A grateful thank you to Jeniann Bowers for hosting me today.
I believe this poem was written not long after I first left home to go to school.I’m Feeling More than I Can Write Nothing… Is that what I feel? I don’t know. Maybe I’m scared. Maybe I’m lonely. I miss my old life some, yet begin to love the new one. But it’s not getting back to normal the way I thought it would. Everything has changed for me, and nothing can I predict. I’m moving on. I’m changing… being changed by my surroundings. I’m getting tossed along, doing what I’m forced to do. I used to feel in control; I chose what shaped my life. I now welcome the unexpected, though it scares me. No one is here to guide me, to show me my mistakes. But I know I’ll make it through this test of independence. I am strong, but I’m still afraid. Each choice I now make determines bits of my future. Much like a puzzle, the pieces are there. But without the final picture, I’m only guessing where they go.
Terree L. Klaes 1997
I felt like maybe I cheated poetry week a bit since I skipped Wednesday, so I now post one more poem. This one is short, but it was my first ever poem. I can actually remember writing it in my mind while sitting in a car traveling through one of Virginia’s beautiful thunderstorms. I was in 9th grade.
I often thought I’d add more to it, but I was afraid I’d mess it up. Since it’s my first, it’s a bit sentimental for me.
Tears from Heaven
Sound of thunder filled my ears
The dark sky with lightening spears
Through my fear no scream would slip
I would keep it deep within
Hold my breath to release no tears
I would keep them through the years
Terree L. Klaes
Ah, to capture the confusion of the content feeling when you find yourself relationship-less, and someone comes along wanting you to give that up and risk another… and I threw in a little rhyme scheme.
How is it that I feel this way,
(so unrelentingly insane)?
When I have all that I should want?
Or do I use it just to flaunt?
I have never meant to hurt a soul.
This has never been my role.
But please don’t move my heart too fast.
I have not yet gotten over the last.
Oh, what is it that I do so crave,
That makes me wonder quite this way?
He still lingers in my mind,
But I wish to leave him far behind.
This is too much for me right now,
And thinking about it gets me down.
But what else am I to so?
He took my heart, and here’s the proof:
I still think of him all the time,
Although this I will always deny.
But even if he realized his mistake,
I could not trust him after this heartbreak.
My pride will take a long time to mend,
But I will never again let my heart bend.
I don’t want to drag you along,
And put you in a spot where you don’t belong.
I just don’t know what it is I want.
I know I think about it a lot.
I guess I’ll just take one step at a time.
Small steps are usually the best kind.
–Terree L. Klaes – –
I made some sort of suggestion on my blog the other day that I’d look for something a bit more cheerful since I declared this poetry week and posted a couple dark poems in a row. I don’t know what I was thinking when I said that. Apparently I had forgotten that in my poetry writing days, I wasn’t a very cheerful person. Well, that’s not completely true either. I just needed poetry writing therapy more when I was sad.
Oh, but I found one. If I remember correctly, I wrote this one almost mockingly because a few of my family members told me all I ever wrote was depressing. That means this is pretty cheesy, but I’m posting it because I am a woman of my word. Please don’t hold the poem against me, and come back again.
World peace starts here
within your heart and mind
Each individual person
can change a life
Put down your verbal weapons
and physical ones too
Give someone a hug
and a great big smile
Plant a tree outside
within the world’s back yard
Show how you care
and the love that you possess
Don’t pick a flower
but let it grow forever
Stretch out your arms
and express your love
-Terree L. Klaes-
Ok, it isn’t that bad. I have read worse. I may have even written worse, and then crumpled it up into a ball and thrown it away or burned it. But I’m sure some people will like it. Back to the angsty teen stuff tomorrow. I guess I just feel there is more substance in those poems of mine.
I think I’ve decided to make this week “poetry week” on my blog. I mentioned yesterday that I didn’t write much poetry after my teen years. According to the date on this one, I was still just barely 19. Poetry was the best outlet I had for my feelings and I don’t remember the inspiration for this one in particular, but I know I had moved away from all my friends and it took me a while to find my place in my new environment. I felt vulnerable, obviously. Maybe I’ll look for something more uplifting tomorrow.
In this bleak world
I am the prey
Just another victim
A casualty without a name
What makes me feel these things?
And what is it I’m feeling?
I always get knocked down
Right after I’m done healing
I could hate this world
And all the people in it
But it all comes down to me
And the way I choose to live it
That may not make it better
In fact, it feels worse
But every human pays a price
Every mortal has a curse
–Terree L. Klaes – –
October 6, 1997
Once upon a time I took a creative writing class in high school. Our most difficult assignment (for me anyway) was writing a sestina. This is a type of poem with a very particular set of rules, including reusing the same six words in a certain order throughout. I haven’t really done much poetry writing since my angsty teen years, but this one was a true feat to write, and after the darkness comes a glimmer of light, so I decided to share (did you catch my internal rhyme back there?).
Much lost time had elapsed since this woman
Could bear the abuse of her forgotten
Past. Now she’s silent and sadly withered,
As she is paralyzed, feeble, and old.
It is not her fault that she is so sad
And alone. She just remembers the rain.
Many things had happened in this dark rain
That could not be put aside. This woman
Had to block out the memories of sadness
And pain, which still linger on forgotten
Bruises and scars. Searching through her dark old
Eyes, are few memories but of old withered
Roses she had no time for, which withered
And died from lack of soft fallen rain.
Then she viewed the garden with roses old
And dead, A death this mistreated woman
Could not understand or ever forget
In her future, now present. And how sad
It is. Now time slips by in a sad
Way. When she was a young girl, her withered
Aunt would say, “You’ll, too, be forgotten
And ugly soon.” And on the window, rain
Would pelt to enforce the words this woman
Said. The girl trembled from these awful old
Words, then joined by those of the other old
Ladies who would tell her that she was sad
And worthless. Feeling as if the woman
Had stabbed her and made her become withered
In pain and grief. All this time the hard rain
Would beat in the poor girl’s mind. Forgotten
As she has, the abuse, she can’t forget
A sharp pain buried in her loving old
Heart. She looks back at all the times it rained,
And does not know what she feels, but a sad
Memory she can’t find in her withered
Mind. She is a loving, simple woman
The rain now can’t touch. Forgotten and sad
She is not, nor too old and withered.
Forgiveness makes her a happy woman.
–Terree L. Klaes– 1995