Remember.

compassion |kəmˈpaSHən|

noun

sympathetic pity and concern for the sufferings or misfortunes of others: the victims should be treated with compassion.

on behalf of the world,

here is an apology

for the words that have been spewed

for when the color difference in our clasped hands was pointed out amidst cackles

for when you were turned away when you should have been welcomed

for when you did not see Jesus in those around you, please, give grace, we are learning

for when you were treated like an object because of your fame

for when you were hurt, disrespected, when others turned a blind eye

for when you were killed

for when your kindness, your body, your gifts were taken advantage of

for when standing by and letting new life be slaughtered in the thousands was normal

we are sorry

please forgive us

we were but sinners, but we are redeemed now

we have turned from these ways and embraced

compassion

but, my friend

whomever you are, if you burn with anger

clench it tightly

tightly

in your fists

do it with me now.

lift your eyes up to heaven, raise your arms

and now,

my friend, my family

let it go.

uncurl your fingers, this anger will

destroy you

and i do not want to lose you.

breathe in now, my friend, my family

breathe out your anger

breathe in

compassion.

~Ruby Sky

 

 

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the scars i chose for myself – a poem

Hello Readers,

Today I wanted to share a freeform poem I wrote based off of a person I met at church. I always enjoy hearing people’s stories, and this person had an interesting tattoo to go with their story. It was one of those things that are just begging to be written.

the scars i chose for myself

my scars were inked into my flesh

i chose them, i suppose.

black and white, writhing in my skin

i fought the battle but i lost the war

and in my moment of defeat

a scar was chosen

my arm was covered

so

i

would

not

forget

how i fought and fought and

lost.

i tried to drown my demons

but they learned

how

to

swim.”

now i’m going underwater

a father eases me in

i think i hear the people

they’re singing

for

who?

for me?

my soul yearns to sing with them

but i am not ready yet.

soon.

the holy water gets in my lungs

i choke on it but it burns

i feel my demons in my chest

they’re choking too

but now i’m breathing

then i’m up

the water is gone

and

so

are

they.

i look over

and there He is

holding every last one under

they burn in the water of baptism

i could not drown them

but thank God

that

He

could.

~Ruby

A Poem Made Of Hymns and Worship Songs

Hello Readers,

The words fail to come to my fingers, my friends. They swirl in my head but don’t look right on paper. Like a misspelled word or a painting turned sideways. I want to write a poem, but I do not have the words to one. I can not write because what I have been saved from is overwhelming. I have a debt paid for that I can not explain in the simple words I know.

But that’s alright. The words will come. Until then, I can only rehash the words I know to be true. The words that have given me so much comfort.

Take heart, we are not in control.

there is power in the name of Jesus.

though satan should buffet, though trials should come…

make my life a prayer to you.

amazing grace,

how

sweet

the

sound

it is well, it is well

amazing grace

that

saved

wretch like me

there is power in the name of Jesus

i want toi need to

be more like Jesus. 

prone to wander

lord, i feel it.

Amazing grace

it is well

with

my

soul. 

nothing lasts, except the grace of God, by which I stand,

in Jesus.

it’s your breath in my lungs

hallelujah

your love broke through

~Ruby

(all lyrics are not mine)

School Projects

‘Ello Readers!

As some of you know, I dabble in poetry every now and then, and recently I had to do it for a school project, and I had to imitate a writer’s style. My mom promptly told me afterwards that I should enter a poetry competition, and my aunt has said I should enter a nonfiction writing competition.

I highly doubt I would win, but I might give it a shot sometime. But I have decided that I will post the author’s poem I was copying (or a segment if it is long) and then my poem mimicking it with my own life. And then you can comment below and tell me which was your favorite or which one mimicked the author the best.

   Chicago by Carl Sandburg 

HOG Butcher for the World,
     Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,
     Player with Railroads and the Nation’s Freight Handler;
     Stormy, husky, brawling,
     City of the Big Shoulders:

They tell me you are wicked and I believe them, for I
     have seen your painted women under the gas lamps
     luring the farm boys.
And they tell me you are crooked and I answer: Yes, it
     is true I have seen the gunman kill and go free to
     kill again.
And they tell me you are brutal and my reply is: On the
     faces of women and children I have seen the marks
     of wanton hunger.

My Home Town

Quiet you are.
One gas station, one Walmart.
A few restaurants scattered along.
Serene, calm, unhappening
A small, small town.

They say you are quiet, I know that to be true.
I have walked along your sunlit roads
I have seen the wind blow softly across the dew
They say you are still, unmoving in time
I have seen seasons pass, and houses crumble
But I still feel the same as I did when I was younger
As if this is where my home resides.
They say you slumber in a deep sleep,
I have yet to disagree.
There is a touch of peace across that old town
Where the world and I, first ever meet

Now I will mimic E.E Cumming’s style, but due to programming errors, I’ll just put a link to some of his poems here: Poems of E.E Cummings

Ants

Ants.
Wandering, mowing, tiny to our eyes
Crawling, prancing, can you see them now?
Ants.
They march quicker and faster.
Going
Down.
Down.

An Anecdote of a Jar by Wallace Stevens

I placed a jar in Tennessee,
And round it was, upon a hill.
It made the slovenly wilderness
Surround that hill.

 

The wilderness rose up to it,
And sprawled around, no longer wild.
The jar was round upon the ground
And tall and of a port in air.

The Pen

A pen it was, that I held in my hand
Poised it was, plumed and sure
Ready to lash, ready to soothe
I felt as if it rather were
A might weapon in my hand
But then it became meek and quiet
Like a midnight moon beam
I watched it as it seemed to cry it
It being words, of course, as it shouted them
Towards the sky, flying away from our land
It took to the stars, so high and mighty and then
I never saw that pen
Again.

So, your thoughts? 

~Rubix

 

A Basket of Random Poems

Readers,

So, first I tried to write a blog post. Then I tried to work on my novel. Then I tried to edit my blog’s picture, which just ended up with me wanting to throw my computer out a window. Then back to novel again, then blog post. So I ended up trying to write some poems.

Which actually went pretty good. So here’s some of my efforts, and hopefully you can enjoy them.

A Questionare

They said to describe me in a sentence
I tried to find the right words
They floated out of my brain to pay penitence
To the queens and kings of other worlds.

They told me to describe my feelings
That was easy as telling a blind man about the color blue
Or a deaf man, the sound of words reeling
My emotions run deep and bright, well known to precious few.

They told me to write my heart on a page.
I filled up novels and still wasn’t done with my goal.
So many things I want to say, things of pain and joy and of love and rage.
I wrote until I had no paper, so I wrote on my walls in dark black coal

They told me to sum up my existence
What I did with my time on this earth
I stared at them like they spouted nonsense
I can not tell all the days, all the time, all for what it’s really worth.

They told me to tell what I want in the future
I shook my head dumbly, too frightened to speak
What I want is not material, not a house or computer

What I want is a feeling, to sow good that I will reap.

A Detour In My Mind

They dance along the paper, running through my head
Words read, words heard, the words we leave unsaid
Penned onto my paper, stuck in my brain
Coal black ink runs rampant through the lanes
Of my mind.
Singing through the air, tugging heartstrings to the beat
Grabbing my arm and taking me far away from the reality of neat
Wild colors jumping, and beautiful messes running by the lake
Ink blots stand up and dance with the snowflakes
In my mind.
The song slows, the pages turn with a mighty roar
The world turns to what it was before
I set off on this odd misadventure
To cities and places I’d never have ventured
But this was in my mind.
But then my heart calms, I don’t feel so wild
I look over to see a mother and child
The night wasn’t so silent, but he was staring at me
And I felt all the love that could ever be

In the quiet manger scene in my mind.
Alright. So, I only had two for you instead of a basket… Oops. Pretend it’s a small basket, alright? Comment below with your thoughts!
~Rubix

Music, Poets, and a Dash of Rambling

Hello Readers,

 Music What is it?

Well, the definition of this word is: vocal or instrumental sounds (or both) combined in such a way as to produce beauty of form, harmony, and expression of emotion.

But what is it really? Is music something that can be summed up in a mere sentence? I don’t know, to be honest. But for me, music isn’t something I can just put in a box and tie a big bow around.

         People react to music different ways, I suppose. I listen to music, well, when I listen to a song for the very first time, I give it all my attention. I close my eyes and I listen. I digest it, I process it, and then I pick it apart. Carefully. Scrutinizingly. Deciding if this song deserves my undivided attention.

I look for the underlying meanings in songs, I look for the hidden messages, I look to fill in the gaps. And that’s why I’m extremely careful on what music I listen to. Because music affects me, and it affects me deeply. Music isn’t just something we can listen to and brush off.

I’ve thought things and felt feelings through music that were mind blowing. I’ve felt the presence of God just by listening to music. Just drinking it in. And this is why I am so careful.

Because when I listen to something, it stays with me. Little fragments of songs floating around in my brain, little whispers that guide me. Little nudges in the right direction.

And this is why, you’ll find songs with deep lyrics on my iTunes, and no, I don’t have Gangham Style, or that new “Whip” song everyone is raving about, because I am a lyric person.

        If the lyrics mean nothing, or are poorly written, the whole song is just a waste of time for me. And most of the time, when people say “This song makes no sense”, it just means they aren’t looking
hard enough. Because almost 99% of the time, the meaning is there, you just have to look hard for it.

Poets are people who hear music when the music stopped playing. They hear the lyrics in the sun shining and the wind blowing through their hair. Poets are the listeners to the music no one else can hear. And sometimes, these poets don’t even write. But they hear the music just the same.

So, can you hear the music, readers? Do you hear it?

And you keep on dreamin’
When the dreams all fade
When friends desert me
You’re the ones who stay
To write the prayers when every prayer had been prayed
You are the poets I have known” 
-Andrew Peterson

Poems from an Amateur Poet

  Well, I thought I’d put some more of my poems on here, with varied topics! Please let me know what you think and which ones you like the best, I would greatly appreciate that. Comments are cookies, so give me some! 
If You Know…
If you know how to listen carefully to the wind.
You’ll hear a tale of the beginning, of the end.
If you know where to go, and what to say.
The wind might tell you its tale someday.
If you know how to hear the waves when they speak.
As they roll and the tumble and the white foams the peak.
If you know how to ask, then answers you’ll receive.
The waves know so much more than you or me.
If you know how to eavesdrop on the current in the deep.
There’s hardly a thing that from you it could keep.
If you know how to spy on the current that’s roaring.
Then you’ll hear secrets that will send your mind soaring.
If you know how to pick up the light rays piercing the dark.
They’ll light your way until you find your mark.
If you know how to light up all the dark spaces.
You can find all the hiding places.

So if you know how to find it, hear it, see it, touch it
Nothing can be kept from you making the dark lit.
You can learn, you can be taught, how to light up the ocean.
Even though people tell me it’s a foolish notion.


Stars

Tiny tears in the black, little pin points of light.
Guardians of my dreams. Guardians of the night.
Tiny specks of sparkles, laughing at our supposed might.
Fiery balls of grandeur, fiery giants of old.
Some burning bright and others growing cold.
Red and yellow, white and blue, some are shining gold.
Some are near, some are far, some we can not see.
Some are huge, some are fading, others are wee
But somewhere up in that night sky, stars are watching me.
Stars and suns and moons, all guarding the sky.
Sometimes I find myself wondering how and why.
Why the Maker made them so, made them up so high.
I think I’d like to touch one, if I could, if I might.
But I just wait and watch for another night.
Maybe one day, but now the day is light.
So I wait and I watch for another night.
This poem is about Gandalf, from Lord of the Rings, hope you enjoy! 
The Adventure
There is a man with a tall grey hat
Who astonishes hobbits as he walks past
With long grey beard and glowing staff
He reaches our hearts as he walks down the path
When he appears adventures soon come
There are wars and battles that need to be won
He says good morning with a twinkle in his eye
Adventures are coming as this man walks by
Long beard and pointy hat, tall stature and glowing staff
Wise eyes that see, old ears that hear, feet walking down the nearest path
“Good morning Bilbo” he says, twinkle in his eye
By and by
This hobbit will go on an adventure.

This poem is inspired by the book “The Sherwood Ring”, highly recommend it (the book, that is).
The Sherwood Ring
For mysterious though you may be
One day you will be caught and we will see
Planning, plotting, lying, tricking
We will find out who this trickster who is always tricking
Just might be
For none know your name, none know your home
Peaceable Sherwood, you think you’re alone?
For a tall young general sees through your plot
And he would rather see you rot
BUT! Not all hope is lost, the British still might rule
But sorry Peaceable, this American general is no fool
When the war is over, he’ll call you brother
But until then run, before he discovers
You. 

And that’s all the finished poems I have at the moment. The others are either too terrible to put on or unfinished, so this is it for now. I hope that you were able to enjoy them! ^-^ Please leave a comment below, I absolutely love those! 

The Story Behind The Name

      Well, tada! Mom remembered the password, (finally…) It took some serious brain racking to get it out of there. But hey, at least she remembered the dang thing. But I thought I might give you a bit of insight as to why I named my blog “singingtothesea.blogspot.com”

         It’s actually a shout out to one of my first poems that my dad posted to FaceBook. Us as people find release by writing, dancing, singing, drawing, painting, playing music, etc. Something that calms me is singing out into the ocean, because I can’t hear myself, so it doesn’t matter how I sound, the wind just carries it away. And I can sing as loud as I possibly can and no one will look at me weird, unless of course, they’re beside me. But point is, it’s extremely relaxing. Here is is:

  “Singing To The Sea”

I sang out into the sea wind today

It didn’t care how I sounded

I sang to roaring foam as it pounded

I sang all my songs to the roaring waves

I sang out to the sand this morning

I sang loud and I sang clear

I sang about spring coming near

I sang songs of joy, songs of warning

I sang out to gulls today

They answered with their cries

They didn’t care if I sang too high

They were so busy diving where the ocean floor lays

I won’t sing to a camera, I won’t sing for you

But I’ll sing along with the ocean waves

Pounding and foaming and roaring and raving

I’ll sing for the ocean’s hues.

I went out to the sea today

I went out to sing all my songs

To empty my heart at the top of my lungs

I went out to sing to the sea today