Poetry from the End of April

 April has ended, and though I started late…I wrote a poem everyday until the end of the month. I hope you have enjoyed reading these little snippets of my life! What challenge should I try next?


4/26/16                 Home

Tuesday I dreamt I was home.

The feel of my bed sheets and

my dog curled up beside me.

It felt so real, my home, soft

and slipping around me like a hug.

But then I opened my eyes.

I was dropped back half way

around the world. I never knew

I could miss a bed so much.


4/27/16                          Eyesore

The token foreigner, it’s a role I’ve come to know. Sitting between them all, words floating around me, mostly falling lost upon my ears. I wonder if they like the looks we get when people spot the girl with golden hair. How does it make them feel to become a part of my walking spectacle?


4/28/16                          The Land of the Free

All my country used to mean to me was a pledge and a flag.

Making the move across the world, I never really left it behind.

Everywhere I go, it seems the first question on their lips.

Right now, my country doesn’t have the best reputation.

Indulgent, Self-absorbed, Rude, Obese and Violent.

Carefully I try and craft a different image for my home.

An ambassador of a different generation of ideas.

Nothing more, than a hopeful, young American.


4/29/16                 Frouple

I had been there before, walked the streets

Eyes trailing over the ornate roofs and pillars.

I’d eaten the food, famous in the region

Mixed the rice and vegetables and sipped the wine.

I’d walked through the palace, looked at the

Portraits and marble stone statues.

But you turn and smile at me, spin around

So your hanbok skirt floats around you.

You pose for pictures with each building

Hold up your food with a big grin.

I’ve done all this before, but with you

It could never be better.

Dew on Blossoms.jpg

4/30/16                          Hold On

Right before it rains, you can feel it in the air.

It’s like everything is hanging, waiting and still.

You hold your breath, waiting for the sky to open.

The air feels heavy, like the moisture is already

seeping down unseen and pressing against you.

Then the wind pulls in, cool and crisp on your skin,

raising the hairs on your arms till the rain finally breaks

through and that comforting slap of droplets against

pavement sings it’s lullaby to you. And you breathe.


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