This poem was inspired by:
'New Slang' by The Shins
My dear friend, Zac
and this picture from http://picturespoetryprose.blogspot.com/
Darkness falls over the hills.
All that is still,
comes to life at their will
on this one night.
Magic like you've seen in your dreams,
it suddenly seems
that your thoughts are all free
to take flight.
And if you look at me like
you're my very best friend
I would follow you
till the world stops
and the sun shines no longer
and the story of our lives is ended.
Sprites dance, starlight on their wings.
The songs that they sing
carry into the winds
as it blows away.
Dragons, Wizards, and the like
all dressed in white
welcome you by their side
just to celebrate.
And if you talk to me like
you're my very best friend
I would follow you
till the world stops
and the sun shines no longer
and the story of our lives is ended.
Dawn calls like a lantern at home
and it turns me to stone.
Like the words of a poem
can break your heart.
I'm looking towards the sunlight
like I'm frozen in time.
The memory of this one night
too close to cast from your mind.
But you'll hold on to me
till the world stops
and the sun shines no longer
and the story of our lives is ended.
Cynthia Smallwood
January 25, 2009
a writing exercise from http://picturespoetryprose.blogspot.com/
Her eyes grow darker, bloodied and maimed.
A balance broken, or forged in pain?
Her belief in day is caused by night.
Obscurity beckons her to look towards the light.
For every sunset, storm, or eclipse
lasts only an ellipses, but then lifts
as, once again, the sun shall rise
to melt the shadows from her eyes.
Cynthia Smallwood
January 24, 2009
I won the Exceptional Writing award for this poem for January 18, 2009
J - Sunday's Alphabet Prompt
Give this kitty, whose name starts with a J, his own poem!
A writing exercise from http://picturespoetryprose.blogspot.com/
Juniper Breeze
Is naught but a sleaze
Though the name does not imply
A freeloader, a bum,
Not skinny, but plump
The epitome of nine lives.
At sunrise he bathes
On Gossamer Lane
For breakfast he's found at the Ford's
Next it's the Hudson's
For a nap in the sun
At least until he gets bored.
By lunch time he's perched
Between Oak Street and Birch
To stalk all the families there
There's the Smallwoods, the Jones,
The Lowrys and the Fatones
The Michaels, the Bards, and O'Hares.
After dinner he finds
A spot to unwind
Propped up on a tree or a fence
Then he'll sing through the night
A song of delight
Because tomorrow he'll do it again.
-Cynthia Smallwood
January 18th, 2009
a writing exercise from http://picturespoetryprose.blogspot.com/
I am the crane game champion.
It didn't matter what kind of rush we were in.
How important the place was we were off to.
If we passed a carnival on the road,
we would all strain our eyes
darting everywhere,
our hands on the windows of the car
trying to see if they had crane games.
If so, we would always stop
We would play at least 10 dollars
and that Glass Piggy Bank would be mine
Oh, that fabulous Glass Piggy Bank...
With the scotch tape on the top:
an unworthy attempt to hinder my desire.
A turn of the nob, and a plunk of the coin
and the crane would reach
Reach long or close, out and down,
and grab that Piggy and pick it up.
I could feel its weight every time
and down it would drop
with a resounding clunk
which made the man behind the box curse
For he would have to give me a prize
that was worth more than 25 cents.
Back into the rice, he would place the Piggy
somewhere he thought to be out of reach
and again I would snatch it.
Soon, he will decide not to put the Piggy back in at all
But there is no stopping me.
I will just move to a box on the other side
to target a new Glass Piggy Bank.
To collect my prizes
And place them in the kitchen drawer
which we had set aside for such trophies.
For I am the crane game champion!!
Oh yes, this is 100% true. And the "we" I am referring to are my parents and I as I am an only child. :)
-Cynthia Smallwood
January 15, 2009
This hand
It took me places I had never dreamed
Grasped tightly around my small fingers
The skin felt rough and hard
Skin that had felt so much more than I
Around my dainty fingers it clasped
And brought me through the night
Through the trees where no eyes had laid
For hundreds, perhaps thousands of years
Here I kneel, in this strange new world
To which I had been lead by love
The love this hand had chosen to give to me
For this was its last task upon this Earth
Now here it lay,
Lifeless as it has never been to me
Unmoving and still
The roughness remains,
But now cold to the touch
Is this hand that showed me the way.
This hand that is so like mine
Yet so different
My only wish now is that others may feel
As I have felt
That others may see
As I have seen
And that I may have the resolve to lead others
To realize that our similarity is different
And our differences are similar
We are all one
-Prose by Cynthia Smallwood 1/14/08
-Picture of a Silverback Gorilla's Hand taken at Disney's Animal Kingdom
