Cheers

The house seemed bleaker, darker than usual
that wet, cold and earthy Christmas Day.
It was more than obvious that you spent your night
cleaning the house to a compulsive degree.

A small 'click' of the door sounded throughout the house to announce
that Christmas Morning has started, all that
could be heard after that small click was hurried rustling and sloshing
from the room you were occupying.

I already knew that sound, it was more than obvious.
I rounded the corner to find you sitting on the
elegant cherry-red couch you just purchased this year.
Your eyes looked heavy and your face looked swollen.
You smiled at me as I was about to burst into tears
because the bitter, musty stench of the demon that
haunts dreams, loved ones, many realities.

You giggled slightly as you quickly put your thin,
blonde hair into a small bun on the top of your head.
Resting your hands on your knees, cocking your head to
the side, you said,
"Merry Christmas, baby girl..."

The Myth of Gossip (Sonnet)

It is an old, Asian myth that when another
Speaks about you in your convenient absence
that you will sneeze unexpectedly.
That, dear one, is nothing more than a myth.
A myth to make young ones question their peers.
The anxiety fills in your chest,

The self-loathing spills upon your red face,
As you listen to your heart go 'Pitter Patter'.
"Oh, look! Is that my fellow man?" You say.

He doesn't bother to glance your way,
pearly white and perfectly straight smile
as he laughs with the others full of pride.

Oh, dear-- look at him speak vivaciously!
I sneeze, my heart freezes, and then I can breath.

On a Drive in Utah

The woman looks to her right hand only to see
Shards of broken glass.
In spite of her pain, her heart leaps,
With anxiety, anguish and guilt.
"Losing my husband to my negligence is far too hefty of a fee."

She thinks to herself. She hates herself.
She lets out a painful groan, and wipes her chin
only to see a simple red smudge on her knuckle.
Her eyes wide as saucers, her own pain put on the shelf.

She poked her heavy head forward to see her passenger,
Lifelessly laying in the sagebrush.

Article Link

Article for narrative poem:

http://www.studentnewsdaily.com/blog/human-interest-news-stories/utah-widow-sues-herself/

How an Eagle Saved a Sparrow (Sonnet)

I lift my eyes up and ask the Lord this;

How can I save my brothers and sisters?

How can I draw them closer to You?

How can I make them seek after you?

Is there a way to make someone love You?

Dear, Lord, I am exhausted-- beyond belief.

When I come to you with these inquiries

You always answer with a humbling cry;

“Child! This is not your responsibility,

It is your duty to love the unloveable,

To forgive the unforgiveable.

So lift your eyes up and rather ask Me this;

Father, forgive me, for I have sinned.’

And remember where your place is, dear one. 

The Closet Door

There it is, standing tall and wide,
Look upon the closet door!
The slightest shine to it in the light,
If it's hit just right.
Look upon the closet door!
Who knows where it once lived as a tree,
That secretive closet door.
Lovers kissing, children playing, animals hunting--
All these things perhaps seen by the tree,
that is now a closet door?
Life is not as exciting anymore, is it closet door?
All that is seen is the little life a bedroom has to offer,
There, standing, mute, frustrated and bored,
Is the ever, dead, ever pale, ever open closet door.

The Hard-Working Widow

(Narrative-ish)

THUMP

It is easy to hear the horrid thumping of her heart, she is far from relaxed.

THUMP

She has a deranged look plastered her face. Her breath broken,

The old woman's spirit cracked.