Ode to the Troubled Bird

I watch the flutter of her hands as she twitters along to her work. Always singing to a happy tune. The sound of the twitter has been a bit muted now, since the news of my Grandfathers health.

One moment her tune can be light and sweet, then…..can be slow and somber. “I’m so worried about your Fa-Grandfather, Paige, He was brilliant, he really was.” I try to soften the birds cry telling, her that he’s been alive for 92 years and that I believe that he will make it through chemo.

Her eye’s dart the room, searching for her frail, husband, so she can prepare breakfast for her husband at 1pm. He shakily makes his way through the obstacles of going down the stairs, and stepping over the overweight dog that lays inconveniently in the middle of the hall. Once the bird spots him she lets out a high tweet and gives a peck good morning kiss, with her eyes filled to the brim with tears and her heart overflowing with hope. At times, it is hard for this bird to fly because of the heavy heart that sinks to the bottom of her chest, like lead falling through water. Once I come to lift her spirits, she is weightless.

How long will it be till I see your kind face, full of both content and concern. When will I be able to hold you eternally, without fear or sadness. How long will it be till my dreams become a undeniable truth, the truth I seek, the truth I wait for.

Running, thats all I do. Run. Even in my mind I’m running. I’m running from the memories I can no longer cherish, they chase like zombies trying to ensnare me in a deadly fix. I won’t let myself see the tunnel. I won’t. I’m running away from whom I loved that are no longer in the blossom of life and living, floating away like fuzz off a dandelion. Maybe I’m not trying to run away but run to the heaven I am seeking, in the tunnel.

As I have stated a couple of post ago I am back on the poetry wagon.  I need a little inspiration though,  so want I would like you guys to to is tell me one of the most emotionally compelling memory that you have (if too personal it’s ok I understand).  Hopefully your thoughts/experiences will give me inspiration for a new poem.  Thank you so much

-paige

a funny and meloncholy poem

The dull intent in your eyes turns me to stone.  Every time I picture her wearing your belongings  life chokes out of my body with every spazzing breath I struggle to take and all you are now is the five pounds I’m going to gain this week, and all for a dragon who breathes horrible decisions and immaturity, but without flame for the creature lacks any strength or courage to have that essential.  Meanwhile, Rapunzel pulls the strings of her dragon puppet and her knights watch in disbelief then  runs to the nearest KFC.

sorry it has been so long my avid readers I am certainly going back on the blog wagon feels good to be back hope you like it

I can’t really decide what I think is better so I’d like to hear everyones voices : remember everyone gets a voice so don’t bash one persons opinion k.

wow I simply can’t believe that this is my tenth poem:

The day I fell uncontious a memoir by Paige 04

It was an ordinary day in kindergarden. Kids playing pirates and arguing about who is going to be captain, and a clique of girls inspecting other girls seeing if they could ride the ” Princess Carrige” which looks a great deal like a red wagon. While ….I was in my own world of mermaids and romantic adventures. Reality was bliss to me like a married couple not knowing what lies ahead…………………( to be continued)

sry just a little teaser but I can assure you it is one of my best works yet and besides the next part comes out Wednesday so be patient readers. By the way someone askd me out I soooo excited :).

I wrote this poem last night: Bubbly people are great it’s the overly bubbly people to watch out for. I wonder what I would see inside of a overly bubbly person? In my opinion if I took a look inside all I would see is soap bubbles. Only be with extremely bubbly people on a good day but if you catch them in a bad mood all the bubbles will pop and all that is left is a shallow puddle of soapy, water.

p.s. I am not tying to offend anyone I am just thinking outside the box.

I’m one poem away from my tenth, my tenth poem will be special, my poem will be a memoir in a vinette style so I hope you guys are will like it to because this next piece of work I feel will be one of my best pieces so I am looking forward to showing it to you.

My apolegies for the lengh of this poem this is my most recent and rot a little rusty in fact I have not written any new poems since a few weeks ago no matter I will find a inspiration.

Here is my poem: ” See that old man refusing to take a shower there?” Said the old lady with a look of the past, ” He used to be that once.” while pointing at a photograph the size of a playing card lying on top of a crossword puzzle. A young man was staring at me with such blue eyes that you felt stranded in the middle of a vast ocean which could give the feeling of being shrinked a little. His blond hair looked like a field of golden wheat planted neatly and mowed. Isee the same man today except the field of wheat had turned into a few long, gray cat whiskers placed randomly on his bald head. Same blue eyes the only thing that has changed is the skin that loosened to hold the eye-boggling, blue marbles. It makes me wonder why we couldn’t shed our skin like snakes and leave with smoother, tighter, more youthful looking skin. I’snt growing old such a curious thing?