Before - I Don't Like Waiting

Twelve hours.

I sit motionless, freed
from the pack, but not from my thoughts.
What was undefined is now known,
and I'm trying to digest.
I stare out the window without seeing
the tourist trap town
that had captivated us
when we passed it going
the other way. Now it is nothing
more than a blurry bit
of landscape passing by.

Eight hours.

We're listening to Dry Bar
on YouTube, trying to pass the time...
or trying to forget? I don't want
to remember, don't want to know,
don't want to think about
the horrific news, but it's like watching
a car accident and my thoughts
can't look away.
I draw lurid mental images
of something I didn't see, can't imagine.
Selfish, to laugh
when someone is suffering
so I try to picture it, but
I just don't know
what a child's hands look like
after they've been buried
in smoldering coals.

Two hours.

Have I slept?
I don't remember much of anything,
and the diesel engine's dull roar
is like a sound machine,
the constant noise numbing
the edges of my consciousness.
The uneven road rocks me
back and forth, the chatter
of my family is a lullaby,
coaxing me further and deeper into
sleep.

Before - Fatigue

The rain falls incessantly
on the hood of my raincoat
like a child tapping on a window:
persistent, loud, demanding attention.
It thunders through the trees,
hitting every leaf, every branch
on its way to the ground
where it becomes
mud - sucking on my boots
with every heavy step.

My companions are out of sight,
some ahead, some behind.
I am alone on the trail.
Just me and the rain, and
my backpack. Its straps dig roughly,
the pain has built gradually over
five days of the same weight
pressing into my shoulders, hips, and lower back.

That weight reminiscent
of the one on my mind,
a nagging, undefined disaster
that smolders, smokeless, out of sight.
An unscratchable itch, a heavy,
vague foreboding sense of something
gone badly awry - but what?

My thoughts are broken
by an exultant cry.
I lift my eyes with effort
and see the others waiting for me
at the tunnel's gaping mouth.
It extends through the darkness
to the light at the end. I'm almost there,
so I try to quicken my steps,
but my excitement is dampened
by the weight of the falling rain.
My plodding gait will not be hurried,
but I am coming. I'm coming.
At last.

by Emily Roy

(She wrote a series of poems in her poetry class at SVSU winter semester of 2022, about an event - Rosie's accident when she fell in the firepit and burnt her hands. She tells the story in a series of 9 poems and it's truly amazing. She captures details and emotions and truth. As horrible as the event was, I love the way she put these together and she is truly gifted, like her Grammy.)

Give Your All

"Give your all,"
Is the Savior's call.
The prophets say it too,
So let's give our all, me and you.

"Give your all,"
Is the Savior's call.
So just give your all,
Either big or small.

by Harmonie
(written after family scripture reading and general conference, Elder Uchtdorf, April 2022)

Bird bath

Flutter, Flutter
Splash, Splash, Splash
All these birds at the bird bath
Fight, Fight, Fight
Tweet, Tweet, Crow
Then they all fly away
But they'll be back tomorrow

by Harmonie

(she was just in the poem writing mood today)

Trees

Trees, Trees, those wonderful trees!
Shade me from the sun.
I'll sit on a bough in my favorite one
And I'll read 'til the day is done.

Trees, Trees, those wonderful trees!
With leaves red, gold, and brown.
They hold on in summer and spring,
But in Autumn, they all fall down.

by Harmonie

(written for school, The Good and the Beautiful, Level 5, Lesson 23)

Homophones

Homophones, homophones
All these words
They sound the same
Like some birds.

by Harmonie Roy

(written as part of school, The Good and the Beautiful, Level 5, Lesson20)

What's in a Name?

Industrious Spear King
The words strung together
Make a nonsense phrase,
But what do they mean?

Industrious means hard-working
But I don't live up to that.
I can work when it's necessary
Though I'd rather have fun...

But the two aren't mutually exclusive
And I know I am really not lazy.
I'm only imperfect and
I can always strive to improve.

A spear is a weapon.
I suppose I am that;
But nobody wields me,
I fight for myself.

But even then, perhaps
My spear is a better "pruning-hook".
I can do so much good
If I nurture and shape, tend and inspire.

Then there is king.
I am most proud of this name,
But it wasn't given to me;
I inherited it - what is my claim?

Not every man with a title
Is well-remembered.
My blood is common, but I can choose
To be noble in spirit and heart.

My parents chose my names, but
I don't think they knew the meanings.
The second is a family name, but the first
Was just a syllabic sequence.

What does a name say
About a person?
I am tied to my names,
But not to their meanings.

Every word, every language
Has pre-prescribed meanings,
But a person cannot be contained
By these words.

Head, arm, and heart, but
People are more
Than the sum of their parts
What is a soul? - - words can't say

On the surface my name
Means industrious,
Means spear,
Means king.

But these cannot define me.
Underneath it all, I am...
Whoever I choose to be.

By Emily Roy

(Written for a poetry class at SVSU winter 2022, this is the 3.0 version of the poem)