework.

My musicality has become a chore,
my acting an obligation.
So many things to do, all of them so worth the while.

People tell me I have the rest of my life to do these things,
but some of them just can’t wait.
I’m afraid that later will simply be too late.

I have a passion for language,
and yearn to be a polyglot.
Yet I am confined still unto my mother tongue.

I want to be a musician,
oh, to fill my schedule with music classes!
But, no, I am tied to academics.

I wish I could be an actor,
to fly into a fictional world and be a fictional person.
This cannot be, it just won’t happen.

Oh, to sit all day composing poetry,
to write many stories, and a novel or two.
But constricted to these little ditties I stay.

If only I could spend my days dancing!
To twirl and soar for my King!
Nevertheless, I am still here- firmly grounded.

What if I would be an athlete?
I excel in tennis and gymnastics- and what fun that would be!
Time I lack- my studies are consuming my life.


Or, if I could be an artist.
I could spend my life making marvels for the world to enjoy.
Yet it seems to perpetually remain a hobby.

And yet I would enjoy immensely having a family.
A soul-mate to share my life with, and children to love and cherish.
Where will even this fit in?

I think the Lord is calling me to be a missionary.
Which I would gladly do,
but how can I be sure?

Amid all these dreams, I sit, discouraged.
Sometimes these gifts seem more like a curse.
Why must I be tormented by so many things that could be?

I sit here, alone, and wonder.

[Anna Mae]

Perhaps needlessly to say, I was in pain when I wrote this one. It is kind of redundant, sorry. It is meant to be viewed sideways, but I had some trouble trying to get it that way, so just think about it like it is sideways. << >>

Pain
Stabbing
Churning
Spreading
Excruciating
Agonizing
Twisting
Burning
Searing
Poking
Aching
Piecing
Gouging
Agitating
Puncturing
Intensifying
Expanding
Seething
Slashing
Racking
Stinging
Distorting
Harrowing
Exacerbating
Contorting
Entangling
Charring
Scathing
Rising and
Falling in a
Never ceasing
Wave of emotions
that just keep going
and going never
to stop or end
or give you
any rest
at all
Pain

[Anna Mae]

A silver carpet spreads out under a pearly grey sky.
The world draws in its breath in anticipation.
Listen.
Accented by bells of dripping icicles
and chimes of ice
the flutes and clarinets of wind flow in with a dainty glissando and a tremolo.
Next enter the saxophones as a sweeping flock of geese,
followed by the groaning trees singing out with the base line.
And then the trumpets of clashing branches come in to
the drum’s salute of crunching snow for the climax.
Swirling and shimmering,
the symphony follows the Conductor’s every move.
Then they fade back into the silence.

[Nikki_fallingup]

So beautiful.... I really like the way that this last one seems to flow. It's almost as if you can here the symphony. Lovely!

Oh, and I wonder..... wow..... that's how I feel sometimes.....

Wonderful job on all of them!

[Anna Mae]

Thank you very much, Nikki! Your comments really mean a lot to me.

[CreatureArt]

Hey there.

I've just been reading through your poetry and wanted to say I enjoyed it very much. They were all good - but there were a few that especially had that special flow, that way of describing that captures the essence of the poem.

So, thank you. Keep on creating your pictures with words.

God bless.

[Anna Mae]

They were all good - but there were a few that especially had that special flow, that way of describing that captures the essence of the poem.

Out of curiosity, which ones?

[CreatureArt]

*Looking back for their titles...*

I Wonder
Christmas Eve
Infinity
Music (esp. the last line - it fits very well).
Why?
My Soul Cries Out in Lament
The Desert (*I love the message*)

[Anna Mae]

(*I love the message*)

And what did you think that the message was?

[Anna Mae]

[align=center][I]The Artist takes out his paints.
Dancing across the horizon he smooths pearly gray wisps across the dark sky,
and adds some sparkles and a dab of silver twilight to the snow.
Slowly spreading a pale blue onto his canvas,
he lights up the sky.
Then he proceeds to twirl across the land,
leaving cascades of rainbow in his wake.
With a caress to the trees, he lines them with silver.
Prancing over the lake, he coats it with a frosty white,
then gently bends down to refresh a broken blade of grass.
Flowing throughout the landscape,
he etches an intricate pattern onto a leaf.
Laughing joyfully,
he bounds back up to the sky with a brilliant surge of blue.
Spinning in his aura of light he sings the birds awake.
Choosing his special red, he paints the breast of a robin alive.
A swath of green made just for that field,
a newly mixed batch of yellow for a bold new crocus he beckons from the ground.
Swishing across the sky, he hovers to form a new snowflake.
The next one he gives the new shade of silver he created for it,
and the one after that his purest shade of white.
The next one shall have a triangle pattern, just like so.
And this one is special too, with its unique iridescence.
Dancing across the sky,
he smooths an orange tint on the horizon,
just right!
He soothingly tucks his little crocus to bed,
and paints one more rainbow.
Then with a burst of beauty he fills the sky with red.
Gracefully, he diffuses purple into the clouds,
soon filling the sky with its compassionate blush.
He dabs it a bid darker
and with a flourish illuminates it with his brilliant aura of stars.
The Artist smiles.
“It is good.â€

[Anna Mae]

Tomorrow’s Child

If you want to be a child,
then you must learn to play.
You need to see tomorrow,
and look back on today.

If you want to be a child,
then you must learn to dream.
Look at yesterday,
and tomorrow will be seen.

If you want to be a child,
then you must learn to hope
for looking in tomorrow,
you will learn to cope.

If you want to be a child,
then you must learn to dance.
In the sorrows of yesterday,
this day you will prance.

If you want to be a child,
you must be ready to learn.
If you’re ready to be taught,
life’s knowledge will be earned.

I wrote that one when I was a pretty little kid.

[Nikki_fallingup]

WOW!!! "The Artist" just flows! Had I not had to read it... (which is impossible) I would have closed my eyes and been able to see your words come to life. It's so beautiful how you capture the radiance! You have done a wonderful job on that one!

And Tomorrow's Child... It reminds me of the Psalms... how one must go through certain things to become the child that God has planned for us to be. I really like the fourth verse. It really stuck out to me.

[CreatureArt]

Sorry it took so long to answer your question. I started back at school a short while ago and am getting used to having to organise myself again, lol.

And what did you think that the message was?

I interpreted the message of 'The Desert' as a question of the nature of success. Is it as the world seems to see it: the life of a busy businessman who sacrifices his family to gain wealth and position, while never truly being content "I will be great!"
Wheras the contrast in the second part of the poem depicts a man whose life is happier because he has a less 'prestigious' job but understands it's importance - and who finds his success and happiness in his family. This seems to be the more favourable outcome "I will be content".

-- I'm not the best at looking in depth at poetry, but that's pretty much the message I interpreted from the poem. Others might interpret it differently, but I liked both the way the poem flowed, the story it told and the message I recieved from it.

[Jaltus-bot]

Beautiful. I especially like the one that starts with:

The Artist takes out his paints.
Dancing across the horizon he smooths pearly gray wisps across the dark sky,
and adds some sparkles and a dab of silver twilight to the snow.

Awesome work.

[Anna Mae]

WOW!!! "The Artist" just flows! Had I not had to read it... (which is impossible) I would have closed my eyes and been able to see your words come to life. It's so beautiful how you capture the radiance! You have done a wonderful job on that one!

And Tomorrow's Child... It reminds me of the Psalms... how one must go through certain things to become the child that God has planned for us to be. I really like the fourth verse. It really stuck out to me.

Thank you very much!

[Anna Mae]

I interpreted the message of 'The Desert' as a question of the nature of success. Is it as the world seems to see it: the life of a busy businessman who sacrifices his family to gain wealth and position, while never truly being content "I will be great!"
Wheras the contrast in the second part of the poem depicts a man whose life is happier because he has a less 'prestigious' job but understands it's importance - and who finds his success and happiness in his family. This seems to be the more favourable outcome "I will be content".

-- I'm not the best at looking in depth at poetry, but that's pretty much the message I interpreted from the poem. Others might interpret it differently, but I liked both the way the poem flowed, the story it told and the message I recieved from it.

I am glad that you got something out of it. When I originally wrote it, it was tainted with an air of "nothing matters, everything will pass away and everything you are will become nothing." However, I am glad you saw the positive side.

[Anna Mae]

Beautiful. I especially like the one that starts with:

The Artist takes out his paints.
Dancing across the horizon he smooths pearly gray wisps across the dark sky,
and adds some sparkles and a dab of silver twilight to the snow.

Awesome work.

Glory to God!

[Anna Mae]

Greetings. It has been quite some time since I have posted here, but at the request of several people I have decided to resurrect this thread.

This poem is a haiku sans the syllable rule.

The wind traces paths on the water,
curving between gentle waves in
shimmering threads of stillness.

[Anna Mae]

I wrote this one in seventh grade during the similie section of the poetry unit.

Like a baby, my kitten sleeps innocently.
Like a young child she scampers outside to play.
Then, like a murderer, she stallks a baby bird.
And, like a criminal on trial, she turns to me with an innocent face.