The Christmas Party

Sitting in the crowd
With both young and old around
I reflect on the life
I live.

Couples chat and murmur
And parents laugh and sigh
As kids run and tire
And frienship lights the night.

Each interaction is animated,
Each person unique and kind.

It's in these small settings
That I find my own peace,
Intimate settings
With drinks and food and treats:
fellowship at it's best.

I am reminded of my youth,
Yet of my blooming age.
I embrace my body
And the beauty of it's state.

I smile at the laughter
And I sigh contented at the love;
I remember to remember
This is what life is made of.

Smiles,
Fellowship,
Food,
And love.

My Methodist heart giggles,
And I take a moment to wiggle
Back into the engulfing comfy chair
To continue my watch
Of the room around me.

Persevere

Limitations:
imitations
of strength and
courage.

Love:
a glove to hide
behind when
jealousy
wants to rip you

out of your mind.

Music:
another language
used to express emotions
which aren't
allowed to be shared
otherwise.

Poise:
a fluid display
of grace
in face
of adversity
and heartache.

Poetry.
Letters.
Music.
Dance.
create
translate
fabricate

at any rate:
perservere.

Copyright 2009, Colleen Sarah Rice

A Returning

One person can seem the world,
but when the world turns away
and the sky deep grey,
the sun and all it's stars
are waiting to greet you
with open arms;

their light will always be there.

Copyright 2009, Colleen Sarah Rice

Gold Rush

Hello again, Bay:
Forced home of mine.
I didn't choose you-
you dragged me back
in a way cruel and unkind.

Hello again, California:
Home of the gold rush
that's been running for near
two hundred a year-
it still hasn't stopped.

With your fast pace
and beautiful face,
you put on quite the façade.
But I'm not fooled-
you're but a mine to me.

You tempt with opportunity
and fame and fortune.
You tempt with style
and security.

You lie.

I came for an education
and I'm watching that chance
being pulled under my feet.
Hello again, California.
To me, you are weak.

I know of a life of air
and trees and music.
I know of a place of joy
and pace and stars.
There, is my home.

It calls me daily,
caressing my heart and dream.
The Carolinas pull me in
as your bright polluting lights
push me out.

Enjoy your new crop,
your stock of hopefuls.
But as for me and my life,
I need to leave
the West Coast.

Copyright 2009, Colleen Sarah Rice

Let Go

The world is a beautiful place
if only you would open
your eyes to see.

Sunsets and rises;
soft lights
made to hypnotize.

Life in in abundance
streaming and brimming
in every corner round.

They could be standing there,
waiting to be found.

Or maybe it's you
in need of the finding,
a dream or a hope
or something else hiding.

You see his eyes
and her sweet smile
and though inviting,
you turn away in memory.

I beg you to turn back around
and let yourself see more
than the ground.

See the sky
in their eye
and let go.

Copyright 2009, Colleen Sarah Rice

The Bench

I look above me
and see drooping pine
and feel cold concrete
below.

In the peace of the morning
it's hard to hate
my fate
of late.

The sky is clear
with fleeting clouds
beckoning me to
smile and awake.

The air,
crisp and cool
wraps around me,
enticing me to breathe.

The birds complement
the light tones
ever echoing in
my ears.

I will more than survive
but I need to remind
myself of the joy
I hold inside.

At times it's hard
to remember.

Copyright 2009, Colleen Sarah Rice

Guess

I'm not sure where
I'm going.
On one side I have
money and comfort.
On the other,
a tantalizing
fantasy.

A dangerous risk
for one who
lives by
'rather safe
than sorry'.

But maybe this is
my chance to
break my shell
and take a second
leap of faith.

I would say my
heart ain't
on the line
but I guess it'd be
a lie.

It wants this
as much as it
wanted him
and that acknowledgment
scares me.

Speaking of him,
it's hard to be alone-
to wake every morning
and have none
but your own.

I guess that I'm learning
to love myself first
at least that's
what I'm told
by the wise in verse.

But really I think
It's just a line they say
to help ease ym pain
from day
to long day.

I guess that it's working
and I guess that I'm strong.
I guess quite a lot now:
let's hope
it's not wrong.

Copyright 2009, Colleen Sarah Rice

Happy Game

Words drip and flow
from my pen,
wouldn't you know,
like a never ending
storm in my hand.

No matter how long
I let them all go,
they keep
filing up,
insisting to erupt.

In my head
I'm the artist
and the world
at my feet;
and canvas
and pallete,
waiting to meet.

My pen is one outlet;
a brush yet another:
my voice
and my body
each equal to
the other.

I ache to create
and to write
and to play.
Words can go
with me every
place which I stay.

Thought not all
are eloquent
or worthy of praise,
these poems make up
the thoughts of my days.

As artist I yearn
to constantly make
that world that's
around me,
but in my own take.

So though it may get old,
and these words weak
and lame,
these words are me,
and my own happy game.

Copyright 2009, Colleen Sarah Rice

Justification

The funny thing is,
I'm doing this on my own.

The strange thing is,
I don't feel so alone.

Though without their approval
or yeses and cheers,
I'm chasing my dream
across miles and fears.

The frustrating thing is,
I have to justify each day.

The justifying thing is,
I keep doing it anyway.

Because the justification
isn't for me;
As I know where I stand.
The justification is for them
to get them off my back.

I know they love me
and I know that they care.
I know it is hard for them
and want me to beware.

But I have my wants too,
though young I still may be,
they've raised me well and wise
and need to trust my choice
and know I hear their advice.

The funny thing is,
I'm not trying to go back.

The strange thing is,
I'm no longer running away.

I want this,
pure and simple,
and somehow
I'll find my way.

Copyright 2009, Colleen Sarah Rice

Idealistic Me

The train chugs along
and my mind chugs at its side.
I glance to the lights and sounds
Of the early morning of the bay
and am reminded of another
way of life

In place of the city glow,
the ground is lit up as
each star laces and tangles into
an intricate patchwork
above my eyes.

The ground is crisp and fragile
and my body numbs in the cold.
But the warmth of the town
draws and keeps me in-
the artificial warmth of the city
has nothing on this place.

As I find my way through
the stars and the cold and
the trees and the hills,
the small town life
embraces my heart.

I miss my city,
but where I once breathed and
felt exhaust, I now taste
air of pine and new life-
paced.

It's strange to have been raised
with nothing but this city
with its harsh lights and loud nights
and to realize that your heart
wants more than all it can offer.

Nothing of material or activity,
but something less tangible:
community and nature,
opportunity that's peaceful.

It's not about going back,
nor about running away;
it's finding my home
in my own little way.

And maybe I'll be wrong;
maybe the stars will fall on me
as I spend these new nights alone.

And maybe I'll break again,
as the small town limitations
suffocate me in a guise of warmth.

But how can I know,
how can I put to peace my dreams
if I don't go
and let them be?

My mind reinhabits itself
and I look around my school
and this city.

I see friends and a view.
I see plans suddenly anew.
I see hope in both places
and though it confuses my musings
I resign myself to happiness.

Copyright 2009, Colleen Sarah Rice

The Canvas

Paint flies through the air
as my hands flail and toss.

Blacks and blue
and storms of red and brown.
My face contorts with my rage
and my hands are covered in the
blood-spattering effect
of the paint.

The canvas is wounded
with bleeding gashes,
dents, and streaks;
the visual portrayal
of my heart.

I stand back and pant,
the fury still raging inside.
I run forward,
throwing myself at the stained
mess.

My shoulder makes the canvas
give some more and the paint
drips to fill in the new hole
and my body shrivels down
to the floor.

My arms and face and shirt
are covered with the lurid pigment.

As I breakdown, both physically
and mentally,
the colors mix with
the salty pools of my tears.

Even as I sit,
withered on this floor with
the wreck of my newest creation above me,
I feel no relief.

The painting doesn't
change anything.
It can't replace him.
It can't bring them back.
It can't heal me.

I raise my hand to the base of the board,
holding my fingers in the
sticky moisture
and claw once more
as my body is racked with a
fresh wave of tears.

Copyright 2009, Colleen Sarah Rice

The Bracelet

Sparkling and gleaming,
the metal catches the light as it
lies on my wrist.
Each heart connected,
link by link,
held together by a loose
circle and rod.

Although the bracelet holds
sweet memories for me,
I look at it now as a symbol;
hearts connected and interlaced-
always on the brink of falling off.

It is a beautiful balance
of design and functionality,
of connection and separation.
A balance of hearts;
fragile at best.

But in the center is a gem,
a twinkling, blinking reminder;
a remembrance of times past,
of hope and peace and love.

It's held in place
firm and tight
to save the precious stone.
It holds steadfast
to the most wondrous gift of all.

I gaze down at the light metal,
as it turns over in my head and hands
and I drift as the loose connection
lets it fall from my wrist.

Just like him,
Just like them all,
the bracelet slips to fall,
away from my wrist;
away from my call.

But I reach slowly down,
examining the fault
and touch each small piece
and each little heart.

I grasp it once again,
and secure it safe and sound.

The bracelet twinkles on,
the hearts connect again,
and hope reveals itself once more.


Copyright 2009, Colleen Sarah Rice

Art of the Commute

My head leans back
and I jerk as it comes in contact
with the sold concrete of
a trashcan.

Reflective of my day,
I think to myself
and furrow my brow to the sound
of another screaching
beeping
squeaking
braking
bus.

I hide in my music
and the let melodies wash over my
tired ears andmind-
at least their tunes aren't liable
to throw
or toss
or wear
me down.

Or at least not this song.

The bus arrives and I climb in,
dragging each limb in,
in an attmept to keep my brain in.
But as more people enter and stack
arm to arm
back to back,
there's suddenly a laughing girl
on my lap.

I sigh and face the window
and try to ignore the smog
and the long ride that is left.
She soon leaves my bubble
and I mentally shake myself off,
to rid of the sweat-
a sick threat;
the rubble.

The brakes squeal once more
as my body bumps and jumps
over the uneven pavement.
I'm at my next stop
to start
the next part
of the art
of the commute.

...If only that guy would move his arm.

Copyright 2009, Colleen Sarah Rice