Every Breath is a Breath for Hope, original poem

Every breath is a breath for hope.

Hope for the future.

Hope to keep living.

Hope that sadness will surely end.

Hope that joy will surely begin.

Hope for bliss.

Hope for laughter.

Hope there's always another chapter.

Hope that trials resolve in peace.

Hope that pain will find release. 

Hope for a dream.

Hope for more time.

Hope that every wish will align.

Hope for love and all that's divine.

 

Hope this poem won't end in a rhyme...

 

:P

 

Sarah

 

The Warrior Next Door, an original poem

To the warrior next door,

The selfless peacemakers,

The brave defenders,

To those fighting untold demons,

To those struggling for hope,

Quiet helpers,

Cancer battlers,

Sacrificing dreams so others may live,

Braving loss to save a soul,

Late night talkers,

Honest motivators,

Giving up to give more,

To those who run into fire,

To those who sacrifice desire,

Perform all-nighters to heal,

Who openly love,    

Who put others first,

Anonymous servers who refuse fame.

You're the light of the Earth

in a World that seems dark.

You're the hope of the future

when the future seems lost.

You're the answer for peace

where chaos may rage.

You're the gift of love

that vanquishes hate.

Sarah

#NeverForget

#9/12

 

Simply Words, an original poem

Words are funny.

They give everything and nothing at the same time.

Conferring feelings and thoughts,

Hopes, dreams and wonders,

Yet they are merely puzzle pieces in a grand masterpiece,

which may or may not be complete.

Words that hope to communicate,

though easy to manipulate.

Written sentences deleted after agonized time,

or simply Frankensteined.

 

Maybe an emoticon can better show intent?

Punctuation marks imitating empathy,

Real or deceived. 

Creating what's perceived.

Words breading hate.

Words fanning joy.

Words desiring love,

Or simply annoy.

 

Still, always, Words feed the soul.

~ Sarah Stufflebeam

P.S. While writing this I stumbled on a Wikipedia page showing emoticons.  Turns out many of the emoticons I use are called Kaomoji faces, originating out of Japan.  Heh, probably due to my early days obsessing over anime and whatnot back when the internet was a teenager.

A Single Drop, an original poem

A single drop smooths through cracked wood

          Lost from view as it whittles away. 

Unassumed, unaware, unrenowned.  

Wind tousled trees look down

          Watching drops form puddles.

Collect, concise, control.

The single drop remains.

          Untouched. Unformed.

 

The gathered drops beacon.  

          Coerce.  Compel.

Yet the single drop moves.

          Untempted, unbothered, untroubled.  

While lakes and ponds grumble.

          Contend, conceal, contest.  

 

Gathered voices will not compel.

          The single drop avoids the spell.

~ Sarah Stufflebeam

P.S.  Just a quickie little poem.  Sat down at the computer with no idea of what to write, and then this happened.  I know some of the words used are not dictionary recognized, so they're used out of sure spite.

Shifting Time, an original poem

I try to hold Time,

but Time will not stay.

My fingers close tight, 

but not tight enough,

slipping to the ground. 

Around me lights flash,

scenes move,

voices speed,

but I stand still.

Unmovable,

as Time moves along.

Unchanging,

as everything modulates.

In this circle I stand,

watching everyone leave,

watching their growth,

their movements,

their change.

 

I try to hold Time,

but Time won't be held.

I hold it close,

yet it flits away.

I watch it fly,

wishing for flight,

yet bound I remain.

 

Time tries to bind,

but bound I won't be,

a statement of mind

and all that I see.

 

I will break free.

I will break free.

Present illusions will not entrap me.

 

I will break free.

I will break free.

Time is eternal and I'll find the key.

Sarah Stufflebeam

(Okay, this is a bit depressing, tried to leave it on an uplifting note.  I haven't written a poem in ages, but I'm trying to not be so caught up in perfection, as it paralyses me from action.  So I'm going to have fun with words, no matter if they're good or not.)

The Reality of Stars, an original poem

Dark nights have long since passed,

Their tales of woe forgot. 

Do wolves still howl at beaming moons?

Do stars still spell of stories warn?

Legends lost as light spreads over

Rivers, trees, and moors.

No darkness creeps,

Nor nothing weeps over silvery ghostly yarns. 

Nearby villagers often ask,

Wondering of the start,

When did Nighttime lose his might?

Truth is long forgot. 

Village elders tell their tales,

Remembering twilight's past.

They tell when Night would fill the sky,

Before it came to naught.

Earth would cool,

Stars would beam,

Shadows of time still had a seam.

Now everyone dreams in light,

There seems to be no nighttime fright

Still, when did nighttime lose his might?

When children ask about the dark,
Tales of woe fancy their souls.
They wonder if there was a night,
Questions they'll always mourn.

~ Sarah Stufflebeam

(I haven't written a poem since that haiku back in September, 2018.  Thought it would be good to maybe start writing poems again.  It's a good practice. :0)

Give Me a World and I Shall Live, an original poem, and other doodads

(15 yrs. old, The Fantasticks)

(Written nearly 2 decades ago, sometime when I was 17 or 18.)

Sonnet VIII

Give me a World and I shall live.  Wrap me

up in the land of fantasy.  Beyond

the words and stage are my dreams, and I long

for this reality.  Please, let me see

where imagination has no borders.

Where I have no limits.  Where I am free.

Give me this World, let me escape to be

all that I could wish to be, forever.

Illuminated saw dust tickles my

nose as I stare beyond lights.  Sweet voices

of laughter and love surrounds and rejoice.

And I stand, waiting, breathing, as I fly.

Excitement lingers through all of my soul.

All of my heart sings as I lose control.

~ Sarah Stufflebeam

(I did tweak the words a little.)

I went through a Sonnet writing phase when I was in High School.  Since then I haven't written any, but I found this one and a few others, not all sadly, while sorting through old papers.  It brings back memories.  I haven't performed in a play since college.  Mainly all of my performances have been through chorus, some vocal solos, and the handful of videos online.  Honestly I miss it.  This was my passion when I was younger.  I craved the stage.  Begged my parents to do community theater.  Tried out whenever I could.  Kinda miss the hunger.

 (Kindergarten)

 One of my first performances was when I was in Kindergarten.  I don't remember it, though my Mom said I had the lead, memorized all the lines, and told the kids their lines when they forgot.  Totally was that kind of kid.

I do remember the Christmas performance when I was in Kindergarten, mainly because it was performed in the auditorium.  I memorized all those parts as well and would get my brothers and friends to perform the play in the backyard as I directed.

The very first time I was on stage was when I was four, a dance recital, and I remember every detail. It was a series of moments that woke my spirit. Totally electrifying.

(7th Grade)

The last dance recital I was in was the 7th grade.

Honestly, I haven't been to dance in a year.  I've talked with my dance teacher and even pre-paid several months for the Fall, so I'm committed to get back into it.  I also want to get back into music and doing videos.  That's more of an early next year thing.  I'm going to start learning the guitar, got a video program I'm going to work through, and buckle down on understanding the music software.

Oh, and the VR game my brothers and I have worked on is close to an update.  I'm waiting for the game to get to a certain point, and for other projects to get going, before I talk about it in full. It's a process.

It's good to remember our past and past dreams.

Where Flowers Lay: An Original Poem

Where Flowers Lay

On the last Monday in the month of May,

Rows of flowers on graves do lay,

Rows and rows of colors frayed,

Reminding all this solemn day.  

Reminding all of lives once lived,

A sacrifice they choose to give,

A Freedoms breath that we may live

Without the horror, the combative.

What lives were lost?

 I want to know.

What were your dreams?

 How did you grow?

Names on crosses line the field.

Names that many will never kneel.

But on this day I humbly yield,

and honor those with courage zeal.

Thanks to those where flowers lay.

Thanks to those in quiet graves.

In memory sweet reverence, pray.

We remember this Memorial Day.

By Sarah Stufflebeam