“Rock Climbing” (Poem)

A short narrative poem by Alyssa Wright about someone practicing rock climbing.

A glance up,
A glance down inverts my stomach.
First the right hand, then the left.
Now the right foot, now the left.
On and on and on,
Up and up and up
I go, looking down no more.
The bell! Yes, the bell!
Ring, ring, ring!
Triumphantly, I rappel down the side
of the rock climbing wall.

“Songbird’s Haunting Death Song” (Poem)

A short narrative poem by Alyssa Wright about a songbird who sings of Death, Nightmare, and Danger.

The Songbird sang her sonnet,
A darkly melodious tune, tinted
by ominous and haunting swoons.
Soon she’s found herself an audience,
drawn by her curious tune:
He draws nigh,
He comes close
In the night,
Coming by to
Bear you home.
It is of Death she does so speak,
though Death’s duration she cannot leak.
Her sonnet moves on with her enraptured watchers,
Singing first again of Death then moving
To hauntingly mention Nightmare.
Then darkening her tone with the twilight,
her melody moans of Danger’s lurking near.
Enraptured becomes terrified and gone-all are the listeners,
just as Songbird finishes her last moon.

“At the Beach” (Poem)

A fine, gritty powder
beneath my feet,
A cool, wet, salty foam
lapping at my ankles,
A wetting yet thirsty spray
breathed into my mouth and nose,
A rhythmic whoosh, impatient yet calm
echoing through my ears,
A bright yellow light and soft green-blue
colored in my mind by my eyes.

“Sleepless Night” (Poem)

I would like to go back to bed,
As early as it is,
for last night
I didn’t sleep
at all,
Not even a wink,
as the cliche goes.
It wasn’t even insomnia,
per se, just discomfort.
I tried to sleep,
I really did.
But I tossed and turned,
Longing for the comfort
of my own bed
and later lamenting
the lack of a door and walls
Around the couch
To block out the noise
from my brothers in the kitchen.

“Robin Hood’s First Theft” (Poem)

A short narrative poem by Alyssa Wright about Robin Hood’s first attempt at thievery.

The time had come when
Stealth was now an order,
thought from whom cannot be said.
This was the test,
Would he be able to put into practice
all that he had prepared?
The archery was surely safe,
no contest to be found.
Sure-footed, strong, senses heightened,
He was ready for the job.
Up a wall,
In a window,
Past the guards,
Through the door,
Reach under the pillow,
Grab the key,
Run out the door, down the hall,
Turn the corner,
Unlock the vault,
Steal the treasure.
Before the night was gone,
the treasure was no longer in his hands,
Having been delivered through the windows
of the houses of the poor.


This narrative poem was originally written in January 2015.

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“The Traveller” (Poem)

A fictional narrative poem by Alyssa Wright about the traveler mentioned in Walter de la Mare’s “The Listeners.”

I purposefully misspelled the word traveler to reflect an archaic spelling. This poem is a response to Walter de la Mare’s “The Listeners.” I originally wrote this in November 2014.


The people of the house’ve gone crazy,
An uproar found at every turn;
The Traveller’s come to visit,
The curious mister’s come!
Whyever could he be here,
How long will he stay?
The people are all anxious
To find out just the same.
So they call a meeting,
Ment’ning the Traveller’s name.
“He should make a promise, to prove that
He is safe, he means no harm or folly
To come upon our sons.”
“Whyever such a promise?
Such thing I cannot prove,
For folly is of something that I find does amuse.”
“So you say you’ll bring us harm?
Or that you are cruel?”
“For, nay, I say, but this I cannot prove.”
“If you bring us an object, a thing of a
Rare find, and in pristine condition,
Just as how you find [it];
We will grant you trust and invite,
No ridicule here for you, Traveller.”
He shook his head,
“I will be back, if not but soon.
This ‘fact of old possibly with me.
But know that I am coming,
Coming upon you thus:
I won’t send a warning, day or night,
I’ll show up and expect a welcome,
But not accept lavish gifts and such.”
So he left, the Traveller.
The peace returned to overwhelm that house,
For they had grown used to having
That Traveller about.
But as the days had gone,
With no sign of his return,
They all started [to] grow weary [of] wishing Traveller home.
The years grew long and fin’lly,
Those first old men burnt out,
Left the house to their young sons.
Still yet more time went by,
The Traveller not about,
All [the] boys and girls of [the] old house
Thinking he was but a story their
Dads had told them all but full of flout.
When finally the people of that house had
All gone out,
There came upon the place — the Traveller,
His promise yet unfulfilled.
So the house was full of phantoms,
Those men we spoke about,
List’ning to the Traveller
Say he’d brought the promised gift.

“At Least Smile” (Poem)

A short poem by Alyssa Wright about the impact of humor on a serious situation.

How do you add
Humor to Solemnity?
Something funny to something serious?
It’s really quite simple:
What is your
attitude or your tone?
Is it
humorous or solemn?
funny or serious?
A sprinkling of a
humorous tone or attitude
Can work wonders
on a situation.
It can make someone
Laugh despite circumstances,
or,
at Least,
Smile.


This is from September 2014. I made a few minor edits.

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“Stomach Flu” (Poem) I & II

Two poems I wrote in January 2016 about having the stomach flu.

These poems were written on January 11 and 12, 2016. I am not currently sick.

Part I

I’m feeling better,
but not great.
I’m still feverish
and have a headache.
But my stomach
isn’t killing me,
and I won’t puke,
Which is an improvement.
Now I’m able
to sit up comfortably
though I’m hoping soon
to take more medicine.

Part II

I thought I was better,
but it seems I was wrong.
My stomach is sharp-edged,
and my headache’s a throb.
I may not have a fever,
which is something, at least,
But I didn’t eat lunch
and I can’t afford sleep.

Past Poems (September)

Similar to the July and August installments of this series, I will be sharing poems I wrote in September of previous years.

To Protect

2 September 2013

Why?

These series of events,

Unfortunately mine?

Disheartening though they may seem,

Are only the surface emotion.

The truth

Lies beneath.

Inside my medieval castle.

Go over the moat,

through the outer wall,

Across the outer courtyard.

One is lucky to get this far,

for never is one through the inner wall,

To see the inner courtyard.

No one is ever invited

To my banquets,

In the protected and heavily guarded

Castle.

It contains what is not meant to be seen,

The secrets that lie within,

That I went to such lengths

To protect.

~~~~~

Not Soccer

4 September 2014

Tired, aching muscles

complaining loudly with

Every movement.

A sign that I

Worked hard,

Pushed myself.

This pain is my reward

for not exercising

After the soccer season ended.

But this was a

different kind of workout entirely.

Martial arts, jujitsu, grappling,

not Soccer.

~~~~~

Chocolate Blues

10 September 2015

Chocolate is awesome

at every time of day,

Chocolate is awesome

no matter the way —

Dark, milk, or white,

Chocolate is awesome

to replace the mundane

Chocolate is always the answer,

or I wish it was.

How sorry I feel for those

who can never know this love.

~~~~~

Procrastinating with Relationships

2 September 2016

Too long I’ll be gone

I’m wasting my time.

What am I doing with my life?

I have things to do,

Assignments to complete,

But instead I’m here with you

Making my feet ache.

~~~~~

The Notes to Fell Nosferatu

1 September 2017

The music played and wove along,

The witch controlled it with her wand.

She hummed along enjoying her song

on this fateful Tuesday morn.

“Knock, knock!” came a voice from near her door,

and darkness fell over the room.

“It’s us again, darling,” two voices together

as the sound enveloped the room.

The witch’s melody dropped to a whisper,

Lost in the silence of her shock.

And then into the room came the two headed queen,

A nosferatu, though she denied it was the same

as the long-hated vampire.

The witch bowed low to the ground,

careful to not lose control of her sound.

“Your Highness, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

She fought the sarcasm and kept her voice light,

steadying her wand to keep the music out of sight.

“You’ve been charged with treason,

so you’ll be coming with us.

Oh, and don’t put up a fuss,”

she spoke cheerily and smiled sweetly.

“I think not,” the witch said,

bringing the music to a crescendo again.

She brought out the sounds that hurt the queen most,

the nosferatu crumbled and covered her ears.

The music as a weapon would bring an escape!

Why hadn’t the queen thought that the tune might change?

But then in came the guards,

Three surly armed men with plugs in the ears

and swords in their hands.