A break, a poem, a love for blogging

So I need a break from studying math, and I desperately need to update our blog, so that is exactly what I am going to do. Blogging has become sort of therapeutic for me (except when everything goes wrong), and I am grateful for a fun way to journal about our family. I am going to post two recent poems I wrote for Creative Writing class, and then I will get to all the good stuff (above). Spring finally feels like it is just about here, and we have a lot of fun things to look forward to this Spring, Summer… year! Here’s the newest poem:

As a Child

Oh, to be again as a child!
Pausing to touch and taste the rain;
running carelessly, free and wild.

To love so simply, as a child,
with heart sincerely meek and mild;
to be naïve of grief and pain.

Oh, to be forever a child!
As a child I’d gladly remain.


Amber Fjeldsted
English 161
Form: Triolet
3/03/09

Every poem has a "speaker," or character, I guess. Sometimes (oftentimes, really) I feel like I am the speaker of my poem. There are other times, though, when I use someone else as a voice. Usually just a made up character in my head. The above poem is me as the speaker. I love childhood, and have always hated growing up. I was meant to live in neverland with Peter Pan. I guess I got my Peter, just not in neverland. That's okay... I'll take Peter :)

The below poem is a great example of when I am not the speaker. My teacher actually gave me a lot of praise for this poem, which surprised me. It has as sort of sad tone to it, but then again, life isn't always hunky dory. Sorry about the "booze" line. I had to find things that rhymed and that isn't always easy. I hope you enjoy both poems!

Growing Old

There is no shame in growing old,
in getting lost and losing shoes.
At least, that is what I am told.

Body weary, mind losing hold
of memories I hate to lose.
There is no shame in growing old.

As to a babe they boldly scold,
saying I am too old for booze!
At least, that is what I am told.

This aged body is getting cold.
They call it a case of the blues.
There is no shame in growing old.

My death is worth its weight in gold;
an inheritor I soon must choose.
At least, that is what I am told.

I watch my ending life unfold
as, sadly, I sit here and muse.
There is no shame in growing old.
At least, that is what I am told.



Amber Fjeldsted
English 161
2/24/09
Form: Villanelle