Old magnetic poetry

Forget Time and Go For a Walk

Fear the mystical basement
Where fairies watch over my
Ethereal life.
Vindicated smiles capture
Weak morals.
Enemies work to break free
Among patient spirits.
Keep the cancerous mountain away,
The warmth of comforting violet lights.



I Call it Blind Faith

I sleep through the night
Gathering faith,
Trusting you completely.
Who am I to question love now?
I delve into uncertainty,
Chaos right behind me,
Not once
Do I look back

Little Girls- Laughing.

I could see her stiff blonde head poking out
from underneath the covers.
That plastic smile,
Mocking me from whatever distance.
I convinced him, more easily than I had expected.
"Let me tear your doll apart for you."
And I did.
Piece
By
piece
Her laugh turned my veins to ice,
But no one heard?
And I continued, believing
This would end her taunting blue eyes from
following me.
Until the alarm clock shook me to--
"WAKE UP."

Son of Picasso

Creativity smeared blue onto his already lumpy canvas.
He chose blue, because that was the color of her room,
And the one she liked best.
"Mom will love this picture," he thought.
She'd yell in suprise and hang it on the fridge
Next to the other paintings of splotched colors and stick figures.

Blue was for her room and because she liked it,
Green because it's pretty and so is she,
Yellow because it's happy, and she likes to smile a lot,
Red because it's the color of hearts,
And he hearts her more than any painting in the world.

He finished with a purple basketball (because she's lots of fun)
And delicately hung his painting to dry.
"Another masterpiece," he sighed, satisfied by his intense abilities,
And began his next work of art for a very special man-
Beginning with brown: for the tree house they built last summer.

Rain, Don’t Go Away

Black rain clouds cover the sky, ready to burst.
“Remember we used to spend rainy days playing Scrabble and eating pizza?” Alexa asked her mother.
“And watch movies in our pajamas? No one loved rainy days more than us.”
Alexa solemnly placed a rose on the wet grass.
“We won’t be doing that anymore.”

The Endless Cycle

I have this ring I wear on my pinky. Not many people notice it, they tend to stray to my other six rings, but it's my favorite. I'ts gold and in the shape of a crucifix. People think it's part of me being the "super religious" person I am, and it is to a point, but that's not the real reason it's there.

It used to belong to my mom. She got it from Colombia years ago when she was 16 in a market place, I believe. I always loved her rings, I loved the way they looked on her hands when I was a kid and your mom's hands were just the prettiest things in the world. (I still love her hands.)One day when I was around 12 years old we were in the kitchen getting ready to go out; my older sister, my mother, and I were standing by the island when she put the ring down and said, "Who wants it?"

I snatched that ring up so fast my sister didn't even have time to think.

When I first got the ring, I used to debate with myself back and forth on whether I wanted to be buried with it when I died and keep it forever, or pass it on. Eventually I decided I wanted to pass it on. I created this whole plan to give it to my second daughter, because I am the second daughter and my mother is too. I also would name her Aura Lucia, because that's my mother's name and my grandmother's name and it was supposed to be mine too. I always felt kind of gypped for that. I thought I'd make it a family heirloom of some sort; pass it from Aura Lucia to Aura Lucia. I thought it was a fitting plan to keep it going that way, considering my mom took after her mom and I take after my mom; I hoped this cycle would continue and create this never ending circle of Aura Lucias. I still like the idea of connecting the generations and if it all pans out that way I think that'd just make life ten times sweeter. Regardless of who it is, though, I'm planning on passing the ring on.

Now every time I look at my hand, I think of my mom. I think about everything she's given me besides my favorite ring. She's given me independence and taught me how to look after myself, make decisions wisely and on my own. She's given me a good home, a good family, someone to talk to even when I don't feel like talking much. My mother's given me a good life and some one to look up to, and I love her dearly for everything she's ever given me.

Broken Vows After a painting by Philip Hermogenes Calderon

Happiness seemed inevitable
To the widow, still in black.
In a few short years,
A marriage would take place.
New love -
In the form of dark eyes and soft hands
Had arrived.

But the truth was lurking
Beyond the fence.
The man who had vowed patience,
Left her black dress
For one of fresh colors.

Now,
Against the brick wall,
Covered by vines and time,
She stands up -
Pinned down by broken dreams.

The Music of My First Love

In the collision of the night
Memories of my first love reemerge.
It was no trick of the mind,
But one of flesh and chords
Singing to me the depths of The Ocean:
I wouldn't have let go of that beautiful body for any reason.
Not for the chorus of warnings
"Mistakes we knew we were making"
His verses held the fantisies of love,
I wanted so badly to be true.
And never did I imagine
My disregard would lead to our demise.
We held on by six strings, each snapping
One by one,
From the tightening tension of notes.
The end of our song came with great pain,
But no suprise.

"Dork"

They call me "dork"
Because I prefer reading the SEVENTH Harry Potter book
As opposed to going to a party
Of people I don't know.
They call me "dork"
Because I get bored watching TV;
Unless of course those shows are:
Golden Girls, NINJA WARRIOR, or Invader Zim.

Maybe I am a dork.
If a dork stays home on weekends to catch up on homework and sleep.
If a dork reads excessively,
Can understand The Iliad,
Knows who WROTE The Iliad,
Cares more about the history test then my next boyfriend,
Than yes I am a dork.

I spend time with my family rather than go out with friends.
Sometimes I'm not even with my family, just sitting in bed.
I go to church every Sunday,
Love going to the Guggenheim on Summer days,
Listen to Billy Joel on a regular basis,
And yes,
I spent all Summer memorizing "We Didn't Start the Fire".
Because I'm such a dork.

If this is what makes me a dork,
Than the dorkiest part of all:
Is I genuinely enjoy,
Being a dork.

A Look at the Future

A look of utter naivety escapes your eyes,
You had no idea what life held for you then,
Maybe that explains your careless, teenage posture.
Another image of a person I know nothing about.
I hardly recognize the girl with a flower in her long dark hair.
She's smiling so freely;
A smile I've never seen before.
The beauty resonating through the photograph,
Stays with me at all times.
And then I wonder,
"Is this what my daughter will see?"