held you in my hand
what would you feel like?
the brushing of a butterfly?
Or ice that freezes
even after I let go?
So I shared a lot of my small stones poetry with you guys in 2015. I have written more here and there throughout the last 2 years and so I am going to figure out what I have and haven’t shared and post it as filler. I wrote 17 small stones poems in 2017, how interesting is that? I might share it on Wednesday or Friday or even Tuesday. To see the little poems that I wrote to capture a feeling or a mood, follow me by email.
This was written for a #DimpleVerse prompt. It could be called a love poem but I’m not sure. It is about someone wondering what would happen if they got close to someone else. Not all relationships are romantic.
leaves twirl down
timing is everything
Yep, you guessed it! This poem was inspired by the account and hashtag #ShapePoetry on Twitter. There are some great poetry accounts and great poets on Twitter. There are also poets who encourage other poets. Check it out. It’s a great community. I go missing for months and they are still so supportive when I show back up.
Since I have written over 900 poems I thought that I would post some my poems here just for fun. Here are some of my poems that I have written on my 17-year journey. I have been writing since 1999. I wrote my first poem (The Run) when I was 11 so keep that in mind as you read through these. I meant to write this post in my 15th year of writing, but being a mom and getting a serious job has re-arranged my world.
Now, for those of you who would like to walk through my work, here you go:
#1 The Run
I am wheelchair bound until he says good riddance. This cast I say is a lot of pain
I don’t regret the pain for now my troubles are slain. Now I can run wild and free.
I used to walk high, now I walk with pride. I am loved by all. Now I can run like all.
They left me behind, but now they are blind, by the dust in their eyes.
Though I may moan I have backbone. Now I can walk out the door before they lock the door.
My mind says “No” but my heart says, “Go!” So watch now as I flow, run, skip, hop, jump, prance, and walk perfectly.
#100 Making the World Right
Sneaky fingers reaching out for my mind
Gut emotions squeezing my sides
Blindfolded people swinging out with clubs
Hateful words stinging the ears
Tears soaking my face, hiding truth
Hands gripping, holding on to the only clear thing
Love breaks through in the form of lips
Honeysweet words dance across skin
Flowing into ears sorting out truth
Love conquers all chasing away evil and hate
And at the end of the night, my world is just right
#200 Panic in the Forest (published on Poet Daily)
Like a wounded deer struggling in the snow,
I fear I’ll never rise again.
The fear makes it hard to breathe
makes the world seem so cold.
I see the blood dripping on the snow
and the panic chokes me.
Everything spins and I get dizzy.
I can’t get my legs under me.
The ground so solid comes rushing up
I am still…
#300 Thanksgiving at Grandma’s
We wipe the wet leaves off of our feet
and step into the warm house to look around,
thankful for several things including heat.
I put the food on the table
and go to the freezer to check out the desserts.
They’re all old favorites, none need a label.
I make my way back to the front of the house
an aunt grabs me and talks about how the kids have grown.
Someone makes a nice comment about my blouse.
We notice who has cut their hair and who has let it grow.
Some admit to dyeing their grays as we talk about age.
A baby toddles over, what a cute bow!
As we wait for the turkey to be carved,
we can smell the corn, stuffing, and gravy,
and we talk about how we’re starved.
After the Blessing is said, we line up,
and dip out food onto Styrofoam plates
walking in a circle, holding our cup.
Most find a place to sit, but some stand.
Someone mentions the cousin we wish was here
and not fighting in a strange land.
Later we talk about the kids and arrange
what kid got who this year,
we draw for the exchange.
We give long hugs and decide what to bring
next month when we get together for Christmas,
once again the doorbell will ring.
#400 Silent Battlefield
The battlefield at Carthage is silent now.
As silent as it was 150 years ago
before the people there grew angry
and a small creek ran red with blood.
It was a part of The Civil War
but there was nothing civil about it.
Brothers stabbed brothers
in the land of the free.
Guerillas bushwhacked soldiers
in the home of the brave.
More concerned with state’s rights than men’s
they shed blood on ground that did not care
about the color of the hand that tilled it.
Today that small wood is still
except for the singing of the birds.
The only dark place is the small cave.
Giggling children fail to realize the horror
that once stomped through these fields.
Some people still smell the powder burning
but they are relics soon to be stored
like the guns and uniforms at the museum.
It is a peaceful park now, with gentle shadows
and only signs to remind us of the war.
©Symanntha Renn 6-10-12
traveling the road to work
same hawk in the tree
is he bored by me
my mouth can barely
contain the anger rising
#700 Soft Like Velvet
They were red
soft like velvet
and smelled great.
But I didn’t know
it was the end
I didn’t know they
were graveyard roses.
porcelain blue frog
doesn’t eat the red wasps
he is a fake
I have always liked the classics
my latest: #
old hopes and dreams
erasing pins and deleting links
flowers that didn’t bloom
I have decided that since I have written so many tanka, it might be fun to do Tanka Tuesday for a while. I will post them in chronological order, skipping the tanka that I have already posted. Leave me some Likes and comments if you like this kind of poetry.
you can find me
where the wind blows the long grass
where the cicadas buzz
you can find me in the land
of maples and marigolds
Maybe it is just
a lucid daydream
Maybe I’m not
really sitting here
Maybe it’s going
to be alright
I wish I could say I have written more for the #Writtenriver poetry prompt, but this is the last one I wrote for them. I hope to start feeling inspired and less tired this month. I think my hours are going to stay the same at my job for a while and I should be able to get a regular schedule down. I just feel so drained. I haven’t written anything since early October. I know that is just about 2 months but I am starting to get concerned with myself. I have plenty of old poetry that I can post to the blog, I just wish I could still churn out new poetry like I was doing last year.
crick in my neck
from trying to find
solace in my pillow
uneasy dreams made
me toss and turn
the burn in my neck
throughout the day
brings them back to me
when they should be vapor
This poem was inspired by a bad mattress and the micropoetry prompt #fieryverse.
I hope you are full of turkey and sleep well tonight! Happy Thanksgiving everyone!!
The Woman I Am
The woman I thought
I’d never be
Faded into me
She tiptoed out of a dream
Laced my bones with flesh
Started life afresh
This was written after seeing #WrittenRiver prompt 320. A lot of people seemed to like it on Twitter, what do you think?
…Nor Over There
..Just Somewhere Else
I wrote this for a Shape Poetry prompt on Twitter. Originally it did not have the periods in it, but I could not get it to format correctly without them so I had to use them in this post.
liquid stone gleams
at the art museum
the only other naked lady
my husband can look at
This poem was meant to be funny. I know some people take art super seriously, but I don’t, and my husband definitely doesn’t.
Beyond the city lights
Beyond fireflies buzzing
Down country roads
Beyond the cloudy sky
Floats what’s left of my sanity
This was written for a prompt, but I wrote it so long ago that I can’t remember which one I wrote it for. It is a small stones poem. Leave me a comment below with your reaction to it.
the day began to blur
blue became pink
as the sky was embarrassed
to admit he was tired
This poem was written for a #WrittenRiver prompt. If you are liking these short poems, I really encourage you to search these hashtags on Twitter. Also, make sure that you follow me on Twitter and follow this blog by email or through a reader.
The Perfect Pair of Jeans
Cotton has never been so strong
And felt so good
Blue has never made me so happy
Orange thread holds together
The thing that holds happiness for me
The size is smaller than last winter
The way I feel when
I slide them on
Sexy, confident, fit
Ready to face the day
In material that can
Stand up to anything
It covers me and protects me
From wind, rain, and staring eyes
Eyes that can’t guess that pain
Courses down these legs
Or make guesses at
How I got my scar
Until I pull out the shorts
That make me feel cute
And catch the eye of that guy
His eyes never go
All the way down
To feet covered in scars
My butt looks good
And even I forget
About the scars no one sees
This blue cloth makes me feel
Whole and able to take on the day
Here is one of my longer poems, just to keep things interesting.
What is one of your favorite items of clothing?