Old Poem Trio, Part III: A Page and a Half

And finally, the last part of the trio– A Page and a Half, which was originally untitled as well. A Page and a Half actually was not written for an assignment, unlike the other two poems. I believe it was written in the cafe section of Barnes and Nobles one very fine Sunday night in the middle of winter, last year I think. Quite nice. Again, hope you like it!

A Page and a Half

I am a page, a page and a half.
Nowhere near complete.
The stray dog that wanders from house to house,
But doesn’t get a bite to eat.

I am the girl in the corner of the room,
Whispering fortunes foretold.
But no one can tell me what will become of me,
When I am gray and withered and old.

I am the cup of the burning-hot drink,
a cider, a scotch, an ale
I glide lovely velvet, a comforting friend
though it is the foe I most truly hail.

I am the cat, on the sill of your window,
who crosses as you reach the door.
I see all, but say only nothing,
and will remain silent forever more.

I came and I went, never truly a whole
A traveler, apparition, a myth
Though I have many a trick up my sleeve,
I do not always exist

Be careful, when you see me,
Be careful, when you don’t
Be careful, if you should be me,
Because the others won’t

I offer you this warning
for I know what here does rest
for should the box be opened,
you shall never escape your guest.

When you wander, when you dream
When you become untethered from your world
Remember what I have told you,
the events that have unfurled

Though I am nothing but a page and a half,
know and honor this—
Where you stand, I once stood
and there is much that I will miss

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Old Poem Trio, Part II: Whistle, Whistle, Sweet and Low

Okay, part II– as I mentioned earlier, these are just a couple of old poems I found sitting in the bottom of a box, so I thought I’d put them up here. This one was a then-untitled poem written two years ago for yet another unit in my English class, one on To Kill a Mockingbird and Langston Hughes. The exact prompt that I had written for the poem said: “Write an original poem about what I think Hughes would have wanted to say about Tom’s case and how he was being treated by Maycomb’s citizens.” So here it is. Not terribly original, but nice none the less. Enjoy!

Whistle, Whistle, Sweet and Low

Whistle, whistle, sweet and low
through
the birdcage’s iron bars
in the cage
out the window

Snipped my wing
caged me in
Though I’d done no wrong
committed no sin

Even if I could get out
I’d still not be free
Because this world’s an iron cage
a cage meant just for me

They mock me for my darkest feathers,
Condemn me for being of the night
They may have the judge with them
but it does not make them right.

And still someday I believe
the iron bars will crack
Set the clocks, await the hour,
because someday it will come back

Our fathers will all be colors there
not merely black and white
We will all fly side-by-side
And sing into the light

And I will sing a happier tune
Let our voices swell and grow

Whistle, whistle, sweet and low,
Through the birdcage’s iron bars
out the cage
out the window

Old Poem Trio, Part I: The Cargo Train

Hi all! I was going through some old papers of mine (getting ready for college, you know), and I found a bunch of old poems that I thought I’d share with you! This first one’s called The Cargo Train, and it was written two years ago for an English assignment. I think it was supposed to be the unit on A Midsummer Night’s Dream and rhyming couplets. Hope you like it!

The Cargo Train

Down in the pass where the graces don’t go
A weak, one-way bridge lies, near crushed by snow

When he, shadow of dark, draws near, he aims
To take his prize, drink deep, collect his claims

And there, a lavish Train runs off its rails
Crying out to the night with awful wails

Quick sparks spring swift, closing precious light’s gate
Black coal burning within reflects their fate

He laughs, “Rose cheeks, naïve, so defiant!
Shrill, vain, and greedy now become silent.”