Tuesday, July 27, 2010

The Poem I Could Not Write

I cannot think of things to write
I’m somehow blocked today
Topics come and subjects go
But they don't seem to stay!


You don’t know how this kills me.
I want to write so bad!
I plead for inspiration
But there’s none here to be had.


The words flit by me, taunting
Just inches out of reach
And I try so hard to grasp them
But they laugh and turn to flee.


It’s sad, this inability.
And frustrating too—
When there’s a poem you want to write
And that you cannot do!


I bite my lip and hem and haw
And think as hard’s I can
Alas for me! It seems that I’m
An uninspired man!


Defeat, at last, claims me its own.
There’s naught for me to say.
Just hang my head and shuffle off
And try another day.


This will come back to haunt me
I know I’ll dream tonight
Of writer’s block I couldn’t break—
The poem I could not write!

~ © Andrea Grace

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

My Grandfather's Books

My grandfather’s books are lined up on the shelf there
I see them, their bindings are rigid and grey
They speak of the past, tell of wars and of rulers
My grandfather loves them and reads every day.


My grandfather’s books do not smile or giggle
They’re serious, stern, and they don’t talk too much.
When they do speak at all the matters are weighty
Politics, battles, and history and such.


My grandfather’s hands grip the covers so firmly
He turns every page with a serious face
He’s reading and learning, knows so much already
Of each president, of each battle, each place.


My grandfather’s books speak of strength and of courage
Like my grandfather there, they aren’t mushy or sweet
They’re hard and abrupt, and they tell you what’s happened
Every word stamped in ink on the printer’s crisp sheet.


My grandfather’s books are so strong, just like he is
I remember his muscles from when I was small
How his strength bowled me over; I smiled and wondered
And was proud of my grandpa so handsome and tall


My grandfather’s books don’t get dusty; he’s neat
And he never is sloppy, untidy or messy
But he does love his grandkids, is happy to see us
And view all us children as his little blessings


I do love my grandpa. And he loves me too.
Though sometimes he’s prickly, severe, kind of gruff
And I know in my mind every time that I see him
That ten thousand hugs simply won’t be enough.


My grandfather’s books… he can’t read them forever
They’ll sit on the shelf getting dusty someday
And I don’t want to think it, but Grandpa will follow
Someday my grandfather will just fade away.


My grandfather’s books; they will know him forever
The same as I will. He’ll be stamped on the page
His fingers won’t be there, but they’ll be remembered
Though my grandfather lived in some previous age


One more hug, one more “Love you!” I’ll give him today
Every time that I smile, I hope that he knows
How much I love him, will know him forever
Even when someday my grandfather goes.


My grandfather’s books someday will be thrown out
Or sold to a thrift store or shop of antiques
But his memory forever will be mine to cherish
And my grandfather’s smile will be mine to keep!


~ © Andrea Grace

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Feverish

     Scott stared hard at his computer screen. He sneezed. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, poised for his next stroke. He was chatting with his buddy, Jason.

     “ya so 4 dinner tomoro, my mom is makin spageti,” wrote Jason. “U wanna come an we can talk bout the project?”

     Scott frowned. “Certainly,” he typed rapidly. “If, that is, there is no objection on your mother’s part.”

     “no way man she likes for u 2 come an eat all the food it makes her fell good jk lol”

     Scott’s eyes watered, and he sneezed again. “Excellent! We will call it a deal, then.” in He tapped the enter key lightly a few times before pressing it in earnest. His long fingers remained frozen midair as Jason’s next message scrolled across the screen. Scott coughed.

     “gr8 man so wat do u think bout usin blu insted of green?”

     Scott coughed again. He was suddenly very thirsty. “Perhaps,” he typed. His train of thought was violently derailed as he caught sight of Jason’s next message.

     “or may be pink lol”

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Adventures

(Is it a sin to post two things on the same day? But the first one doesn't really count for anything... so it's okay, right? Right? Ahem! Annnyyyyway, without further ado, I present to you.... this.. um... this thing I wrote.)






     The rain battered the glass windows ferociously. The wind was a ravening, shrieking beast, howling its relentless determination to shake the house to pieces. The clouds, blackly menacing, swirled and boiled ominously. Jagged lightning tore the sky, briefly illuminating the waving prairie grass.


     It was a dark and stormy night.

     Grace Connor wrapped her arms tightly around her knees and stared, wide-eyed, at the savage display of raw power. Her heart beat faster as thunder crashed on her ears, like some giant drum of war. She was safe inside, sitting on the window seat in her bedroom. Silent marvel etched itself on her freckled face. She smiled quietly to herself. This, she was thinking, would be the perfect night to be kidnapped by pirates. Yes… the perfect night…