Wednesday, April 8, 2015

National Poetry Month

Inklings members would like to share their Poem Recipes created at our April meeting.... enjoy!

Poem Recipe Thing
The wind roars like a lion
Her sharp claws pull at my hair
The taste of a burnt out campfire fills my mouth
forgotten marshmallows dropped in the flames
Watching them burst into flames
letting them drop to become one with the logs of the fire
A bolt of lightning flashes in the corner of my eye
Strange, June rarely sees rain
Skydiving in a thunderstorm
that would be a sight, wouldn’t it?
You could soar like the gods
then end up in hell
The smell has changed
the smell of the air turns to pine trees
Christmas wraps itself around me
The memory of my first plastic phone
fills my mind
and my eyes
and my ears
and my nose
the rain rips right through the roaring wind
The wind changes from a calming blue to a burning red
the trees howl
the grass moans
it stops
The lion walks away
the storm has passed

The sky is like an ocean
blue as blue can be.
I imagine the clouds like whipped cream,
I remembered the blue as I swung on the swings
feeling like I could fly.
Imagination Remembrance Feeling
The clouds turned amber in the sunlight.
I can fly, really I can,
  I've done it before
  but no, no I didn't, for it was a dream.
If I could fly
  up into the sky
  it would be Christmas.
I saw my wooden bird
  slipping there on the ground
  if only I could fly like the birds in the sky.
Sunlight Starlight Skylight
I stared into that sky.
  oh in that blue, I can taste the sunlight.
Yes, the sky is like an ocean,
  an ocean where I can fly.

Acting is like a roller coaster.
There are ups and downs.
You can see the crushed popcorn in the theater.
Like when you play on the playground and fall off the monkey bars.
The red curtains sway in the wind.
Katie stopped the swaying.
I could never jump into the orchestra pit from the stage.
It's always positive, but sometimes has a downside.
Long changes are a Christmas of sorts
Eeyore lingers in the wings sometimes.
The very sound of singing singes someone's sight.
The purple lights smell like freshly cooked popcorn.
That popcorn falls to the ground and is trampled by the feet
of flabbergasted spectators.

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