The Whisper Tree

Upon her moonlight crafted gown,

Liquid starlight trickles down,

Splashing across her dew-filled leaves,

Among the words the young girl weaves.

Her secrets from her tongue they slipped

Directly from her heart they dripped.

Words the quiet one took gently

 Treasured within her roots intently.

Hopes and dreams she held there fast

Deaths and tears of living past

Endless suns and moons they shared

From their roots with nothing spared.

At darkest nights, the secrets shone

Memories told of blood and bone;

Each word was cherished by the tree

As she listened silently.

She held the secrets never said

Until her majestic posture fled,

And when the girl returned no more,

The whispered secrets she still bore.

Hidden stories dead and gone

With the newborn rising dawn

And where the faithful tree once stood

Lies a pile of forgotten wood.

--Megan

12-9-12

cirrus lilies

flit across the pensive ripples

with nothing to lose

their worries no longer

than a fire weed’s wisp

of breath in wind

ever-swirling

so gently they glide

and leap through the pods

of starlit moon blossoms

belonging nowhere

but to stories

not yet spoken

oh to be a cirrus lily

feeding on cherry roses

trodding never more

By Megan

forgotten in the alleyway

waiting lies the wooden wheel

with fragile neglected parts

for Carpenter hands to heal

By Megan

willowed hands stretch upward

leaving me behind

as they touch heaven

By Megan

Two Ways to Experience a Rainstorm

...1...
fuming clouds
spit
acid rain,
piercing through
your coat,
freezing,
stiffening your blood

wind blows
needles
at your face

the air smells of
dying worms,
stupidly
coming to the surface
for their
final
breath

as it ends,
the rain leaves a
rainbow

As if that makes it all okay.

...2...

the rain
patters
softly on the windowsill,
quenching
the thirst of the
hard
earth,
making it soft
once more

the cool drops
are perfectly round,
smooth as a pond's surface
on a cool day

flowers close their
perfect petals,
protecting their pollen
from the pure water,
cold as a freshwater spring

the beautiful shower
ends in a

Bittersweet rainbow.

written by Megan

Owl

Perched upon the

Pinnacle

Of the tree,

Silhouetted

Against the

Dark

Black

Sky,

Gazing

Through the night

With eyes

That never turn.

Swiveling

Its head

Round

And

Round.

It has an

Air

About it,

One of

Wisdom

And knowledge.

It regards

Those about it with a

Authority,

Knowing

That it is

Surely

The king of the night.

Then, unfurling

Its great,

Magnificent

Wings,

It fills them with air,

And glides

Effortlessly

Into the darkness.

Written by Megan

Night

Night is when

The wind

Dances.

Owls unfurl

Their great

Wings

And take flight.

The coyotes

Sing

In perfect harmony.

The sky

Is alive

With stars,

Winking

At the earth.

The grass

Accepts

Dewdrops

To rest upon

Their blades,

And the flowers

Shine with

Radiance,

As if their

Petals are intricate

Ball gowns.

Then,

Just as the

Night

Is reaching its glory,

The sun

Wisps

It all away.

Written by Megan

Trust is a Baby Bird

Trust is a baby bird huddled in its nest made of twigs, depending on its mother to feed it and warm it with her downy feathers.

Trust is a baby alligator depending on its mother to guard it as an egg, its only shelter its mother’s jaws.

Trust is a baby kangaroo snuggled inside its mother’s pouch depending on her to carry it to where it needs to go.

Trust is a kitten snuggling in its mother’s warm, thick fur, depending on the milk that it needs to survive.

Trust is a lion cub swatting playfully at its mother depending on her protection from harmful predators.

Trust is a newborn baby gurgling in Mother Mary’s kind arms depending on her to keep him safe until he is ready to save the world.

Written by Megan

Calm is a Rainstorm

Calm is the pitter-pattering drops of rain that splash onto your feet and outspread hands.

It smells like the pure, damp air from under an umbrella.

It tastes like the fresh earth after its shower of dew each morning.

It sounds like a child’s breathing as she steps barefoot through the moist grass.

If feels like the cool water that falls from the heavens to satisfy the thirsting terrain.

It looks like a baby bird snuggled under its mother’s protective feathers waiting out the thunder.

Calm is a rainstorm.

Written by Megan

Moon

A sliver of light

Peers cautiously through the clouds,

Quivering as if

Terrified

That she won’t complete her purpose.

 

Once she is full,

She knows that she will

Shine

With radiance,

Revealing the dark world

Almost

As well as her brother, the sun.

But not quite.

 

But she is not bitter.

She casts a silver blanket over the

Dark, dark night

As to not

Frighten

The morning frost away.

 

When she is full,

She will have the confidence to

Face the world,

All of the evils and good

Put to bed for the night.

 

To the moon,

The night isn’t forbidding.

It doesn’t frighten her with the

Owl calls and the whispering wind.

No, the night is welcoming.

But that is its own sort of terror.

The night welcomes the moon,

And she doesn’t want to

Let the night down,

Shatter its hopes, its dreams.

 

But when she is full,

When she forms a perfect circle,

She will still be her timid self,

But in a completely new way.

For when you are brave,

Timid turns to humble

And humility is

Pride disguised in moonlight.

 

Yes, when this sliver of light

Hovering so nervously in the air

Eventually turns with time

Full,

She will be brave.

But without facing the fears of appearing small

In those nights following the new moon,

She would never grow full,

For she would stay “new” forever.

 

Even the moon faces doubts of her own,

Every night as she comes out to shine.

Not many observe her, however.

Not many appreciate her courage.

But the owl watches as she rises.

The wolf howls as she’s at her peak.

The dew falls as she sets.

And that is enough.

 

Written by Megan

 

A Dream and a Truce

I dream I am a carpenter,

Carving words from simple ideas.

I dream I am an artist,

Molding stories from questions.

I dream I am a writer.

 

Words soon discovered my dream

And swept me off my feet, unprepared.

They whispered softly in my ear,

Laughing, giggling all the while,

Whisking me away with promises.

 

They told me of lands far, far away,

Beginning with “Once upon a time,”

Then snatched the tales away from me,

Laughing as I stumbled blindly.

Words are cruel if given too much strength.

 

I used to dream to control words,

Thoughtlessly caging them in stories.

Now I dream of an alliance.

We share the goal of touching lives, but

We need the other to begin.

The Song

A child

Dances

Forth

From the depths of

God’s imagination.

Her hair blows

About her face,

Her toes

Unclenched

In the lush, green grass

Of summer.

She is calm,

Her face—

Untouched

By lines of worry—

Is turned to meet

The sunrise.

The wind

Whispers

In her ear,

Singing songs of ancient lands.

The trees

Beg

Her to allow them to

Lift their roots

Out of the soft earth that has

Bound them

For so long.

The robins ask her

In never-ending birdsong

To fly

Among the budding leaves

With them.

The bees buzz in

Astonishment

At God’s new creation,

Their gossip forgotten.

Earth itself seems to

Pause,

Waiting to see what will

Happen next.

The girl smiles,

Respecting every aspect of nature

As it had

Never

Been respected before.

The sun shines

Brighter;

The animals stride with

Their heads held high;

The breezes

Swirl

With new purpose.

Thus, the golden age of the earth.

And the child aged,

Never losing her footing on

The mossy rocks

Of the ever-flowing rivers.

When she died,

The earth

Grieved

For a hundred years,

Wishing

That the girl would be

Eternal

As the swirling wind.

Mother Earth

Was soon elected Spokeswoman

Of all the creatures.

She begged God for

One more

Of the animals such as the

Child.

So, God created Adam.

All of nature was overjoyed,

But after

Whispering

Into his ear and

Running about his feet,

Their sorrow returned,

Nipping at them,

Smirking in their faces,

For this man

Overlooked

All that was around him,

Only seeing the

“Useful”.

Nature was

Devastated.

“Don’t you

Understand,”

The wind whispered

Uselessly

Into his ear,

“We would give you

Everything

That you need, and

More,

If only you would

Let us?”

But he was

Deaf

To the voices of the wind.

Today,

The beauty of the earth has

Forgotten its

Voice.

The birds only chirp,

Their long, lovely voices

Quenched out by

Sorrow.

The rushing river only

Splashes and slurps,

But doesn’t quite remember

Its old, divine voice.

The trees stand still,

Hating their destined fate,

But accepting

The humans that come and

Chop

Them

Down,

Not knowing how to

Pull their roots

Free of the

Hard, hard earth.

Only the wind

Remembers the tune

Of that

Small,

Beautiful song

That the child used to whisper

Into the very being of creation.

It remembers the melody,

But not the words.

So it searches

Every human,

Whispering into their ears,

Begging them

For the lyrics,

But it is batted away.

Perhaps the human race has

Separated

Nature from itself.

So it waits for just

One

To see the truth

And hear the

Wind’s

Message,

For even Mother Earth,

The elected spokeswoman

Has lost her voice.

However,

Just as the

Mist

That hovers

Directly over the ground

Will one day

Rise

And change form into

Rain,

Nature knows that the

Child

May still be

Alive,

Just changed in appearance.

This, and the

Constant,

Quiet singing of the wind

Is the

Hope

To which the

Earth

Clings.

Hear the wind.

We all know the words to the

Child’s song.

Find them.

Whisper them.

Sing them.

Know them.

Written by Megan

May 23, 2012

God Plants Miracles

Read this poem forward (God plants miracles for you, a falling star...) and backwards (Watch, Feeling forgotten?, Look around...)!

God plants miracles for you.

A falling star,

A blossoming flower,

An intricate snowflake,

The soft hues of a sunset,

The fireworks of a sunrise,

The red dust in the south,

The white ice of Alaska.

Look around.

Feeling forgotten?

Watch.

--Megan, April 10, 2012

Horizon

Some view the horizon as a

Beginning,

While others see the

End.

But, the horizon line,

A resting and rising place

For the sun,

Is both.

As the sun peeks shyly at the world,

Revealing silvery drops of dew

Scattered by the stars as proof of night,

The horizon protects it from harm.

When it shines with enough radiance

That sunflowers turn to face it,

 The horizon is close behind,

Watching.

Thus, the beginning of day,

But the ending of night.

But as the day draws to a close,

The shining figure

Creeps

Back behind its horizon,

Which has been watching proudly.

The horizon tucks it in tight and

The night animals come out

To frolic and

Adventure.

Thus, the ending of day,

But the beginning of night.

As the sunset dawns,

A page is turned.

With the sunrise,

A chapter is closed.

Time for the next to begin.

Written by:  Megan

One Way

"I am the Way,
the Truth,
and the Life.
No one
can get to the Father
except through Me."

-- Jesus Christ, our Savior

NOTE TO EVERYBODY!

SMILE!!!

God Loves You!!!

If you smile, you are more likely to be smiled at.

Science has proved it.

(I was the scientist.)

6 easy steps on How to Write a Book (compared to an artist's sketch)

1.  Write down your ideas  (sketch it out)

2. Combine them into a short story  (Add some "meat to the bones")

3.  Add some other details to make previous ones stand out  (Outline)

4.  "Dig deeper" and add some realistic events to your story to make it seem real, to set the setting more deeply, and to make it more understandable to the reader.  (Add depth)

5.  Add even more details to tie everything together and make the story not so far-fetched and random  (Shade or make contrast)

6.  Proof-read your story and correct any silly or major mistakes that you've made, and possibly add a few more less important details for your finished book.  (Add highlights)

Remember:

-Always feel free to erase

-Be open-minded to all ideas

-You don't need to take all advise

-Take it one step at a time

-Don't rush

-You can always go back and change something

-Don't give up

Written by Megan

How to Make a Paper Interesting

Do you find yourself

Dreading

An essay,

Or shrinking away

When your teacher tells you to

Write

A

Poem?

But, if you know how,

This can be exciting,

Causing you to

Leap

With joy.

You see,

Words are like animals.

Little, fuzzy pets,

Or giant, horrifying creatures.

You must have the right ones.

If you want your house to be interesting,

You probably don’t want just

A couple,

Scrawny ants.

But, if your paper is full of

Terrifying demons,

Terrorizing the rest of your words,

People will look upon your house in disgust.

Even if you have the traditional

Dog and cat,

But they never

Get

Along,

Then you will have

Problems

In your home.

The dog will chase the cat

Around

And around

And around,

And you won’t be able to

Enjoy them to the fullest.

Same with words in a poem.

They must support each other,

Never disagreeing,

Or your assignment will turn out as

Just another piece of paper

To grade.

But, if you choose the perfect combination of

Nouns,

Adjectives,

Verbs,

And adverbs,

You will end up with a house

Everyone

Will want to visit.

By Megan

Writing

Writing

With my pencil,

Scribbling on my

Paper.

Letting my ideas

Run out

Like

Water through a funnel.

Just

P

O

U

R

I

N

G

And

D

R

I

P

P

I

N

G.

SSSSSSPPPPPPPPPPLLLLLLLLLLLAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

Onto my sheet.

My blank sheet

Now filled with words.

Letters spill out

As if they were waiting for

Me

To bring them to

Life.

For letters may become words.

Words may become sentences.

Sentences may become stories.

They long to become stories.

Those chosen few letters may be

Spread

Around the

World.

They may become

Famous,

Those chosen few.

Those special few.

--Megan

April 7, 2010