The December sky is low and grey,

heavy with frozen promises.

The December crowds scatter every which way,

tallying gains and losses.

December contradicts its very own being,

an end that leads to a beginning,

the dark of the clouds and the bright of the snow,

and soon, oh too soon, December must go.

The December ground is cold and tough,

sucking in the sun’s heat, which is never enough.

The December ground is soft and white,

powdery snow bringing children delight.

December has so many different meanings,

interpret the cold as you will.

With darkness that rolls, and the light of souls,

December is a frozen thrill.

In my Creative Writing class, we were supposed to write a poem about what we hope our future reader will be like. This is what I wrote.

My Future Reader

Her eyes would gleam with wish for adventure

Her hand soft upon the page

Her heart open to all to ensure

her mind could set the stage

Of all the stories in the world

her heart would hold mine dear

And while upon her couch she curled

She give both laugh and tear

And when the climax came at last

she’s read the night away

and all the sleeping hours would pass

to leave her tired in the day

At last a day would come around

when she and I would meet

She’d stand and stare without a sound

then squeak out a basic greet

I’d laugh as we’d converse as nerds

And her love of books swiftly I’d see

I’d smile and say in genial words

“Dear girl, you’re just like me.”

Look into my eyes,

tell me what you see.

When you look in my eyes,

do you see me?

A mirror does reflect

that which the surface holds.

But a mirror cannot tell

if inside we fit the mold.

Eyes open,

see the world,

see the wonder and the joy.

Take it in.

Eyes closed,

see inside,

all the secrets that you hide.

Let it out.

Not the past,

not the present,

something more,

something greater.

What you are,

what you see,

all determine

who you’ll be.

This is a poem written, not by me, but my best friend, Katie. 

Your mind is a vast and endless sea;

your thoughts swirl and sparkle in the water.

What is swiftly said floats upon the surface,

and deeper thoughts dwell below

in the subconscious.

You can talk on and on forever

using just the thoughts that float.

But sometimes, you glimpse something

of great worth to you, glittering at the bottom

and so you dive.

You hold your breath

and swim down, down

until your hand scrapes the bottom

and you grasp that glittering thought—

but now you’re out of air.

You clamber for the surface

and come up gasping for air;

making your diction stuttered and clumsy

as you strive to relate what you’ve found;

so no one listens.

So you go back down to

find another thought. Like before,

but bigger, to stem the raucous

the laughter of those that mock

your precious, stuttered thoughts.

As you dive again, you soon find

that you like it better there,

among the deeper things of your mind.

So you take a heavy breath of water,

and let yourself drown in thought

Life can still be revived in you when

your corpse floats back to the surface,

and the air of reality is forced into your lungs.

But who among the dead wish to be living?

and who when they’re asleep wish to wake?

A child’s laugh, a sunlit picnic,

pink icing on slices, balloons and gifts,

friends and family gathered around,

in an innocent snapshot, joy is found.

Arm in arm with friends of old,

coats and companions fend off the cold.

A secret adventure, shared only with two,

in a time worn photo, find friends with you.

Frowning to focus, frozen in action,

twisting blue strands of soft yarn,

old hands of guidance meet young in craft,

a moment of teaching, traditions that last.

Tucked away in drawers forgotten,

to be found in the rain of remembrance,

time stands frozen for your recollection.

Eternalized in perfect imperfection.

The best thing about you is the smile you greet me with,
the exclamation point at the end of your hello,
the way you make me feel inside,
the way you’ll never leave.

The best thing about you is that I always know you care,
the way you always listen,
the way you understand,
the way you laugh at my jokes, and your laughter never hurts.

The best thing about you is the way you worry about me,
the way you help me, even when I don’t ask you to,
the way you mean so much to me,
and the way you’ll never know just how much you mean.

The way you’ve been there through the hardest time in my life,
you were a best friend to me when that’s what I needed most.

You probably have no idea how much the smile and exclamation point meant.

The best thing about you is that you are the best best friend,
and that you probably never guessed how great you are.