“I Thought of You the Other Day”

“I Thought of You the Other Day”

by Krista

 I used to think you spoke those words

To mask the fact that you thought of me all the time.

But now I realize you spoke the truth,

That it was only a reflection of what I was doing –

Thinking of you at every moment –

Waiting for the calls that infrequently came,

Wondering what you were doing or thinking,

Hoping someday you would admit your true feelings.

But, I was the fool,

Reading something into those vacant lines,

Writing my own story where none existed.

National Poetry Month

In honor of, I'll share the first poem I ever wrote. It was an English sonnet I had to write for a high school English class. So... go easy on me. :)

(It apparently has no name)

The gardener dropped the seed, my love to sow
It represents a love meant just for one
This seed will bloom for him I not yet know
Its growth unseen, I know it has begun.

The elements of love will make it grow
Compassion, warmth and faith shine as the sun
So delicate upon the earth below
Hard times, forgiveness, o're the ground shall run.

The healing power in love shall fall as rain
Upon the sprout new life shall start to flow
No death, nor storm may split this love in twain
And as it buds a gentle breeze may blow.

At last, my love, the flow'r, look and behold
As delicate, lush petals now unfold!


My teacher's comments:

2nd line -- > meter is rough
interesting metaphor seed/love
rhyme scheme not marked

Grade: 37/43

A Psalm

"A Psalm," written by Krista Rahija
(based on Psalm 107)

Give thanks to the LORD, for He is good! His faithfulness endures forever.
Has the LORD redeemed you? The speak out!
Let me tell you how my God has saved me!

I was wandering around, lost in my own selfishness when Christ died for me.
I was drowning in my own foolishness and rebellion,
but as soon as I cried out, "LORD, help!" he saved me from myself.

When my dad was diagnosed with cancer,
I wondered what that would mean for me and my family.
As we cried out, "LORD, help!" God met us there.
He gave us His peace and comfort to hold on to.
He taught us that He is trustworthy and in control.

When I found myself in a relationship that didn't honor Him,
God allowed me to struggle in my thoughts and insecurity.
Finally I cried out, LORD, help!" He didn't hold it against me or turn His back on me.
He simply smiled and restored me.

In the times I grow discontent, and my life doesn't look like I expected,
I'm drawn into self pity and worry over my broken dreams.
I wallow for awhile before crying out, "LORD, help!"
But when I do, God restores my faith, renews my strength and rebuilds my heart

Those who are wise will take all this to heart;
they will see in my history the faithful love of the LORD.

"Red, Red Rose" by Robert Burns

O my luve is like a red, red rose

That's newly sprung in June;

O my luve's like the melodie

That's sweetly played in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonny lass,

So deep in luve am I;

And I will luve thee still, my dear,

Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,

And the rocks melt wi' the sun;

I will luve thee still, my dear,

While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only love,

And fare thee weel, awhile!

And I will come again, my love

Tho' it were ten thousand mile.

Friend?

I just ran across this poem, and I'm happy to note that I'm not even sure to whom it may have referred...

Friends?

From the first moment you extended your hand to me,
I've wondered what kind of friend you will be.

Maybe just an acquaintance,
someone who might happen to recognize me on the street.

Maybe the casual friend who meets me irregularly for dinner
and occasionally drops me an email to say "hi."

What about that friend who is so close, so deeply involved in my life
that I can't imagine a life apart, until six months later that time comes.
You could be that person.

Or you could be, just possibly, an eternal friend,
one who loves me endlessly,
who despite the time and distance is an intricate part of me.

Only in retrospect will I know who you are.
As for now, I see the possibilities in your eyes.
And I know that you are important, no matter what your role in my life.
For this time, I'm glad to know you.

Opossum

I wrote this poem after another dead animal was found in Matt's yard. It seems he sent (as always) a picture of it along. I'll have to see if I can find that. :) I should also note that the poem was inspired by a few lines from Matt's email, which effectively are the last few lines of the poem.

Opossum (an original poem)

This one died near the hyacinth bush,
Under the colorful crepe myrtle, which has yet to bloom.
I can’t be sure what caused his demise…
Maybe a cardial-infarction?
An advanced case of tail cancer?
Or a broken heart?
Who’s to say?
It was surely a sweet, though possibly short, life.
Let’s hope he hasn’t left behind a family…
Two baby opossums and a loving mate,
Who wonder why he hasn’t returned with dinner.
He met an unfortunate end here in my yard,
Under the crepe myrtle, near the hyacinth bush.
But, I laid him to rest.
Under the stars.
In a dirt hole.
Next to the bird.
And the other bird.
And the rat.
And the squirrel.

The Protected Heart

I found this poem, scribbled on a yellow Post-It note. I'm not sure when I wrote it, but I thought you might enjoy it....

The Protected Heart

The protected heart - what an undeserved blessing!

But how does it know?

How does it know how to be greatful for not experiencing

what so many others have experienced?

How does it understand what it cannot feel?

What is has not been shown?

How can it speak of the wonders of

God's healing and forgiveness until it has hurt?

God, cause the protected heart to long for you.

The Country

This is a poem by one of my favorite poets, Billy Collins...

The Country

I wondered about you
when you told me never to leave
a box of wooden, strike-anywhere matches
lying around the house because the mice

might get into them and start a fire.
But your face was absolutely straight
when you twisted the lid down on the round tin
where the matches, you said, are always stowed.

Who could sleep that night?
Who could whisk away the thought
of the one unlikely mouse
padding along a cold water pipe

behind the floral wallpaper
gripping a single wooden match
between the needles of his teeth?
Who could not see him rounding a corner,

the blue tip scratching against a rough-hewn beam,
the sudden flare, and the creature
for one bright, shining moment
suddenly thrust ahead of his time -

now a fire-starter, now a torchbearer
in a forgotten ritual, little brown druid
illuminating some ancient night.
Who could fail to notice,

lit up in the blazing insulation,
the tiny looks of wonderment on the faces
of his fellow mice, onetime inhabitants
of what once was your house in the country?

Poems about Pancakes... Banana Pancakes

The following poems are dedicated to all of the banana pancakes in La Jolla, California...

Cove Cakes

Come to me, my darling pancakes -

Onto my fork and into my mouth!

Verify your status among all

Edible delights.

Cause my tastebuds to explode in jubilation,

And sing your praises in all restaurants, so everyone may

Know of your succulence and

Elevate your name on menus everywhere, thus

Securing your place on breakfast plates, both now and forever.

Banana Pancakes

As the first morning light pours into the room,

I feel a faint breeze across my cheek

as it makes its way in from the salty sea.

A seagull, acting as my own personal rooster,

wakes me from a peaceful slumber.

Oh what a day! A perfect day, I'd say!

After pulling on my faded jeans and getting dressed,

my feet take me instinctively to a quaint cottage -

the quintessential place for a leisure-filled day like today.

The menu begs for my attention, overwhelming me with possibilities -

a million varieties of eggs alone!

But, there's really only one choice for me - banana pancakes!

I KNOW I just had them yesterday,

but I'm helpless to resist their sweet and powerful invitation.

The pancakes swim through my senses - not just my tastebuds.

I know understand the woman behind me taking pictures of her breakfast.

How long can this last, you ask? Not long enough.

Before I know it, my bare plate stares me in the face,

asking me where my beloved pancakes have gone.

But, never fear! There's always tomorrow morning!

Curiosity

Why am I so afraid to know what would happen
If I stepped out of the boat?
In many ways I long to know
What it might be like
To feel the water beneath my feet -
For there to be a firm support
In the place I least expect it -
To step out, with my eyes firmly fixed

On He who can calm the storm
And bring unexpected change in every situation.
Why must I live so safely,
Surrounded by unwritten rules,
Which tell me that to step out is to risk my own life?
But then I'm reminded...
"Whoever wants to save his life will lose it,
But whoever loses his life for me will save it."

"Diary of an Old Soul" by George MacDonald

How many helps thou giv'st to those who would learn!
To some sore pain, to others a sinking heart;
To some a weariness worse than any smart;
To some a haunting, fearing, blind concern;
Madness to some; to some the shaking dart
Of hideous death still following as they turn;
To some a hunger that will not depart.

To some thou giv'st a deep unrest - a scorn
Of all they are or see upon the earth;
A gaze, at dusky night and clearing morn,
As on a land of emptiness and dearth;
To some a bitter sorrow; to some the sting
Of love misprized - of sick abandoning;
To some a frozen heart, oh, worse than anything!

The messengers of Satan think to mar,
But make - driving the soul from false to feal -
To thee, the reconciler, the one real,
In whom alone the would be and the is are met.

Stopping to Admire a Snail

How fascinating a creature he was.

Here myself sufficiently aged, I realized I had never seen,

or at least, never stopped to observe a snail.

He paid no attention to me; however, another did.

Two individuals now stopped to admire a snail. Coincidence?

All I can say is this - at the end of the mutual on-looking,

I had rather wished to be the snail-

able to ignore the unsolicited attention of a stranger.

Dawn

DAWN

She saves her smiles for special times,

ever watching silently for certain qualities in their character.

Her presence looms graceful and elegant

with soft dignity and angelic warmth,

endearing to all with the encounter of good fortune.

She leads from necessity, longing to follow-

integrity, strength, commitment and determined love.

She engages fully the courses ahead,

directing boldly with soft lips

and a passion channeled for His work and His Spirit.

She mends and nurtures with quiet reserve,

weeping and praying in the shadows!

Her beautiful voice betrays a mind of the same-

insightful and pensive, portraying holy mercy.

She lifts my sights to new heights,

aspiring to what can be, despite what is.

Dawn is so aptly named.

(The author will remain anonymous; however, should he ever run across my blog site.... THANK YOU!!)

The Bug

The little blue bug, with its Charlie Chaplin eyebrows,

sputters playfully through the city street.

He seems happy and content to carry his cargo.

He's not bothered by the bits of rust creeping in at his seems

but fweems gleefully with each kind touch and meaningful observation.

He is quite aware of the playful jabs that are exchanged in his presence.

But that is his gift - the gift of laughter, smiles... amusement.