Hey, look! I'm finally posting stuff. Here are some poems I submitted to Expressions.

Blues of Unrequited Love

This love was wrong, I’ve wasted my heart.
This love was so wrong, I’ve wasted my heart.
How could you know how much I must part?

I loved you so fierce; you didn’t even know.
I loved you so fierce; you couldn’t even know.
But now I give up; away my love blows.

Motivation

My soul is moved by words.
My soul is moved by music.
My soul is moved by that moment of ecstasy,
moved by that moment when you realize you’re in love.

All of these things are one:
My soul is moved by writing.

Predator

Peaceful prancing.
Claws flashing
Deer dashing
Lethal slashing

Her Love is a Buoy

Her love is a buoy.
It’s left the shoreline,
But refuses to enter deep waters.
She’s tried to drown it,
But it can’t cease its floating hope.
His boat cannot see her love;
It’s not a brilliant lighthouse,
But a small, mere buoy
That cannot be seen, except
If he gets close enough,
Maybe then he will notice
Its existence.
But his boat stays in deeper waters,
While her love is all but chained to the shoreline.

Funeral

To mourn
This loss,
We come
We sit
We sorrow.

We sorrow,
For loss
And cry
For things
No longer.

No longer
Living, but
Never forgotten.


There we go for now. I'll put up more later

Wrote this for my English class. Had to type it up, so I figured it could be my first post. Haha, silly me. Creating this and then never putting my stuff up. ^^;;

A Lesson in Pounce

“Hallo, Mister Tiger.”
The striped beast jumped slightly at the sudden, quiet words. His furry head swiftly moved to the noise and his keen eyes studied the young female human that stood before him. The child was small and vulnerable, and the tiger was rather surprised that it was still alive. Skinny as it was, the child was still an easy kill and had wandered voluntarily into the jungle. Its pink jumper was filthy, as was expected. The tiger had heard from that annoying macaw not two sunrises ago that this human was going about, living with the different creatures of the jungle and learning a different ”skill”, as the child explained it, from each of them.
The tiger hesitantly dipped his shaggy head in greeting. “How... Rrr, how may I help you, rrr?” He was surprised to find himself embarrassed at the clumsiness of his words. The child’s words, though ill-pronounced, sounded far more elegant.
“Mister Tiger, I would be well-pleased if you would teach me a certain skill of yours.” Professional. Just missing a clipboard.
“Rrr... What can I teach you?” The tiger wasn’t sure what he was getting himself into.
“I would greatly like to learn the skill of pouncing, Mister Tiger.” Oh, good. That was easy, then.
“Rrrright.” The tiger sat back on his haunches, expecting the human to say more. It did not; the girl stood there patiently and expectantly, though not eagerly. So, conscious of scrutiny, the tiger continued in a rather sheepish manner. “Well, first, rrr...” The predator of the forest paused, thinking how to explain the art of pouncing to such a small, human child. “First, one must have a prey, rr.” The tiger surveyed their surroundings, but all the small creatures nearby had fled at his words. “Okay, we’ll say that log over there, rr, is the prey.” He felt stupid with the substitution, but the child remained passive and didn’t seem to mind.
Standing on his feet and swiveling his ears about, the tiger modeled the next step. “One must listen closerrrly to their environment, rrr, to make sure all is clear. Rrr. Then one moves quietly, slowly, solidly... rrr...” He did likewise and the human female watched, unblinking. “One settles back onto their haunches, but tighter, rrr, and wound up. LIke a spring. Rr. And then, when one’s rrr prey least expects it--!!!” The tiger leapt through the air, landing on the log in a lethal blow. “One pounces. Rr.”
The tiger sauntered away from the crushed log, watching for the child’s reaction. The reaction was this: she stood and thought for a moment. And then, as though deciding something, she gave a stiff curtsy.
“Thank you, Mister Tiger. That is all I was needing.” And as quickly as she had come, she was gone, leaving “Mister Tiger” alone with a decimated log.

I apologize for my lame-osity and severe lack of ability to write poetry and possibly even short stories. Please do not flame me. Love me! I also apologize for the overuse and abuse of my poetic license. It'll probably be revoked any day now. :3