Poetry of the Soul

Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn. ~Thomas Gray

The Last Ice Cream Truck November 29, 2009

Filed under: poetry — laurenmichelleotheim @ 9:52 pm

The sun beats down on me: walking, walking.  Its warm fingertips brush my hair: I am walking, walking still.  The air is still, save for a warm breeze so gentle not even the rose petals stir.  The breaths of air carry soft, faint notes gracefully through the tree branches where they dance among the leaves.  The music calls me back in time to 10 years old.  My tenth summer was bare feet in the grass, explorations of the Old West with the neighborhood boys, and the last of the ice cream trucks.  As the tinny notes struck a familiar chord my ears perked and I had the inevitable urge to run home and beg quarters from my parents.  I remember chasing the ice cream man down my street as he threw tootsie rolls out an open window to my brother and I.  I remember when my Dad chased the ice cream truck in the car because it was too far for Connor and I to run.  I remember 50 cent ice cream sticks with frosting faces and gumball noses.  As the last stanza fades into the distance I wish silently for one last ice cream truck.

(c) Lauren Otheim – 2009

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Wind Whisperer November 26, 2009

Filed under: poetry — laurenmichelleotheim @ 3:15 pm

An Elvin princess

Glows in the sun

As her skin reflects

Heaven’s gates undone.

She slips through the brambles

The sunsets on cue

Her hair is blown free

While laden with dew.

A smile catches her face

As a bird cries above

And the creatures pay homage

To the girl that they love.

In the sky an explosion

Of colors anew

Her hips sway in movement

As her arms gather too.

Then she opens them wide

Her laugh tinkles and shimmers

She moves like the brook

And her body, it shimmers.

As the sun falls still farther

She looks for the breeze where it blew

Then she turns on the path

And she beckons to you.

The sun finally goes down

In one golden drop

She whispers the wind

And you melt to your spot.

(c) Lauren Otheim – 2009

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Twilight November 11, 2009

Filed under: poetry — laurenmichelleotheim @ 7:16 pm

As twilight reaches in

Blood red roses close up

The leaves, as a wreath,

Encircle the flower.

Stars pinprick through the clouds

As needles sewing together the heavens.

What if they fell out of the sky,

Burning droplets of gold?

Would it rip apart like a

Seam tearing in two?

Or would it melt together,

A velvet black length of fabric?

(c) Lauren Otheim – 2009

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I Don’t Belong

Filed under: poetry — laurenmichelleotheim @ 7:13 pm

I don’t belong here,

Shoulders slumped and head bent.

This is a world of confidence

Head held high

Shoulders smoothed straight.

The weight of mistakes, double takes,

Anger, violence, facades and fakes

Has bowed me down

Low and scared.

I don’t belong here,

Shoulders slumped and head bent.

Prop me up with boards

Hidden beneath baggy sweatshirts

Tapped back, shoulders straight.

Paint a mask of smiles to my face

Bright red wounds ripping a smile through.

I don’t belong here,

Shoulders slumped and head bent.

Clothes too tight too my body

Yet my jeans still aren’t small enough.

I hunch into my clothes, wondering

If I starve myself today if my new shirt

Will finally look good.  Thin, slim.

I don’t belong here,

Shoulders slumped and head bent.

Crisscrossed arms veiled by long sleeves

Even in Summer’s heat.

Asked, brisk answers about pale skin, cancer.

Tissues instead band-aids,

Afraid someone would notice them missing.

If you let them sit there till soaked, they stick.

I don’t belong here,

Shoulders slumped and head bent.

Heels make me taller

The clickety-clack, powerful.

I hide behind them

The sense of professionalism.

No one can attack me

When I am too distant to talk to.

I don’t belong here,

Shoulders slumped and head bent.

The pistol rests on the counter

Cold.  Pristine. Waiting.

For me.  It would be so easy

To Disappear.

To end.

Finally something explicitly me

Somewhere I can belong.

Shaking hands.

Realizing I didn’t have the guts to by bullets.

Just a gun.

I leave it there.

Someone notice

Make me belong.

(c) Lauren Otheim – 2009

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