Quatrain and Diamante

Two poems I wrote...not the best, but it's something I enjoy. :)
A quatrain: a stanza or poem of four lines, usually with alternate rhymes.
A diamante: a poem of seven lines, shaped like a diamond. First and last lines have one word, second and second last have two, third and third last have three, fourth line has four. Usually describes two different subjects.

Melancholy bird
In grey skys
Melancholy words
On grey paper

Esoteric flowers
Confine their bloom
Esoteric powers
Confine their knowledge

Slippery peblles
Evade searching hands
Slippery rebels
Evade searching men

Look and you will see
How very much alike
Nature and thee
Live thy lives

Sky

Majestic, heavenly

Scintillating, guiding, inspiring

Galaxies, stars, flowers, harvests

Sustaining, reaping nurturing

Warm, powerful

Earth

The Beautiful Bloody Nose

Jumpin' Puddles Smiling Spinning 'round and 'round Holding hands The whole world a blur But you are standing Soaked Completely drenched No rubber boots Running in Want to erupt from a shell Wind in and outdoor smell of your hair I hit as fast as I could With my nose Hopping into puddles Completely drenched Soaked With no boots on And I get nosebleed But I always get up And I get nosebleed But I always get up (Loose English Translation of Icelandic Band Sigur Ros' song Hoppipolla)

Oh to be young again.... Sounds rather silly for a sixteen year old to say that, but think about it. In our culture we are bombarded with the troubles of this world, be it terrorism, false representation, random murder, drugs, sex, robbery, tornadoes, hurricanes, earthquakes, genocide, disease, starvation, tsunamis, the list goes on and on. We may not personally experience some of these horrors, but we hear about them.

Sometimes I wish I could be a small child again, the small child that ran around the back yard pretending I was Tarzan (I wanted to be Tarzan because he could fly through the trees). I wish I still jumped around in puddles with no rubber boots. I wish I could find joy and excitement in just the way everything smells on a cold day outside. I wish I could get right back up after getting hurt. As we've grown older we have stopped appreciating small things. Everything has to be big and fancy, full of lights! We find it hard to look at a rain puddle and think what a perfect way to get wet, instead we think, "Where is the easiest way to get around this puddle, so I don't ruin my shoes." As we've grown older we nurse our hurts, we hold onto our grudges. We stopped remembering that while it hurts for the moment, getting up and ridding ourselves of the pain means we get to play more! You can't jump in puddles sitting down crying over your bloody nose. Wipe it off on your sleeve, the water will wash it away!

the little room

There will be a house with no walls other than the four enclosing our domain. Within this room, this solitary room, there would be a mattress for sleeping on, a stove for cooking on, and chair for reading in, and a tub for bathing in. It will be cramped, it has to be cramped. I will be allowed one wall to place pictures, articles, ribbons, and the like upon. You will also have a wall. I will not interfere with how you decorate your wall as long as you do not voice any criticizing opinion of my wall. We shall each choose a color for our wall. I shall choose red, it is my favorite. I'm sorry you do not like it. I know you will choose blue, you wear that color often. I detest the color blue. These walls are us, well before we got together that is. The third wall, the one facing the wall with the single door, will be purple. It is our door together. We can carry parts of our individual walls over to it. Things we dearly seek to share with each other. Perhaps you will not like everything I like, for I am sure I will not like everything you like. The wall with no door will have no color, no items on it. It is only an exit. We will share everything, the bed, the stove, the chair, the tub, and that one wall. Perhaps one day you will get bored of sharing everything, perhaps I will. There is always the possibility that you will tire of seeing the things of mine I offer to you, but you do not want. There is a possibility I shall tire as well. If we ever decide we no longer want to share we will have our own walls to turn to. Perhaps we will get lonely there, wanting to share, but still not wanting everything the other person has to offer. Then we could turn to the fourth wall, the exit. You may turn, you are a free person after all. I may turn, I am just as free as you. But there is nothing on that wall, just an exit. What if we miss each other outside this cramped little room? What if we realize purple really is our favorite color? We just didn't realize it before. Because we know not what is outside the fourth wall, we know not whether or not the door will lock itself to us after we exit.