Poems, Written and Chosen

I made a personal goal last year to publish what I wrote for school. I never did publish my poetry project. It is interesting to be writing again for school. I mean really writing. I started writing on Hub Pages years ago because I was bored and wanted to make a little extra money. It is easy to write articles about movies, books, cakes, fashion....things of little value. Well, books have great value, so I take that one back. This project was hard because I couldn't write children's poems or something light and funny. It had to be deep. (.....not that humor and children's writing doesn't contain depth. They both definitely can!) I don't know that I have written anything with any exceptional depth in this project, but I found poems written by others that I love. I also rediscovered poetry. I like poetry. I think it's a lost art. I don't really want to share what I wrote, but I kind of challenged myself. Who knows if anyone will even read this. I guess I'm just, as Madeline L'Engle wrote, whistling in the dark.

I love this poem! Life is beautiful, crazy, amazing and hard. At my school, BYU-Idaho, the constant question is "What are you becoming?" I hope I can become what this poem describes....figuratively.

If you can keep your head when all about you 
 Are losing theirs and blaming it on you, 
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
 But make allowance for their doubting too; 
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
 Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
 And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master; 
 If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim; 
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
 And treat those two impostors just the same; 
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
 Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
 And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
 And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
 And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
 To serve your turn long after they are gone, 
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
 Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, 
 Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
 If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
 With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run, 
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it, 
 And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

- R. K.

I have to admit something, I looked everywhere for inspiration in trying to write poetry for my project, and on Pinterest (Ugh...embarrassing that I looked there. I'm lazy ok?) I saw several pins that were poem/prayers. Some I loved, and some I didn't. Some I loved in part. Now, I don't believe prayers should be repetitive, so this isn't something that I use to pray. It is a poem inspired by prayer.

Dearest Father, hear me pray.

Please guide my footsteps through this day.

Help my bended knees to stand.

May I see clear what Thou hast planned.

Give me words both kind and true.

Strengthen my hands Thy work to do.

Let me care for those in need.

I'll be like Thee in thought and deed.

Bless my loved ones through this day.

Help us Father, show the way.

- M.E.

This poem by Robert Frost is pretty famous. One of the leaders in my church, Elder Jeffery R. Holland, used it in a beautiful talk entitled "Of Souls, Symbols, and Sacraments". Stephanie Myers also used it in one of the Twilight books, but I can't remember which one.(Yes, I totally just went there.) It's a poem about love and hate. I think we could write and talk for days about these two topics and just barely scratch the surface of their implications and meanings. I decided to write a "sequel" to this poem. It follows the original.... and it's not as good!

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if I had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

- R. F.

When fire's contained, I realize,

It purifies.

Desire can bring eternal bliss,

If burning flames don't run amiss.

Protect the flame but share the glow,

A feeling frozen souls won't know.

Hate leaves wounds...a deceptive foe.

father of sin.

Don't let him in.

-M.E.

This is another cool find. This poem, to me, is about pride. We all have it, and I think part of this existence is learning to let go of it every time we possibly can.I think pride is a reoccurring trial in every life at different times and for different reasons. Throw that stick in the fire.......... for everyone's sake.

Six humans trapped by happenstance
In bleak and bitter cold.
Each one possessed a stick of wood
Or so the story’s told.

Their dying fire in need of logs
The first man held his back
For of the faces round the fire
He noticed one was black.

The next man looking ‘cross the way
Saw one not of his church
And couldn’t bring himself to give
The fire his stick of birch.

The third one sat in tattered clothes.
He gave his coat a hitch.
Why should his log be put to use
To warm the idle rich?

The rich man just sat back and thought
Of the wealth he had in store
And how to keep what he had earned
From the lazy shiftless poor.

The black man’s face bespoke revenge
As the fire passed from his sight.
For all he saw in his stick of wood
Was a chance to spite the white.

The last man of this forlorn group
Did nought except for gain.
Giving only to those who gave
Was how he played the game.

Their logs held tight in death’s still hands
Was proof of human sin.
They didn’t die from the cold without
They died from the cold within.
- J.P.K.

I wrote this. I don't think it's super awesome like the previous poem, but it contains meaning to me. We all wear masks and it isn't a good or a bad thing. It just is. Sometimes it's even necessary. We may hide our anger because we don't want to cause harm. Maybe we hide laughter for the same reason. My kids say hilarious things sometimes in complete seriousness. Sometimes we choose to show happiness even when we're sad. Often, (maybe even always) we have many layers. I believe in Jesus Christ, our Savior who sees each of us clearly and completely. No one else can do that. No matter how much we try. The song after is really pretty. I think we all feel the weight of masks sometimes.

The mask that you wear can be angry.

The mask that you wear can be kind.

The mask that you wear can be simple,

Hiding a beautiful mind.

The mask that you wear can be funny.

The mask that you wear can be scared.

The mask that you wear can be courage,

confident, strong, and prepared.

The mask that you wear can be ugly.

The mask that you wear can be smart.

The mask that you wear can be cold as stone,

protecting a soft, gentle heart.

The mask that you wear can hide what you think.

The mask that you wear can show how you feel.

The masks are all part of this game we all play,

a game that's incredibly real,

.........called life.

-M.E. 

I had a hard time naming this one, but the title has significance to me.

Knocking soft on locked up heart,

With His power waters part,

Shallow roots will be made deep,

Fitful dreamer rise from sleep,

Storms will rage but truth is plain,

Learn to shine within the rain,

Stretching taller growing strong,

Lift your head and sing His song,

Sun shines down to fill your soul,

Robes of light will make you whole,

Girt your loins and lift your gaze,

Come forth with eternal praise.
- M.E.

Here's another ify poem. Ha. See what I just did there? So maybe I like the word if. My mother gave me Shel Silverstein books when I was little and I loved them! This is one of my favorites, not that I could choose just one! I need to end on a light note, so here ya go! This is one of those children's poems that seems funny in some ways but also contains depth.

Last night, while I lay thinking here,
some Whatifs crawled inside my ear
and pranced and partied all night long
and sang their same old Whatif song:
Whatif I'm dumb in school?
Whatif they've closed the swimming pool?
Whatif I get beat up?
Whatif there's poison in my cup?
Whatif I start to cry?
Whatif I get sick and die?
Whatif I flunk that test?
Whatif green hair grows on my chest?
Whatif nobody likes me?
Whatif a bolt of lightning strikes me?
Whatif I don't grow taller?
Whatif my head starts getting smaller?
Whatif the fish won't bite?
Whatif the wind tears up my kite?
Whatif they start a war?
Whatif my parents get divorced?
Whatif the bus is late?
Whatif my teeth don't grow in straight?
Whatif I tear my pants?
Whatif I never learn to dance?
Everything seems well, and then
the nighttime Whatifs strike again!
-S.S.