Well, it's been long enough...

Here, here, people who follow my blog. A poem:

Silky smooth sail o'er the sea,
Hand on the helm, whole-hearted I,
Look long for lands long lost to light,
And treasures tall, untouched, but bright.

Aannnndddddd, some random quotes from my brain that may someday turn into a story. You heard it here first!

"The witch! She got sick again!"
"She was never sick..." (insert dramatic and creepy music)

I shall now put my hat back on my head to keep more of my brain from randomly falling onto this virtual page. Until we meet again...

Back from the Grave

Okay, so I haven't died. But I think you all knew that. If you didn't, I apologize. Anyway, I attended a young adult conference recently and they asked a few attendees to write an article about it. I volunteered, and the link to my article is below.
http://www.iche.org/events/5074/11-08-2014/2014-young-adult-conference/bright-spot-anticipate

Grace

I just wrote this story here, at JJC. I think it's the most emotional thing I've ever written, for me at least. I'm curious to see if any of my readers can see any analogies or similarities to real events. Post your guesses in the comments!

Grace

By Josiah White

She sleeps; a sort of conceded contentment on her face. I thin mattress is below her; a wool blanket draped on her thin frame. Thin fingers on her right hand poke through a hole in her moth-ridden covering. She rolls over; her hand is hanging in mid-air. The ring falls off and hits the floor with a light ping, but she awakes suddenly, as if the very life she leads were crumbling about her…

            In a small town she lives, a ramshackle former duplex her house. The left side is gone, and cracks in the formerly shared wall grow ever wider as the wind bids. Inside, drywall dust sits in little tidy, obsessed over piles on the floor as insulation peeks through what remains of the walls. The ceiling is gone in places, revealing a second story where light from a broken window shines down, onto the threadbare carpet. Farther down the hall, which takes a left, is her room. Buried in the recesses of the house it is, like a cave deep in a dark mountain, a nook within a shelterless place. A mouse appears from nowhere, then a cat, feral and mangy. Past the bedroom door they run, the cat for its dinner, the mouse for its life. The door flies open as the girl chucks a broken brick at the commotion.

            “Confounded place!” she spat, but no sound came from her lips. She dared not disturb the wretched, artificial peace of the house. Suddenly, she heard a step outside. She froze. Nearer it came. Then he kicked down the front door.

            “Mr. Smith?” she called weakly down the hall.

            “Please, call me…” he began.

            “I can’t, it’s too…” She paused, not sure what to say. She rarely talked, and subjects like the past or her emotions she rarely broached, even in the silence all alone.

            “It’s too… recent.”

            “But it’s been thirteen years since…”

            “Stop!” she fairly screamed. Tears flooded her eyes and then froze on her cheeks.

            “Not this year, I can’t do it,” she resolutely declared.

“Your must; you can’t live here forever!”

“Besides, thirteen is an unlucky number,” She observed.

He paused as he muttered, “As if luck exists here…”

“Life is good outside of here,” he insisted in softer tones. “You need to let go of the past.”

“No!” she screamed, and fell to the ground, sobbing. A fire flashed through her mind, singing every desire to leave with red guilt. The smoldered ruins of her past haunted her, while screams of death provided a ghastly soundtrack. She couldn’t leave them, couldn’t let go. She deserved to be here, after that wretched day. An electronic buzzing interrupted her thoughts. She turned to look at the clock… 15:80. The mocking numbers laughed cruelly as she blinked them back to normal… 15:00 military time. 3:00 normal time.

Mr. Smith was gone. Suddenly, she wanted to go with him, too leave this awful place, but it was too late.

“Oh, well, he’ll be back next year as usual,” she sighed. But then it dawned on her: it wouldn’t get any easier with time. She needed to go; leave this ghost town of her past.

“Mr. Smith!” As she ran out of the house, she jumped right over the broken door. As she flew through the doorframe, she realized that she was free, free from her burdens, free from the past.

“Thank You, God, for Mr. Smith.”

A poem-finally!

Well, I'm at JJC, so I can't just use one of my poems that I've already written since I didn't bring any. Here's one that I thought of while I was here:













Ok, honestly, I had one, but I'm totally blanking out. Maybe I'll just make up a new one.

JJC is super fun,
I go there every day.
And even when there is no sun,
It's still a joyful day.

So, really short and kind of lame, but it's a poem!

One Last Christmas (celebration)

       Yesterday we had our last Christmas celebration; next door with Grandma B, Uncle Nick and fam, and Uncle Rick and fam. We had a grab bag, and I put a couple things in it as a sort-of gag gift. I don't think anyone else thought it was as funny as I did; you be the judge. The first thing was a canvas inspirational saying that said, "Believe you can, and you are half the way there." It's attributed to Teddy Roosevelt, which I found out by googling it. I also put a 1000 piece puzzle in there. Get the joke? Only 500 pieces to go... 499... 498... You get the idea.
       Well, tomorrow I start school at JJC, and I honestly can't wait. I've kind of been getting cabin fever and lack-of-peoplitis, whatever that is. And a little bit of I don't have anything to do, which isn't exactly the same as being bored. All this adds up to me thinking for a really long time, like an hour, about something that I probably don't need to worry about anyway, and then if I forget what I was thinking about, I have this 'unresolved brain conflict!' alarm that goes off and keeps me from being... normal? I don't know, maybe I'm over-thinking this whole post...
Poem to follow, hopefully later tonight after I appease my younger siblings by letting them get on the computer.

A New Year

Well, I obviously haven't posted on here in a while, but I'd like to begin again. There's absolutely no way I can catch up, and I'm not planning on trying to keep up with everything I do from now on either. Right now my goal for this new year is to post a poem and something about life once a week in different posts, probably with the poem on Sundays and the other stuff on Saturdays. I'm obviously off to a great start, having missed the first weekend, but I'm not going to let that get me down! I guess today I'll say something from my life AND a poem, to make up for last week.
    Today at supper, Mom was going to cut some cornbread for herself, but she realized that there was some at her spot. She inquired as to how it got there, and Kristian said, "Your sweetheart gave it to you." Sure enough, Dad had given it to her. That child surprises me almost constantly.

Aaaaannndddd here's my poem:

                                                Winter's Night
Look into the night,
See the pretty snow.
Watch the flakes fall down in the town.

Every flake unique,
Shapes untold abound,
Masterpieces float to the ground.

Toasty fires ablaze,
People safe at home,
Every one as different as the snowflakes.

Special every one,
Made by Father's Son,
Holy Spirit; three in one,
Boundless Trinity.