Write Poetry Like it’s 1999, Part I

In 1999 I was 11 or 12 years old, in middle school, and probably still interested in science and mathematics. My writing was morphing, as if my pen strokes were going through puberty: my pen curved at awkward angles; my words bent right, as if tipped. But it was also a time when poetry was new for me. The damn poem just had to have some sort of cute ending. Like a riddle. Or an old limerick. So I wanted to share a couple of pages from what I had titled, “Poetry from the Heart.” (I was also not very good at titling just yet.) I’ll be showing pages over the course of the week, but I’ve included the first two below.

Meanings of life what can I say
I am full of ideas and interests
I am common and casual
I use color and imagination
I use pictures to replace words
I am an artist.

Oils and paints full of life
Sad and weary
Joyous and full of hope
Short or tall
Thin or wide
Curved and straight
An idea sure to topthem all
I am the love and the pain
I am a painting.

Roses are in bloom
The clouds are pure white
All you see is color
And the stars in the night
Holding my hand
Flowers will sing
All of this happens
In the season of spring.

Bare with no flowers
White as a cloud
Lighting a fire
We all gather ’round
Cozy in blankets
Winter has come
Now all are waiting
For the season of sun.

I look into your eyes
One eye blue
The other, green

I look at the sky and stare
I think of you
Your eye of blue

I touch the grass and wonder
I dream of you
Your eye of green

I look at a flower and discover
I need you
Your eyes of green and blue.*

*Note: I believe this poem was based off the movie Practical Magic (1998). So if you’ve seen it, you probably get the gist. 

I think I was pretty good for being an 11-year-old. A little sappy, but who cares?

An on-the-spot poem about being 11 and not 23:
written December 7, 2010, by Alexa L.

When I’m 11,
love is simple
like holding hands.

When I’m 23,
love is complicated
like holding hearts.

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