Posted February 5th, 2010 at 9:29 pm / Poetry / Author: Laura / Comments: (0)
“Lost in Hawaii”
By: Laura Tidwell
My writing, my words, they are lost somewhere,
In a sea full of papers, for degrees, if you care.
Like clouds that are fluffy, to see, but not touch.
They’ve floated away, and I miss them so much.
Like salt in my skin, where a wound has been made.
I quote other people to get passing grades.
Like gulls who shriek, professors stalk their prey
While my brain is in Hawaii, on a bright and sunny day.
Posted February 4th, 2009 at 11:28 pm / Poetry / Author: Laura / Comments: (0)
What a loyal pet you were
For ,oh, so many years.
Your grace, your poise
Brought love your way
That was so very clear.
What a joy it was,
When Mema brought you home.
Adoration was immense,
And in our hearts ’twas known.
You’d dance for your vitamin,
Or play “lame duck” for show.
Dragging your little hind legs.
Like paralysis
To and fro’.
You were just a pup,
We never left you alone.
I was just a toddler,
Together, we learned as we’d grow.
You were with Mema,
In the thick
Like when I,
Was very sick.
Too, too ill
To go out and play,
Then Grandaddy’s heart stopped,
And he passed away.
You were cute
With your little scarf.
They practically
had to tear you,
And Granddaddy apart.
You jumped into the casket,
To kiss him one last goodbye.
Before they dropped that basket
And everyone began to cry.
Then you moved to Georgia,
And told Florida adieu,
I could see you everyday.
A little Selfish, that’s true!
Then one night,
Again, we all cried,
Announcing that
“In Mema’s arms
Little Baby died.”
The storm was rough,
As power went out,
Light bulbs burned
In more then just the house.
We realized,
As Mema started to Shutter
The sad ,sad words
That were about,
To be uttered.
“Baby is gone!”
She didn’t survive the storm.
Her heart has stopped,
Her body is not warm.
You were the pet,
I knew the best
And so I loved you,
A little more then the rest.
We saw
your reflection.
Mema And I,
In the shape of a cloud
Up in the sky.
We know you’re in heaven
Waiting to greet us,
With the same tender spirit
And your heart that we loved.
Adieu precious Baby
Until we meet again!
To everyone in the family
You were the most loyal friend.
You are loved!
Posted January 30th, 2009 at 3:22 am / Poetry / Author: Laura / Comments: (2)
Coloring With Crayons
By: Laura Tidwell
Can you help me reach them?
I’m just a little small.
I don’t know if there is a chance
I’ll ever get that tall.
I need to draw a picture,
To show you how I feel.
I’m just a little scared right now,
And not sure how to deal.
I need the brown for my hair,
And yellow for the sun.
I like that I have dark hair
And I’ll be sad when its gone.
I know that it will grow back,
But what girls shave their head?
I know that I should not care,
Since I could end up dead.
I want to make my cheeks pink
And wear a red dress!
Red’s my favorite color!
It’s better then all the rest!
Are my sisters coming?
I want to draw them too.
I love coloring pictures,
I hope there’s more to do.
Did I really drown?
I can’t remember much.
I do know that an angel
Left me with its touch.
Why did I see it?
What does it mean?
Am I making pretend?
It didn’t feel like a dream.
I am scared to go to sleep now,
I don’t want to die,
When I wake up from my long nap
I hope there’s a butterfly.
Seven hours later,
As my vision, becomes clear
I wake with hesitation,
And a bandage near my ear.
Look,a butterfly!
On the window ledge!
Today, I lived through brain surgery
Mommy, I’m not dead!
I want to draw a picture,
Of my family
I want to draw my nurse,
And the doctor who saved me.
Can I see my crayons?
I can not reach from here…
But one day I bet I’ll be tall
Enough to reach up there!
Posted January 20th, 2009 at 7:47 am / Poetry / Author: Laura / Comments: (0)
Like an earthquake in my heart,
The soil breaks and scatters,
Growing me in too many directions.
Roots grip to me, while my roots grip back.
Yet I am but a dandelion in a vast field of grass.
I tremble from the quakes that have shaken my stability.
So much bigger, are they,
Than the physical embodiment of experience.
I know I am but a blooming weed,
And yet
I will have purpose!
Beauty or practicality?
Tea or a bouquet?
My fate remains to be determined.
Yet in a moment of a quake,
My petals will shake,
And these roots will grip
To whatever grows them.
Posted January 6th, 2009 at 6:03 pm / Poetry / Author: Laura / Comments: (2)
Tradition?
By: Laura Tidwell
Christmas is a Time
For families
To gather ‘round.
To visit with friends
Or to go out of town.
What we do is different
Every year.
We haven’t got traditions
We express very clear.
We’ve been to Vale, Colorado
And Ocho Rios, Jamaica too.
We’ve been to Florida, and Cancun…
We have stayed home and
Gathered for an hour,
Then left with our friends
After we devoured
All that we wanted of
What was in the kitchen.
We do our own thing
A Sorta’ selfish mission.
I try to see a
Movie with my mom,
When I am home
For a holiday.
But we live together,
So I usually don’t
Because time from school
Is when I go away.
I feel slightly guilty
When I am gone
About all of us
Living this like this…
One thing my mom
And I do as a tradition
That bonds us more closely
And eases the shopping list
Is we try to pick out earrings
The other will approve of
And wear with pride,
And absolutely love.
If I get her some she can wear
She puts them on everyday of the year.
Other then that…we don’t do tradition
We just kinda live in our own little vision.
Posted January 6th, 2009 at 5:48 pm / Poetry / Author: Laura / Comments: (2)
“Meeting you”
By: Laura Tidwell
I was on a blind date the night we met
With a wasted creep,
Who made me upset.
My friend was there
She had a date too.
I wasn’t planning on
Meeting you
Meeting you
You walked up and saw my tiara
Asked for a kiss and found your tomorrow
It was my birthday
And I had the blues
That was until I met you
We laughed and we screamed over the band
We talked about work, dreams goals, and plans.
Meeting you
Meeting you
Was a breath of fresh air
I never had to show my derriere
Though sober and somber
I quickly found cheer
The second you smiled, my date disappeared
The waste that he was, lost me from the start
Where he was lacking, you played the part
Meeting you
Meeting you
Changed my world
I became a woman and left behind the little girl
Left behind the fear of letting someone in.
Who was different then family
More then a friend
Meeting you has made me believe that
There’s love in the world for everybody
Meeting you
Meeting you
Was more then I planned to find
You have shaped my heart
You have shaped my mind
Meeting you,
has made me who
I am today….
Meeting you.
Posted January 6th, 2009 at 5:27 pm / Poetry / Author: Laura / Comments: (0)
Crashing hard in
A perfect rhythm.
Down and Up,
Up and Down.
Creatures carry
Away with fear,
twigs and trash
From the Shore’s line.
Tide grows high.
Sand blows up
dropping in puddles.
I watch, swimming
Lightening crashes
Boats start to
Teeter in water
People are fearful.
What is next?
A Horn blows.
“OFF THE BEACH!”
yells lifeguards!
“Off the beach!”
People begin to
Go very quickly
into a shop.
I swim in again!
As I swim to shore,
Something touches me
The storm is growing
Faster and faster!
I am back!
At shore, people
ask me if
I heard the horn.
I say, why yes!
I swam back!
They shake off
Sand is schlepping!
As we Gather all
belongings heading
back home for
The rest of
Day and night,
adrenaline pumps!
I will remember
Swimming in fear
And stay in
Shallowest Water
Cautiously happy!
Posted January 5th, 2009 at 8:25 pm / Poetry / Author: Laura / Comments: (1)
Red, pink, and orange
Melts into the open,
Like taffy in my eyes.
They taste what heaven
Offers generously.
Such a sight to be seen.
Posted January 2nd, 2009 at 4:08 pm / Poetry / Author: Laura / Comments: (3)
Droplets By: Laura Tidwell
Droplets fall so heavily
Like his sadness blankets the world.
Everything catches a tear or two
And connects him to all life.
He has made it so
We need his tears.
They grow us,
Heal us,
Refresh us.
Wake us from a life of monotony,
Or put us to sleep
When the challenge is too great.
His tears consume my thoughts
As I am provoked to question;
Why is my Father crying?
Is it the state of the world?
Or one person?
His anger is brooding.
It rumbles through the sky,
Through my heart,
And through my mind.
I am quiet now,
Listening to him
As he speaks to me.
It is comfort for me
To hear the droplets falling
So heavy on my home.
It always seems to me,
That my Father cries hardest
For the state I am in.
Could it be my condition
Or just the place?
We are all hard on him,
but hard on ourselves,as well?
Is that why?
Is that why he is crying?
All I know is we need him.
To show us this emotion
That we thirst for.
The knowledge of his plan is hidden
Only to be revealed in
Due time.
His tears will fall again,
And I will repeat these questions
In my mind, that he molded for me.
All the while knowing that one day,
I will see these droplets
Literally falling from my Father’s eyes.
Posted January 2nd, 2009 at 12:08 pm / Family, Poetry / Author: Laura / Comments: (2)
This is a photo of me with my hero. This is my dad Tidwell. He is my step dad, but he is my dad. For Christmas I wrote him a poem about how grateful I am for the things he has given me in life. Including my second chance to have a life. This is the poem.
The Very Best Gift Of All!
By: Laura Tidwell
Huddle ’round while I tell you a tale
Of a brown haired girl with skin so pale.
Her young life was looking very sad
Until an angel brought her another dad.
He gave her gifts you can’t buy in a mall.
The very best one, best of all,
Was a second chance to really live
and to be taught the joy of getting to give.
He took her to a hospital far from her home
With her momma to hold her, so she wasn’t alone.
The doctor, he told her ” We will take good care”.
Her momma said,” don’t worry, I am here”.
After the surgery was completely done,
Her other father came and brought her home.
At nine years old, she thought about life’s joys.
A new chance at life was much better than toys!
She went back to school and told her friend,
About her surgery and how it all happened.
No more tumor was in her brain,
No more seizures causing embarrassment and shame.
Today she’s an adult who loves to volunteer,
Not for the glory, but because its sincere.
She wants to help in anyway she can,
Help save lives of other children.
So she tries, but can never be
The type of hero like only he.
He who takes on someone else’s girl.
Gives her an oyster with the prettiest pearl.
Lets her dream as big as the sky.
Gives her things she wouldn’t ask him to buy.
Lets her know anything can be …
And yes, I must tell you, that she is me!
