Egg

We had to write an impromptu Haiku during our writing class tonight. As a general rule a Haiku is 3 lines. The first line is 5 syllables, the 2nd line 7 syllables, and the 3rd line 5 syllables. Typically, lines 2 or 3 will hold an element of surprise or a twist in them. Also, more often than not in traditional Japanese or Buddhist Haiku form, a Haiku is centered around nature. Here is what I came up with today...

Egg

Wind blows, time is here

Mama bird strains and pushes

Spits; she eats her babe.

COPYRIGHT 2011. Emma C Miller. Any reproduction of this story may not be made without express written consent of the author.

You're Not Here

Sometimes I close my eyes and wrap

my arms a little tighter

around the pillow in your place.

But I can only imagine.

Sometimes I close my eyes and wonder

what your hand might feel like

brushing against my cheek.

But I can only imagine.

Sometimes I close my eyes and listen

as the wind becomes your breath,

sighing the rhythms of life.

But I can only imagine.

Sometimes I close my eyes and stay still,

yearning for your words

to fill the coffers of my heart.

But I can only imagine.

Sometimes I close my eyes and bask

in the sun as it becomes your lips,

dancing warmth onto mine.

But I can only imagine.

Sometimes I close my eyes and hope

that the dream I dreamed is real

and you're here when I awake.

But I can only imagine.

I can only imagine,

Because you're not here.

COPYRIGHT 2011. Emma C Miller. Any reproduction of this story may not be made without express written consent of the author.

The Bear (A Limerick)

I recently ran across a "book of poetry" I had written for a 5th grade project. For our poetry unit, each time we'd discuss a new type of poetry, we were then given the assignment to write in that genre. At the end of the poetry unit each student then compiled his or her completed works into a booklet. When I found this book recently, and read through it, I mostly laughed or cringed at how some of it sounded. However, I must say I thought my limerick was pretty clever for a 5th grader. Enjoy!!!
___________

The Bear

There once was a little bear
She had some fuzzy brown hair.
A little boy gave her
a little red razor
and the little brown bear was bare.


COPYRIGHT 2009. Emma C Miller. Any reproduction of this story may not be made without express written consent of the author.

Pieces

Broken.
A million little pieces.
Swept aside to be forgotten
Or picked up. Cared for. Mended.


To do nothing is to risk everything.
To never feel. To never live. To never be.
To do something holds greater fear,
of being dropped into pieces again.


Shattered. Tattered. Torn.
To feel loves blossom and loves scorn.
To one day shine so bright that no one sees
The cracks. The damage. But just me.

COPYRIGHT 2009. Emma C Miller. Any reproduction of this story may not be made without express written consent of the author.

Not Mine To Make

I have in my mind two different plays;
the one that ends in fortune and the one that ends in plight.

I feel I must consider the road where each one lays
where will they lead me and how long until there's light?

As circumstances have it, currently to ponder
the obvious is not so, the ending not so clear.

So often I sit, allowing my mind to wander,
the meanings I transpose; but the author is not here.

What if the outcome is one of naught?
Into tiny little pieces my heart will surely break.

To be still as I have been taught;
Demeanor, grace and poise is the coat that I must take.

My mind I am preparing, my heart the worst I fear
for that one ending moment of crushing, utter despair

And yet the other path, the one that's no so clear:
A small, yet hopeful glimpse; do I even dare?

For that is the song that makes my heart sing,
that gives breath to life, and purpose for being.

That is the song I so want to hear ring
but afraid to reveal the path I'm foreseeing.

For me, I know it's right; for me there is no choice.
And yet I cannot share my words, lest fear and doubt creep in

The answer must come from another voice,
from another path I have not since been.

From that author; he gets to write
He gets to create this ending; what's in store.

Only this I know with all my might,
I could never love an author more.

COPYRIGHT 2009. Emma C Miller. Any reproduction of this story may not be made without express written consent of the author.

now what?

I love the way you look at me when I'm talking.
I love the way you laugh at all the right spots.
I love the way you play along with the things I wanna do.
I love the way you say just the right thing when I least expect it.
I love the moments you indulge me with my desires.
I love how you get me, especially when not many others do.
I love that we like so many of the same things or think the same thing at the same time.
I love all of those things.
So now what?

COPYRIGHT 2009. Emma C Miller. Any reproduction of this story may not be made without express written consent of the author.

Fall Reflections

The sun wakes late. Flowers wilt; the grass is still.

Animals gather and store. The wind blows a chill.

Unpicked fruit whithers and dies; the ground begins a freezin'.

Birds commence their journey south, signifying the Fall season.

'Tis not death of spring these signs are showing.

For life is still within us growing.

Harvest time bestows upon us

the work of man; his sickles thrust.

Fall indicates the breath of life and of new birth.

Apples and pumpkins and colors of the earth.

A time of change; A time to pause.

A time to reflect the greater cause.

As maple trees give up their sap

and cold winds the earth entraps.

We snuggle closer; we yearn for warming.

Rekindling love and new ones forming.

For Fall, like the leaves, shows our hues
Of who we are and what we choose

to be and do and what we'll bestow

to others who need a friendly glow.

Fall represents transfiguration
of selfishness; obliteration.

A season of thanks, a season of giving.

A season of sharing, and a season of living.

COPYRIGHT 2008. Emma C Miller. Any reproduction of this work may not be made without express written consent of the author.