The Purple Orchid

In a cold swamp far away

lived a flawless purple orchid

encircled by murky water

such as that of the clichéd marsh

 .

This orchid lived a brutal life

Since birth, it did not belong

in an imperfect world it came to know

as home

 .

The purple flower was a beauty

yet was always seen as ugly

for she was different

from those around her

.

This delicate blossom was feared

for being a foreigner

And from this fear came hatred

Disgust for the most beautiful soul of them all

.

The other inhabitants of the swamp

flung dirt in the orchid’s face

and spit at her feet

and called her derogatory names

 .

They dishonored the purple orchid

until one day, they looked up

and saw a creature

who appeared to be like them

 .

No longer was the orchid unusual

She was brown and slimy

like the residents of the quagmire

who had altered her with their insults

.

The lovely purple beauty

lost herself

in the guise she took on

the one she employed to belong

.

She found herself rethinking

the choices she had made

and was busy determining

whether she was better with or without her disguise

 .

She made her decision

and emerged from the cover

she had so persistently used

to mask her true identity

 .

The others had feared

then hated

an innocent flower

who then had begun to fear and hate herself

 .

She had allowed herself to be covered

She had been afraid to let the world see

what a different flower she could be

She was covered till now, but now was free

 .

And the same white orchid

lives to this day

in the same algae filled water

in a cold swamp far away

The Flower I Grew to Be

I would love to be a Cherry Blossom

floating in the cool breeze

dropping gracefully upon a lush bed of snow

hugged by every flake that falls

~

Or maybe a Pink Peony

the King of the flowers

calming people with my sweet scent

the flower of riches and honor

~

I may want to represent purity

as does the Madonna Lily

pure white with streaks of yellow and pink

the beautiful Lily of the valleys

~

Perhaps I should like being a Pink Primrose

the attention-grabber

the one with all the fame

transforming from a pure white to a lush pink

~

Whether I choose to be a Peony,

a Blossom, a Primrose, or a Lily

I started as a seed

and from that became a weed

~

I grew more knowledgeable,

more capable

of practicing patience

and of being balanced

~

And as I grew in my mind and heart,

I grew into a flower with no part

of the flowers I wanted to be

My flower was unique and pretty

~

My petals were closed around me

Until I gradually gained maturity

Now they are open for the world to see

The flower I grew to finally be

At the Bookstore

As I browse quickly through a novel rack

My hair gently tumbles down my back

Do I like a mystery? Or a history?

A horror? A biography? Or a love story?

~

It smells of coffee and printed paper

It reeks of so many unknown authors

Makes me wonder how I ever hope to be one

When chances are, fame may never happen

~

I move to the next rack

Where my books would be if they did not lack

I slide my tush down a wall

Gazing reverently at the rack so tall

~

A place like this makes me sad

Gives me a glimpse of what I never had

But, it also makes me hopeful

That my words may soon be on this wall

~

The books call to me, “Shannon!”

They tell me it is my turn to hold the burden

Of choosing to either be a creator

Or choosing instead to remain a mere reader

I Think I Like You

I can’t breathe

you took that away

with that look you gave me

~

I can’t eat

Is this hunger or butterflies

that makes my stomach feel queasy?

~

I can’t stop looking

’round my shoulder

Like I wish you were behind me

~

Are you looking too?

I hope you are

I think I like you

~

I’m not a stalker

but I like watching you

and wondering if you feel the same

~

You give me a feeling

when you say my name

I can’t wait till you say it again

~

I love hearing your music

I love reading your poems

I think I like you

She Was Called Moses

We were enslaved

yet we broke free

Our names are now engraved

in history

~

We were degraded

for the color of our skin

We were branded

to much chagrin

~

Our differences set us apart

What they did was wrong

So we prayed with all our hearts

hoping one day, we would belong

~

Our songs brought us hope

We gathered our wishes together

When some were punished, we would cope

By making our attempts at fleeing, better

~

Harriet Tubman helped us leave

She guided us to freedom

We traveled by the eve

Our capture would earn a ransom

~

We got to safety

Our very own Moses led the way

Harriet was crafty

She never let one freed slave go astray

~

Hundreds of black slaves

Saved by one brave lady

Who was called Moses, and now paves

the way for a hero in anybody

A Day of Disaster

A girl sat on a dusty bench

thinking of the horrible wretch

who locked her in this empty room

and wanted Sarah’s certain doom.

~

That morning, Sarah woke to see

her Pa and Ma, John and Mary.

They came to wish her a good day

and said, “We will come to your play.”

~

Sarah then ate a piece of toast.

Ran to the bus. Heard a girl boast

of her new dog, black and shiny.

Jealous, Sarah sat on her hiney.

~

While on the bus, she crossed her arms

and thought of ways that she could harm

the lucky girl with the new dog.

The bus drove into opaque fog.

~

The driver cautiously drove through,

stopped for fear of driving askew.

The crying children were frightened.

A light over Sarah brightened.

~

She saw her chance and quickly took

the chance that the girl would not look

when Sarah knocked her in the head

with a book that she seldom read.

~

The girl’s head fell on her friend’s lap

who thought she wished to take a nap.

In dismay, Sarah ran away.

Held her seat, and started to sway.

~

Mortified, Sarah hit her head.

Because of her, a girl was dead!

The fog decreased. The bus advanced.

Sarah then found herself entranced.

~

A small figure with a white dress

came up to Sarah, who did guess

that the little angel was she

who Sarah killed accidentally.

~

Sarah was instantly alarmed.

She looked at the little girl she harmed.

She thought she was growing mad

and realized her deed was bad.

~

The bus got to school, revealing

a girl with no chance of healing.

The parents came, could not say bye

to their child. They started to cry.

~

Sarah was found responsible

for killing with a mere novel.

She was locked in the empty closet

wishing for an open exit.

~

Her wish for a way out came true.

She rose from the bench and walked through.

This was a day of great sadness

which began with Sarah’s badness.

A Dream

I close my eyes

see designs everywhere

swirls and whirls of color

 

a white stripe on top

a black stripe in the middle

a white stripe on bottom

 

purple whirls of gas

moving like fire blowing in wind

 

words present themselves

they say…”i don’t see anything”

they have no imagination

these words in my head

 

two brown eyes peek out at me

with black and green swirls in each one

a fat nose comes next, his lips open

to sharp teeth that glimmer like diamonds

 

he has a slim body and buff arms

in a car

on a deserted one way road

going up a mountain with trees

 

his car is red

I don’t see any wheels

I don’t know why

the car has no top

 

it is raining

he stops the car

dives down a waterfall

 

I see a sun, or this big yellow thing. i presume it is the sun

a blue circle comes closer and closer

gets bigger and bigger

the yellow circle seeps into the blue circle

the blue one shatters like glass

 

my eyes suddenly open

they hurt

the dreams don’t make sense to me

in my reality

People, why?

Why do people blow up over the smallest thing? They should understand that it is not important enough for their tempers.

Why do people yell off the top of their lungs? They are understood better when keeping calm.

Why do people lose their tempers? Surely they do not feel better when doing so.

Why do people expect to be listened to? They need to earn it.

Why do people expect to always be right? Nobody is always right about everything.

Why do people think they can use aggressive behavior? I’m sure they would not enjoy being slapped and kicked either.

Why do people think they are entitled to respect? They need to earn it.

 

People are always sure they are right. Their pride gets hurt when others question their ideas. Tempers peak, and fighting begins. Why can’t we resolve arguments without raised voices and aggressive behavior? We can, but nothing will happen without our joint efforts. Many people are unintelligently prone to argue over the smallest, least important things. Try to drown your reactions to these small things that arouse your temper, and your days will be brighter and happier.

My Life’s Concert

My life is a concert

My heart beats with my music

The moon: my personal spotlight

My music beats with my heart

Feet tapping, hands clapping

all in time with the beat

Everybody joins in from time to time

my music is the loudest, clearest, and most identifiable

Song after endless song

Some somber, others exiting

The themes harmonize with my mood

The songs come out thoughtlessly

My hands have minds of their own

I cannot change a key

My life has already been chosen for me

I just keep up with fate

I look up at the big, bright moon

My eyes focus on it

I cannot tear my eyes from the far-away wonder

My spotlight is mesmerizing

I am addicted to my spotlight

I am addicted to my stage

The microphone is a magnet to my soul

The moon is my personal lodestar

I am attached; stuck

Unsure of who I am

Am I anybody without

My stage, my spotlight, my microphone?

Every moment I live is a show

My life is a concert

for those who want entertainment

I live for them

I am familiar with my reality

My reality is that I will never have reality

I will never have the chance to find myself

While starring in this concert, my life’s concert

To Cry with Wind In your Eyes

Do you know how hard it is to cry

with wind blowing in your eyes?

I ride my bike, blinded, trying to forget

but doing so makes me remember

 

I thought you were joking

I thought you didn’t mean it

But I was mistaken

So disappointed by what you said

 

Why did you give up?

Couldn’t you let it last?

You made me so happy

The happiness died so fast

 

Why did you leave me?

Why did I let you go?

What we had was special

It was something we should’ve kept

 

Do you know how hard it is to cry

with wind blowing in your eyes?

I shed so many tears every day

For you, the one I love, but can’t have

 

I can’t let go

It’s hard to comprehend

I am attached to your memory

I can’t let go

 

I love you

I told you every morning and night

My love for you runs so deep

My love, you are my light

 

You are the shining star that draws me in

You are a gleam of daylight amidst darkness

Your radiation pulls me like an irresistible magnet

You are the striking beam I can’t resist

 

Do you know how hard it is to cry

with wind blowing in your eyes?

I shed so many tears every day

For you, the one I love, but can’t have

 

 

Song by Shannon Larian