This Thursday (1 day late oops) I have decided to share a poem I wrote on Tuesday, May 27th of this year. I was down in the dumps when it was written: 

Nicotine stained spit rags 
wipe up what's left of the battle
the dead are gone and the wounded remain
and the stained rag wipes on 

It blotches and taints the blonde trees red
and the fingers of God along with them
so the wounded still lay in wait
as the silver soldier returns 

The sweltering heat reveals more lost battles
and the fossilized footprint of the silver soldier
the tint of the ground is different there
where the rag, most menacing, had been

The battle can't be seen by those who care
only the eyes that had been there before
there were more battle plans for the soldier and the rag
for the terrains lifespan of 100 years 

Looking back at this poem, I saw that it was hard to understand. I plan to make a few changes to it in the future. If you wish to ask me questions about it, comment on the post. 

I first started writing poetry last year during a school class. I had two of my favorite teachers teaching it, and their writing inspired me to write poetry. We spent a week on poetry, and in the course of that week I wrote my first poem. This is it: 

My fingers bleed from the smoke in your lungs
for the unsolved equation 
for the unspoken tongues 
My fingers bleed from the tightness of my chest 
for the pitiful looks
from the early life molest
The skin will peel and the blood will burn and the stains will show my many concerns
about You 
You, whose arms wrap around infinity trying to comfort all who need warmth
You, whose unbalanced brain is beginning to worn and yet my fingers bleed 
because I follow you like a sheep follows its shepherd
My fingers bleed so that my arm does not
My fingers bleed because I use my blood as a mirror 

I am very happy with this poem, but have not shared it with many people, so I hope you enjoyed it!

This blog is intended to help me write more poetry every week on Wednesdays for my blog assignment in school. I will post a poem at least once a week to meet the academic requirement for the English class and to help me improve my writing skills. I started writing poetry in a poetry class at school and thoroughly enjoyed it. I bought a little black notebook specifically for writing, and I will post some of the poems every week. This weeks poem will just be a simple haiku that I will write on the spot because I don't have my little black notebook with me. So here goes: 

Redwoods remind me 
of music and shooting stars 
Irish strings, and You. 

I don't like writing Haikus because you have to fit a bunch of things into very little words, and I have so much to say sometimes. That haiku was about a week in the redwoods of Santa Cruz learning beautiful music and meeting amazing people. So tune in next Wednesday for more poems!