My daughter, the poet

[Richard]

She's been published a lot and she has won several 1st place awards for her writings. Here are two which she wrote during her 2nd year in HS. This was a trying time for her--her unsettled 'black' period. It was worse than these tell; she threw herself inward, into her poetry, on a path of discovery. This path is often lonely. That she can conjure such deeply felt metaphors is amazing....

BACKCOUNTRY

I walked until there were
no longer people, only
the even arcs of hawks
and the blur of deer
exploding over the sagebrush.
I camped inside a crater for
five horrible nights,
fighting cold, bugs, hunger,
insomnia...no, let's not lie,
I fought myself,
I lifted stones inside myself
and carried them out into
the world, dragging
them around the crater floor.
Nervous deer
watched me drop
my rock on their trails.
The hawks suspended their judgement...
they witnessed everything from above,
my coming, my going,
the battle between,
lonely hours the hawks
know well.


THE BUG EATER

i was hiking the plains
in a thunderstorm
when the needle of my
compass suddenly went haywire,
spinning like
the spinning head of a child's doll.

weak, wet, alone,
thinking of you
i discovered a narrow cave
a tunnel in rock that led
to darkness.
i crawled in and spent a year
on my back, sucking ice-water
off stalactites, squashing
small bugs between my molars.
white bugs were easy
to catch, brown bugs
ran away from me,
while the black ones...
the black ones just made
me cry.
when i emerged,
the same storm, maybe
even wilder, crashed down;
bug blood poured from my beard.
despite everything, i wanted
to be a human being again.

 

[bbchien]

Re: My duaghter, the poet

Wow......

 

[mikea]

Re: My duaghter, the poet

Amazing!

 

[Dave Krall CFII]

Not bad, for poetry that doesn't rhyme...
Just kidding.
I have always wondered for non-rhyming poetry in general, how does one know when it becomes poetry?

 

[EdFred]

Not bad, for poetry that doesn't rhyme...
Just kidding.
I have always wondered for non-rhyming poetry in general, how does one know when it becomes poetry?

Dave, I'm with you on that. While the imagery, message and metaphors were outstanding, to me free verse poetry just looks like a regular piece of creative writing with a carriage return in random places throughout the paragraph/sentence.

Poetry should be something like...

That Vizzini, he can fuss.
Fuss, fuss... I think he like to scream at us.

Probably he means no harm.
He's really very short on charm.

You have a great gift for rhyme.
Yes, yes, some of the time.

Fezzik, are there rocks ahead?
If there are, we all be dead.

No more rhymes now, I mean it.
Anybody want a peanut?

 

[Michael]

I have a buddy,
My buddys a toad.

He's kind of muddy,
He's flat on the road.

But he's my buddy,
My buddy to stay.

Till he's washed up,
and sailed away.