Digging through my old box of junk. I don't know I bothered to keep all my old sketches, journals, and writing. Reading through my diary was a nightmare, but that's another story. I came across my old poems, some scribbled, some typed. They aren't anything amazing, my works never are, but here are some of them:
Fenella's Lullaby. I use to sing this to my dog every time I put her to bed. I must have been ten at the time.
Time to go to bed,
Time to rest your head,
Time to go to sleep,
Time to herd the goats,
the sheep,
Of Dreamland.
Where dogs and puppies play,
And they never go away,
Fields and meadows you roam,
Anywhere you can call home.
Time to go to bed,
Time to rest your head,
Time to go sleep,
Time to herd the goats,
the sheep,
Of Dreamland
The Prairie
The prairie is a lonely place
‘Specially for the human race
It’s flat and dry and full of grass
It leaves no trace of those who pass
Wind gently blows the brown, old weeds
As it blows, out comes tiny seeds
The pathway to the Forest
A pathway goes down to the forest green
The prettiest sight ever to be seen
Where the dogwood blossom and can flourish
Where a mother deer can her fawn, nourish
Where a robin can fly from tree to tree
His only thought is on what he can see
He has no fear of hunter or ranger
For this lovely forest knows no stranger
Twiddle-de and Twiddle-Dum (probably my favorite of all my own works.)
On the corner sat two bums
Twiddle-de and Twiddle-dum
No good at chores in the house
They just sat there like two louse
All that Twiddle-de could do
Was sit and watch me or you
But what about Twiddle-dum?
He’d just sit and suck his thumb
They just sit and time goes by
Growing older and will die
Use this as a lesson learned
Work is good and time not earned
Conversation Between Boredom and Fallen Man (I really am not sure why I wrote this or what I was even trying to say...)
"Oh, Boredom, where does thou,
a little thing come from?
Where, boredom is thou thy dwelling?
Where does thou laid your head?
In the whisperings of the wind
or the thunder of the roaring sea?
Perhaps in the wooded forest,
or a place of ancient quietness?
In the darkness of a mountain?
In the depths of an ocean?
Where, boredom, does thou come from?
Answer me." says the man
And boredom answered and said
"Why, oh man, do thou look for me?
For out of idleness, uselessness and sloth
Boredom comes
It lives not in the wind, nor the sea,
nor in the forest and not in the mountains or ocean
The sinful corners of men's hearts
are my inhabitantion
And the fallen minds of sinners
my dwelling place"
Man replies "Alas, it is so.
For God desires us to be happy,
useful to our neighbors.
He loathes idleness,
hates sloth, for it does
no good to our neighbor.
Man should come to learn
to be happy and useful."
(....this poem was not complete so I had to add a few words here and there to make complete sense of it...)
A Room without Happiness
A light peeps though my window
And shines onto the floor
My mind turns to the future
And sees an empty room
In my mind, I see a void
A living place, forlorn
The curtains flimsy and sad
Wave gently in the wind
The walls are empty and bare
Except for picture frames
Old school books lay on the shelf
Dust decorates the tops
My bears and my animals
Sit deserted alone
In the closet hang old clothes
Three faded small dresses
My mind looks upon this gloom
And thinks of gloomy things
My mind now looking again
Sees a different scene
The curtains hang fresh and crisp
Ribbons hold the sides back
The walls are filled with posters
Pictures, knick-knacks and crafts
The bookcase is full of books
And each one gently placed
The bears and toys look happy
Their eyes shine in the light
Dresses, skirts, and warm sweaters
Hang in the closest near
My mind compares these two rooms
And picks the latter one
It turns to itself and says
“Happy will be this place”
Then my mind turns to the now
Never back to wander
Yup, so nothing super exciting. Just my horrid poetry. It's another hobby I guess.
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