NovelSisters

watching, reading, and writing stories

Poem in Honor of Blood of Olympus

 

Image Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Blood_of_Olympus

I’m really excited about the last book in the Heroes of Olympus Series by Rick Riordan. I will probably start reading it today. So in honor of it’s release, I’ll post a poem I wrote about how reading a good book can be like a marathon.
Enjoy!

The Marathon

A novel is tricky.
It looks so calm,
lying there on the table,
teasing you with the thought
that by reading
you can relax.

Once the covers open,
the race begins, and if you’re
not careful, you might get caught
in the plot, heart beating faster,
unable to stop the action,
trapped in the quick pace.
One more chapter, one more mile;
the characters push you forward.
Anxious to discover the truth
or finish before your friends;
you keep running.
Chapters fly by, through
forests, castles, entire lives.
You cannot stop until
the last line,
the finish line.

Better stay in shape though.
The sequel will be out soon.

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Poem for Grandpa

So my past week has been a flurry of emotions, stress, ups and downs. My 94 year old Grandpa passed away on Saturday and I just got back from the funeral yesterday. Everything’s been so busy that it’s been hard to stop and reflect on the relationship I had with him.

He wasn’t my real grandpa, that grandpa died when I was 6. Grandpa Eddie came into my life 12 years ago when he married my grandma. It was strange at first to have this new person be part of my family but over the years I got to know him very well and I want to write a poem in his honor.

Eddie

What can I say about a man who’s seen so much?

Who lived through times of war and peace,

and saw so much of history.

 

His life revolved around the farm.

Feeding cows, bailing hay,

watching the sky for signs of rain.

 

I cannot recount all you’ve seen,

the people you’ve loved,

the things you’ve grieved.

All I can say is thank you from me.

 

You always had a Coke to share,

a smile to offer, a laugh to give.

You took care of my grandma,

welcomed us with each visit,

sold us your old Mercury,

and paid for college tuition.

 

When I tried my hand at writing,

you read my book,

and told everyone around,

that it was really good.

 

There is so much more,

that I could say,

about your love, faith, and generosity.

But I’ll end by saying this;

Though not by blood,

you will forever be

my Grandpa Eddie.

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A Poem for Spring

 

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Spring is in the air,
Life anew appears.

What once was
dead, brittle, brown,
Now is alive and green.

Birds gather to feed and bathe,
The wildflowers bloom.
Bees buzz and wander over
a vibrant sea of color.

I breathe it in and feel a peace,

Something in me knows,
Like spring that comes each year,

Death will not be my end,
Life will continue.

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A Poem for Austin Flood Victims

Image Source: http://www.mystatesman.com/news/news/local-govt-politics/austin-area-flood-damage-tops-14-million-but-not-e/nbx98/

The Halloween Flood

This post is a little late, the flooding in Austin happened on Halloween and it’s been almost two weeks since that frightful morning. But I found this poem the other night that I had never published and decided I should share it, in honor of all those who are struggling right now. Just because the floodwater has receded, doesn’t mean the people affected are done dealing with the mess.

Poem for Victims
Why do I sigh at night?
Why is this load so heavy?
I can’t be sure what’s right.
Will You lead me with Your light?

Show me the path at my feet,
make clear the terrain unseen.
Give me the courage to move,
to take a step towards the new.

O God I can’t see the end.
There’s no way that it will mend.
The night is heavy and still.
Please just give me the will.

Help me move, help me go.
Teach me to trust, and to know
that despite my fear
You are always here.

Bring me home, bring me home,
and remind me that I’m not alone.

If you would like to assist in the relief effort for those affected by the flood, please visit http://www.adrntx.org/

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Finishing

How do you decide when something is finished? Whether it’s writing a report for a class, or refurbishing your house, all projects eventually need to be “done.” I’ve had friends and relatives, and I admit I’ve fallen into this category too, who are perfectionists. We want everything to be perfect, we want our best effort to be seen. And well this makes it hard to ever be “finished.”

However, I’ve started to overcome this obstacle to finishing. I think it started in my first painting class in college. I had painted before, and well… it took forever. Every dab of paint was important, I had to use tiny dots of paint on my brush so I didn’t have too much and mess up all my work. It seriously took me at least four months to finish one tiny little picture.

Well the first day of class I come in to find that we will be painting 6 pictures in one semester, all on large canvases. My world was turned upside down. I couldn’t paint like a perfectionist anymore, the limited amount of time wouldn’t let me. And so, I changed. Instead of putting tiny dots of paint on my brush, I’d scoop up a big blob. Instead of dabbing the canvas, I’d make big strokes. It was hard to relearn, to change, to be uncomfortable with “the mess.” But thankfully I had a good teacher. He showed me that if I just went for it, and got all the basic shapes and colors arranged, then I could come back in with details later and still end up with a beautiful painting.

October 2009 030
I think the same thing can happen with writers. We start off wanting to write something, a novel perhaps, or a poem, or whatever. But we want it to be perfect, to perfectly express what’s in our minds. And that makes it hard to start. We can spend so much time on little changes, on using “the perfect word” to describe something, that we end up never finishing.

Instead I’d challenge writers to just start. Spit out whatever is on your brain, even if it isn’t very good, and then come back later and “touch up.” That’s what editing is for anyway. And then when you finally finish that paper or project, celebrate! Don’t critique yourself with little errors you missed, just enjoy the final product and relax.

So here’s a poem I “finished.” Hope you enjoy it. 🙂

Lydia Hill

February 2, 2012

Life’s Gait

I used to take riding lessons

in the dust of a parched Texas summer.

The steady beat and swift breeze

kept me circling the worn path.

Click of the tongue,

nudge to the stomach,

tug on the reigns,

up and down with the motion.

Sometimes we canter quickly,

sometimes we walk slow,

but always we must move.

We cannot stop the flow

round the earth,

round the sun,

the motion of time,

since life first begun.

We like to think

we have control,

that our choices determine

where we will go.

Then in the air, all

power stripped away

hit the hard ground

wondering what went wrong

Did I lose control

or ever even have it?

Legs shake as I rose, to face

my choice.

Do I sit out on life?

Or jump back in?

It will keep moving,

whatever my decision.

I could fall again,

and break more than my pride.

But is security worth the price,

of losing out on life?

I climbed back on,

determined to keep in mind

that despite my lack of control,

life is still a fun ride.

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