poem, poetry, rhyme, rhyming, Uncategorized

Teacher

To you who bestow on us knowledge,

with the hope that one kernel will hold

and pop someday, when we’ve lost our way,

why that is a gift of gold.

To you who take pleasure in beauty and truth,

so that we may parrot your speech

growing into our tongue, to gift that which was sung

why then, we will know of your reach.

To you who were kind when expressions were blank

and yet you still trudged through the snow,

of not being told some were grateful for gold

it was then that some learned of your glow.

As winter is needed for spring to come forth,

so too is the teacher who sings

in cages so tight,

where knowledge as bright,

gives flight to the frailest of wings.

May one such as you never give up the hope,

that birds will fly out and fly back

to gift you the kernel, in rhythms diurnal

and plant the sweet song from your track.

-Amy Struthers

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encouragement, hope, poem, poetry, rhyme, rhyming, Uncategorized

The Priceless Piece

For those who can draw,

let your own soul be seen,

never mind those who say it is drivel.

To the walls of the MET,

let the critics reflect,

that such wonders began with a scribble.

 

For those who can sing,

let your own song be heard,

never mind those who say it is chatter.

For in those that decry

your ability’s shy,

have forgotten their own mumblings matter.

 

For those who can dance,

let your movements still hearts,

never mind those who jeer at your flaws,

as you weave in the air

a fine quilt from each stare,

that can loosen the tightest of jaws.

 

For those who can write,

let your pinion speak hope,

never mind those who say all is wasted.

For if you give up, know the everyman’s cup,

will never quite know how it tasted.

 

For those who can pluck a grand song from thin air

and write words that can make grown men swoon,

use those grand bars to make sense of the stars

when you bottle their light with the moon.

 

For those I perchance did not mention,

but haven’t so soon as forgot,

know that inside, where thoughts run long as wide,

stirs a priceless performance in plot.

 

– Amy Struthers