Guest Poem for Christmas

Merry Christmas! I hope it has been wonderful for everybody! I love Christmas and all it's traditions. One of my favorite traditions is Dad reading stories on Christmas Eve. Last night, he pulled out something he wrote while on his mission in Washington D.C., in 1991. He and his companion, Elder Haley from Hawaii, wrote up a parody of "The Night Before Christmas". My dad is such an awesome story teller, so it's not exactly the same when you read it, but he gave me permission to post it here.

The "Christmas Story"

By: Elder Blume and Elder Haley

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house,

not a creature was stirring. Not even a mouse.

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

with hopes that Saint Nicolas soon would be there.

Two Elders came in from a long, hard day's night,

of thrusting their sickles with all of their might.

They had just been tracting on a cold, rain-soaked day,

and a handful of Born-Agains had chased them away. 

So they kicked off their shoes and yanked off their ties,

stretched out their arms, and rubbed their tired eyes.

The tall one, named Blume, who towered overhead,

jumped into his jammies and crawled into bed.

The other, named Haley, with his head in his hand, 

thought, "Can Santa find us, all the way in Mary-land?"

He turned out the light and said with a sigh, 

"Merry Christmas, Elder Blume. You're such a great guy."

He paused for a moment, and said, "I know. Now go to bed."

And to bed he did go, and so they slept,

with dreams galore, 

when Elder Blume had started to snore.

He dreamed of his family and home down in Utah.

And camping and dating some fine, mighty squaw.

And Haley, he dreamt of his days as a boy,

being raised on such foods as salmon and poi.

But little did they know as they both slept tight,

that good ol' Santa would be there that night.

And wouldn't you know it. It came from the sky,

a "Ho-Ho-Ho" was the famous old cry.

"On Dasher! On Dancer! On Prancer and Vixen! 

On Comet! On Cupid! On Donner and Blitzen!"

Up on the house top, reindeer pause.

Out jumped good ol' Santa Claus. 

His face was jolly and his hair was gray.

He couldn't take the chimney 'cause his belly was too big, eh?

So he crawled through the window and landed on the floor.

You figure he'd be smart enough to use the front door. 

He lit up his pipe and sat on his bum,

where he saw a red pamphlet labeled: Word of Wisdom.

He read it and pondered, and prayed a bit too. 

He had not known that he shouldn't smoke, nor chew.

And as he arose, the Elders woke up.

Elder Blume said "Hello." Said Haley, "Wassup?"

Now Santa was shocked and he started to flee, 

But one Elder grabbed him and put him on his knee.

"What would YOU like for Christmas?" asked he.

Said Santa, "I just want what is best for me.

I've studied and pondered and now I realize

that what I really want is to be baptized."

"So, what you're saying," the Elder re-stated, 

"is that you desire baptism?" He replied, "Yes," and waited.

They marveled and wondered at such a great sight,

and they taught 6 discussions to Santa Claus that night.

Then off to the river they went with great haste, 

and went down to the water that came up to his waist.

He was baptized and confirmed and helped onto the bank.

He threw up his arms, and the Lord he did thank.

They returned to the house and loaded up 

the sleigh with boxes of the Book of Mormon.

And Santa did say, "On Alma! On Mosiah! On Helaman and Nephi! 

On Omni! On Lehi! On Mormon and Moroni!"

The Elders were stoked and they felt so alive.

They looked at each other and did a 'high-five'. 

They heard Santa say as he flew out of sight, 

"Merry Christmas to all! And to all a good night!"

May we all have a wonderful Christmas, and remember that it's not about the presents, but about His presence. 

Merry Christmas!

I Am His

It has been a long time. :)

I chose today's poem from something that happened over the summer. I was at this camp called Laurel Legacy. In my church, girls get to join a program, the Young Woman's program, when they turn 12, and they leave when they turn 18. They are split into three groups: Beehives, Mia-Maids, and Laurels. The Laurels are the oldest, from age 16-18. Every now and then, our local leaders put together a special experience just for the Laurels. The purpose of this experience is to help us remember who we are, as daughters of God. 

The first day, one of the priesthood leaders gave a talk about testimonies. He had us find a quiet place in the campsite to write our testimonies. It didn't have to be elaborate, we just had to write what we know. I sat down to write, and came up with a small, but sweet, list of simple things I know to be true. I felt such conviction of that small list, and I was impressed to write it into a poem. My friends, this is what I know:

I am His

Who is He?

He is our Father.

Who am I?

I am His child.

He is Eternal,

a Creator, and a King

His plan

is a wonderful one

that allows us

to return to Him.

And that is my goal-

to run toward

His outstretched arms

and hug Him

as a daughter would

to her father,

and hear Him say,

"Well done.

You are home,

and I am well pleased

with you,

My princess."

I know who I am. It is the most important thing in my life - to know that I am a daughter of God, and that He loves me more than I can even imagine. It's all I need to know. I strongly believe that once we realize who we are - Children of a Heavenly King - we can do anything, because we know that God is on our side.

Blue

This is a tribute to one of my most favorite colors: Blue. My creative writing teacher, during high school, had us pick a color, and write a personality profile about that color. I thought that blue had a vast variety of personalities, and I tried my best to put them all into one small poem. In a way, I guess I was trying to describe me by describing my ideas about the color.

Blue

By: Melissa Blume

I am blue.

I am emotionally blue,

or loyally blue.

I have many different shades that define my personality.

I am tender-hearted

and can comprehend another's point of view.

I am many perspectives.

I may be outgoing,

but at times can be as reclusive

as the blue shadows of the early evening.

I am the ever patient moon,

my shape changing day to day.

I am relaxed

but unpredictable.

I am many emotions.

I am blue

Thankful for the Little Things

With the holiday season upon us, it can be easy for us to forget about what we have as the demands for more, bigger, and better increase. Sometimes we fail to recognize those small and simple things. I firmly believe that the little things are just as important, if not more important, than the stupendous and amazing. You know, if you stop long enough to look around, the little things are truly amazing. The ability for children to find joy in the little things is amazing. Watching the seasons change is beautifully amazing. May we always remember and cherish the little, beautiful things.

Thankful for the Little Things

I live in a world of complaint

and I'm sick of it.

People fail to find joy

in what they already have.

Demands for

Bigger

       Better

           More

and the little, beautiful things

are trampled underfoot,

taken for granted,

forgotten.

Things like sunshine,

warmth, laughter,

smiles, giggles...

So many things

we witness every day.

But how often

do we recognize the impact

they have on us?

The impact is huge.

And I am thankful

for the little things.

Tribute

This post is going to be a tribute to my sweet Great-Grandma who passed away last week. She was such an inspiration to me. She always had the greatest stories about her childhood. I miss her....a lot. I admit it still hurts to think about her being gone, but I have to remember: she's not gone, just gone on. I will see her again.

Tribute

I thought I was prepared.

I thought that I would be okay,

that I would be able

to let go.

I guess I was prepared

to let you go,

but I didn't realize

how hard it would be.

I didn't realize

how much I was hurting.

I didn't realize

I was holding it back.

But once I was able

to stop holding back,

to let out the hurt,

my heart has been made light.

The weight of my sorrow

has been removed

from my shoulders,

and I am okay.

I think you know

that I miss you.

I miss your stories,

that smile full of love.

But I will always

look up to your example.

You are such an inspiration

and I will always admire that.

Because I can continue living,

because I know 

this is not the end.

I will see you again.

Spaghetti

ummm....haha...well, this one has no rhyme or reason to it at all. I was in wood-shop class in high school, and I was bored because I couldn't do anything on my project that day. Sooooo....I turned to a kid and said, "Hey, give me a topic I can write a poem about." Aaaaaand....he said, "spaghetti." Yup, I took the challenge. :)

Spaghetti

The picture of art:

a spotless white plate,

spaghetti noodles

arranged perfectly,

bright red sauce - 

not slopped on the plate

but carefully

strategically

measured onto the noodles,

leaving no stain

on the spotless white plate,

A single leaf of oregano

tops the masterpiece.

In your dreams.

My perfect plate of spaghetti:

spoon a handful of noodles

on the chipped old plate,

runny red sauce

mixed with ground beef,

thrown carelessly

on the noodles.

(yes mom, I'll clean it up)

Shove a forkful in my mouth

slurp it up,

sauce all over my face - 

the picture of loveliness.

While I wrote this, I thought of all the cooking shows I watch - Master Chef....yeah, that's the only one I watch - and compared it to what happens when you let me cook dinner for the family. I don't care what it looks like (usually), just as long as it tastes good to the people I love. 

Roots

Here's another one of those poems where I compare people to things, but it's more obvious as to what I'm comparing a person to. I wrote this to describe the importance an individual has in this world. We all influence at least one person in one way or another. Sometimes we may feel fragile and easily broken, but we most often never see the impact we have on others.

Roots

I anchor this plant

that sustains other life.

I reach for water and nutrients

to survive.

My system is complicated and unique

and can be damaged

with one cut or tug

of the plant I anchor.

If left alone, I might die.

I depend on other beings

and occurrences to survive.

At times, when there is no rain,

I am dry and brittle.

Other times, when there are floods,

I am eroded out of my home

and left to whither.

I am strong, but weak.

I am invincible and vulnerable.

Some may say

I am the most important

of the whole plant.

Every inch I grow,

my plant grows taller,

every day growing

ever more fruitful.

Double Poem Post: "?" and "Answer"

Double Poem Post today! Why? Because these two poems are inseparable. If you read one and not the other, you miss the whole story. 

The first one has the most interesting title I've ever come up with, and I say that because it's not a word. It's a punctuation mark. I wrote "?" at a time when I felt very alone in the world. I felt like the whole world, family included, was against me. I was around age 15, so I guess it's kind of normal, but it was a very distressing time for me. I honestly felt like I had no one to turn to, and I often had few positive things to say about myself. My self-esteem was just so low, I wrote this poem to release my negative thoughts about myself that I had bottled up for a long time.

?

Dear Journal,

who am I?

This

I cannot answer

without asking

others.

I know

what

I am:

I am

lost

cofused

Empty

I know

What I am

Not.

I am not

Happy

Beautiful

slim

slender

what, then,

am I doing

here?

Who am I?

Sincerely,

?

Yeah, it's kind of depressing. But there is a very happy ending. In high school, I took a creative writing class for poetry. The teacher had us write a certain poem.......I honestly don't remember why, but I remember the experience left me in tears. I remembered "?" and decided that it needed an "Answer". It took a while to receive this answer. Lessons learned Girls camp, Seminary, and Sunday School contributed a lot into the answer. And I am forever grateful for them.

Answer

Dear Journal,

I have asked this before:

Who am I?

I cannot answer this without

asking others,

but others

have helped me find the answer

for myself.

I was lost, 

but I have found the path.

I was confused,

but I've always had a clear map

in my hands.

Who am I?

I am happy.

The world may think I am an ugly duckling,

but there is one

who knows

that I am a beautiful swan.

And I believe Him.

He knows who I am,

and I do

too.

I may not know my purpose,

But I know who

I am.

Sincerely,

Me.

I realize how long this post is, but I felt like I needed to share these two poems. If you are reading this, thank you for taking the time to read. I hope and pray that my words reach out to those who don't know what to say.

Growing

When I'm writing a new poem, I often find myself comparing people to other things without directly saying what the comparison is. This poem does just that. I intended it to be a poem that describes a person going through life and it's challenges, figuring out who they are and what they are meant to become.

Growing

It's damp

and dark

and cold.

I feel a need to break free.

I push, and struggle

to break open this cage

no more slumber

no more darkness

nothing will hold me back.

The cage is open.

I've broken loose

but I don't feel free.

It's still dark.

I stretch.

I know only one direction:

up.

As I reach up

I anchor myself.

The more I reach,

the more need

I have

to cling

to what I have known

for my entire life.

I've lost track of time.

My progress is slow.

I feel I might never 

reach my destination,

and I almost give up.

A final burst of strength

surges through me

and I reach

one      last      time.

The darkness breaks apart

I am blinded

by the sudden light.

I can still feel the darkness below,

anchoring me.

But up here I am

filled with warmth.

This new-found warmth

and light

gives me strength

and I still reach.

Excitement

of my success

makes me feel radiant

and I realize I'm not done.

I am closed up

and I need to unfold.

For a moment

I feel dejected.

How long must this go on?

But the light continues to shine 

and encourage me 

to keep going.

My progress is still slow

but full of purpose

and preparation for the day

I finally unfold

and fully

embrace the light.

Responsibility

Hello readers! How are y'all today? I hope you are having the best Monday you possibly can, because I know I did. I felt sick all day, I think I have an earache, and when I came home from a group study meeting, I had a temperature of 100.4(Fahrenheit). And I'm gonna be grateful for it, because it could have been worse.

Because of everything mentioned above, I deemed it appropriate to post this poem. I wrote this one last week, at a moment when I felt like I was about to explode. I still kind of feel like that. P.S. I thought the title was pretty clever, if I do say so myself....and I do!! :)

Responsibility

By: Melissa Blume

Too much to take in;

my mind about

to explode.

It all feels like

I'm drinking

from a fire-hose...

but I have to keep drinking

until I'm soaked to the bone.

So much to process

my brain shuts down

like a computer

with a virus.

The very thought of it all

makes me tired

to the point where

I just want to snuggle 

under a warm blanket

and not worry -

Just let all responsibility

Fly over my head

and sleep

a dreamless

sleep.

I now have two jobs, school, and life to keep up with. Lately it has been so exhausting just thinking about all the new procedures I have to learn, all the new names I have to memorize, lessons I have to plan - my whole self just wants to collapse on the spot and not have to worry about anything for a very long time. But, as we all know, this cannot happen. We can't collapse, we must endure to the very end. 

Footsteps

I guess it's time for another poem. There's not really any reason behind this one. I had the idea, and when it came out on paper, I decided I really liked it.

Footsteps

By: Melissa Blume

Footsteps in the sand

trail behind me

the wind makes no effort

to wipe them away.

I am alone on this beach,

yet I don't feel it.

Old memories awaken

as I bend down

to pick up a pretty shell.

I flashback and see another hand

- yours - 

try to pick up the same shell.

We look up, and it's love at first sight.

I still have that shell

to remind me that one day 

there will be two pairs
of footsteps in the sand
and we will be together
finding pretty shells,
not caring
where the wind
might take us.

I believe poems mean something different for everyone. This one in particular could have dozens of meanings. Tell me what you think!

Why I Write

Hello readers! If you are new to this blog, welcome! If you are a former reader of my old blog, Clever'n'Crafty, welcome back!
This blog is dedicated for publishing poems I have written. I love writing poetry, and have been told many times that I am good at it. A few of my poems have a religious standpoint. If you are not religious, please don't take offense by them. I hope to enlighten and inspire people when they read my poems.
To start us off, this is a poem explaining why I even bother. Some of you may have read it from my other blog.

Why I Write

I live in a loud, obnoxious world

an unforgiving world

a world that cannot hear a word

but will condemn you for them

With the silent scratch of my pen

or the click of my keyboard

I make myself clear

through the haze of confusion

I write to hear myself

to make myself heard

to let the world know I am here

and I am not afraid

I write to keep my feelings secret

because the world cares not for them

and they will only be revealed

to those who care

when the world will not listen

I write for when the world is ready

when it will slow down long enough

to hear what I have to say

I care not for the world

though I must live in it

I write for the wish to be heard

for those who want to hear

I write for those who are afraid

to make themselves known

and would rather be comforted

by the words of another

I write to set my soul free

from the snares of the world

I write to pour out my heart

when it is full of inspiration