Sorry, No Christmas Poems Yet

Yeah, I'm not generally into the whole "because it's Christmas I have to write Christmas poems. My talent doesn't generally lie in having a topic and then writing, but more in having an emotion, then writing. So heres two poems done that way. The first one is written in Sijos, as said in the title. I was looking up poetry the other day and saw that Sijo is a style of poetry in tercets with each line having around 14-16 syllables, generally with some break in the middle of each line. Enjoy!

(Note: Soon I'll be posting a book review, sort of, on all the books I've read this year. Stay tuned!)

Sijos from the Bedside of a Young Boy

I.

The clock with a tsk, tsk, tsk, reminds me it's time to retire.
My eyes should look away from the world a moment; my ears close,
but still I feel the wrinkles in my sheets; I know I am aging.

II.

A dream catcher rests above the window, and beyond it dead trees
that web the night sky with leafless branches. But I am not contained.
Though the blanket is warm, the stars burn the cold edge of my youth.

III.

I remember my father told me stories, lying beside me,
his gravity pulling me close. On the black ceiling I painted
the faces of my family, with ancient trees and red mountains.

IV.

Mother, what do I hear out in the hallway? Water like a faucet,
the carpet being brushed, and music like bells from the kitchen.
I recognize the patterns in your sounds, now that I listen.

V.

Silence in my sisters' rooms, so different from the nights before,
when I heard laughter like moonlight, shining in my ears,
and with my eyes, I heard the piano and cello in lullaby.


VI.

Does my brother sleep in the room next door? Lights escapes in thin lines.
Like a crack in an ocean liner or a leak in a tin roof,
so too the glow sinks in, and I wonder if my eyes will close first.

VII.

The first six times I tried to sleep, too restless to say goodbye,
I imagined four-leaf clovers, shooting stars, wishes, and prayers.
Now I let go of this dark harbor, to drift from home to home.

----------------------------------------

Ambience

My thoughts color the sounds.

Red is a crackling flame,
an idle motor waiting outside,
the soft breath of a girl asleep,
a heartbeat heard within.

Purple with its sweeping tide:

An airplane overhead,
street leaves carried by the breeze,
the highway at midnight,
the purr of a smiling cat.

Yellow, the sweet candy of company:

I remember home
with a whirring fan,
a light rain,
and footsteps in the kitchen.

As if within a prism,

I listen for the color blue:
the clock counting the days,
the whistle of wind at the window,
the restless ocean.

Rainbows are lost in the daylight white.

My desires to keep love close,
like threads in a winter jacket,
hide underneath a thick cloth:
the black words I wrap myself in.