The Day I Fell In Love With My Pocket — Creative Poetry

Hello, lovely ones! Today I’m going to share with a poem I wrote for my summer creative writing class. I’m very fond of it.

 

The Day I Fell In Love With My Pocket

He fluffs and sometimes ruffles, softly swaying when I sway.
Crinkling, sometimes tinkling, with my nickels for the day.
He jingles and he jangles, sounding cheerful and quite merry.
My quiet friend, my loyal friend, filled with all that he can carry.

One day I didn’t give him any change or stuff to hold,
I was walking down the street when all at once, lo and behold!
My friend, he started talking! There I heard him say, “Hello!”
Twas a whisper, just a whisper, but it set my heart aglow.

His voice was raw, but soft and gentle; kinda friendly, rough and tough,
I giggled and I wriggled and found my brain was full of fluff!
But I went ahead and asked him, “Should I have left my purse at home?
Perhaps you’re feeling empty, would you like my keys, my phone?”

“No! I’m just here for conversation,” he huskily replied.
So huskily, so muskily, his voice touched me deep inside.
“My pocket’s talking! This is shocking!” I was thinking at this time.
His handsome ‘hello’ was heavenly – a taste of the sublime!

So I find myself at ease and I begin to chat nonstop,
Blabbering ‘bout my books and sister and my favorite coffee shop.
“How ‘bout you? What’s your life like? What’s your real name?” I ask at last.
He had only laughed and listened while I was spilling out my past.

He chortles and I blush. He says, “I don’t remember much;
I only know for certain I came alive at your first touch.”
I get so swoony and so moony and heaven knows I’m so in love.
His voice is deep, I’m swept off my feet, but there’s a problem here… sort of.

He’s so gentle, and sentimental, but he’s the stitching on my hip!
How’s a girl supposed to kiss a guy with threads instead of lips?
Pondering this loathsome problem, I stopped and listened to a sound:
The pocket on my hip began to beat; began to pound.

Steady, strong, I heard it pumping; starry eyed, I looked to see
My own true love and pocket had a heart, undoubtedly!
“Oh love of mine!” I cried aloud, “Let’s ride away together,
Into this summer sunset, and we’ll stay attached forever.”

Let me know what you think! I’ll admit, I am especially fond of it, which is why I’m choosing to share it with you fine people on WordPress.

Love always,
Anne

Standard

The Tale of Despereaux, by Kate DiCamillo

Despereaux1  Despereaux3

Hello, dearest readers! Today, I will be sharing my thoughts on The Tale of Despereaux, by Kate DiCamillo, with you.

As an English major, an aspiring author, and a constant reader, it’s no surprise that I am enchanted with books that celebrate the beauty of stories. But no one needs to be any of these things to fall in love with The Tale of Despereaux. Kate DiCamillo writes of hope in dark places, of light conquering darkness, of courage and love and forgiveness. She writes, and she reminds us of our souls.

Despereaux, an undersized mouse and a hopeless romantic, reads the story of a knight in shining armor, and delights in the bravery and goodness that the character radiates from the pages. In identifying with the knight, Despereaux becomes the knight. An unexceptional little mouse becomes heroic and bold and good, simply because he has read a story about someone who is all those things. And even though Despereaux’s knight is totally fictional, he comes alive through the little mouse who admires and molds himself after his favorite fairytale hero.

This is what stories offer us. When our worlds are dark and small, they give us the gift of hope. We hear of unheard bravery, of divine goodness and impossible heroism that all serve to awaken some long lost truth within ourselves. We are called to the light. And through this hope, this desire to become better and more beautiful, we achieve that which was once impossible. We forgive, we love, we grow, because we believe we can. We believe we can be like the heroes that we heard of when we were small. And as we believe, we become.

I firmly believe that stories save people. They give us hope, they mold us, shape us into better people. We all become tender creatures at the touch of the beauty, we all become stronger creatures when we learn to follow the light within us. This book perfectly demonstrated the power of literature. It made me remember why I loved reading in the first place.

Love always, 
Anne

Despereaux2

Standard