"Breaking the Mold"

This world is so cold.
It makes me cry.
I was born to break the mold.

A vision of happiness is one I cannot hold.
I scream in the night.
This world is so cold.

Life is easy, or so I was told.
Everyone knows that is a lie.
I was born to break the mold.

I look for answers, but all I find is fool's gold.
It's just not right.
This world is so cold.

But, behold!
I find hope in the stars of the sky.
I was born to break the mold.

Under the pressure, I did not fold.
There is always happiness in sight.
This world is so cold.
I was born to break the mold.

"Dallice"

What happened to tomorrow?
You promised you would be there.
My heart is drowning in sorrow.

It's getting hard to swallow.
I need some fresh air.
What happened to tomorrow?

I would climb Mt. Kilimanjaro.
In fact, I would go anywhere.
My heart is drowning in sorrow.

In my despair, I will wallow.
This whole ordeal has been a nightmare.
What happened to tomorrow?

I'm feeling so hollow.
This truth is hard to bear.
My heart is drowning in sorrow.

It is you I will follow,
And I will share my prayers.
What happened to tomorrow?
My heart is drowning in sorrow.


In memory of Dally.

"A Villanelle for the Cows"

The cows press muzzles to the swelling green.
Their heavy bodies carried with much grace,
scattered, they complete the pastoral scene.

They leave the pasture close-mowed when they pass
and move across the grass with steady pace.
The cows press muzzles to the swelling green.

Their printed tracks in field, wood, brook are seen.
On hills they trample paths from every trace.
Scattered, they complete the pastoral scene.

When sunset dims their range they are serene,
and standing round the hills remain in place.
The cows press muzzles to the swelling green.

The coyote calls among the hills ring keen,
but cattle, undisturbed, still hold their space.
Scattered, they complete the pastoral scene.

All day their busy mouths crop, cut, and glean,
methodically, at slow but steady pace,
the cows press muzzles to the swelling green,
and scattered, they complete the pastoral scene.

-Paul Williams.

I like this poem because I grew up with cows, so I guess you could say it reminds me of home.

"Pegasus Villanelle"

The Pegasus flies into the night,
its majestic wings the color of gold.
The poets inspired by this sight.

An immortal offspring, purely white
from Greek mythology told.
The Pegasus flies into the night.

With eyes crystal blue and bright,
Poseidon's power was the mold.
The poets inspired by this sight.

Perseus freed it for the flight,
Medusa no longer had her hold.
The Pegasus flies into the night.

Bellephron saw it in the light,
with a gold bridle he was bold.
The poets inspired by this sight.

On Mount Olympus it reached the heights,
of its grace and beauty Zeus extolled.
The Pegasus flies into the night.
The poets inspired by this sight.


-Candice Kelley

I like this poem because it is pure fantasy and Greek mythology.

"Always"

I look into your eyes,
And I can see your pain.
I don't want to say goodbye
Because my love for you is something I would not feign.

You will soon be gone,
And I will be lost.
For what have I won,
But all of your trust.

Far away you will be,
In a land of magic,
Away from me,
Oh, how tragic.

Though far away, please know that I love you, dear,
And in my heart you will always be near.


By: Me.

"Friendship"

We had a friendship pure and true,
A friendship time could never cease,
That in sad moments, could renew,
And bring to us release,
We had a friendship, you and I,
That was taken much for granted.
We thought that it would never die,
Much like the seed that we have planted.
And in such haste did we forget,
The love required to grow,
And at our feet it shall be set,
Drowning from feelings never shown.
Maybe we can save this seed before its time is through,
For I've never had a friendship, as the one i have with you.



I chose this poem because it made me realize how much I take my friends for granted. We get so wrapped up in our own lives that we don't have time for each other.

"Fascination"

The paper, pure, seductive, sends its call,
Daring me to write immortal verse;
A pencil lies here, neat and magical --
This lure to pen and parchment is a curse!
There is no poem crying for release,
No thought I must express before it's lost;
But in my restless little search for peace
I opened the wrong drawer, and so was tossed
Into the fire of my addiction, which I can
But quell by adding fuel in scanning rhyme.
At length this page is sullied by the span
Of fourteen lines, and I'm safe for a time.
Blank sheets, fresh pens or pencils, trap my mind:
I must write, good or bad. Critics, be kind.


Kay Nanling Michaelson, 1971

I like this poem because writing is, in fact, seductive. Once you start, you can't stop.