This is my page for my poems that I write about nonsence, that kinda stuff.

Instant Poem:

October 4, 2005:
1. I remember the joy of my sister's birth.
I remember the joy of receiving my Gamecube.
I remember the joy of finding my lost three-year-old.
2. I remember the pain of my mom's miscarriage.
I remember the pain of losing Grandma.
I remember the pain of watching my sister go in and out of seizure.
3. I remember Pappy how used to share his fried chicken with me.
I remember how Pop-pop used to bring me to his house to spend the night.
I remember how he used to bring my sister a new Barney video every time he came over.
4. I remember when Aunt Lori would call me her daughter.
I remember when Grandma would make fun of mom.
I remember when Great-grandma would keep telling me to get to work, even when my cousins came over.
5. I remember my first tooth.
I remember my firs period.
I remember my first time baby-sitting.
6. I remember how difficult it was to accept that the baby was gone.
I remember how difficult it was to go through my Grandma's house.
I remember how difficult it was to leave Succot to go to a funeral.
7. I remember how important it was to bury Pop-pop in his hometown.
I remember how important it was to give my sister her meds.
I remember how important it was to move to Maine.
8. I remember the best times were me and my sister, just chilling out for no reason.
I remember the best times were playing outside while Pop-pop chopped wood.
I remember the best times were stay home with just my sister for hours and hours, bored.
9. I remember the worst times were losing Pop-pop, Briendel, and Grandma, all at the same time.
I remember the worst times were going to the hospital to see Bridgette.
I remember the worst times were driving past Aunt Lori's house and knowing she wasn't there.
10. I remember how funny Brianna acted when we saw the Barney movie.
I remember how funny everyone thought it was when I said the pope was a Jew.
I remember how funny Pop-pop was when we were driving home.

Blues Poem:

October 31, 2005:
My memories are leaving, real or not they are deceiving
My memories are leaving, real or not I'm not believing
My memories are leaving, so I'm gonna make some more.

I remember dancing; I used to dance for so long
I remember dancing, spinning round, to that song
I'll still remember dancing; I'm going out on the floor

I'm still out looking for memories to share,
I'm still out looking, there's a memory there,
I'll always be looking, 'cause there's memories everywhere.

I can't remember yesterday, or much of the past,
I can't remember yesterday, or any of the past,
I can't remember yesterday, but I'll make today last.

My baby sister birth, my little sister's youth
I don't remember birth, or my sister's youth
And I don't want to remember much, because the future holds the truth.

Inspiration Painting:

The Scream

I feel danger all around me,
Fear is pulsing through my veins,
The world is closing in,
Humidity, vapor suffocating,
I can't breathe,
My face is frozen,
I can not think,

I feel a presence,
Human?
Coming, going?
I can not tell.
Water is near,
I hear it rising and subsiding,
Slow, then fast
It forms behind me,
Getting higher,
Subsiding less,
Soon it will swallow me up,

Warm colors,
Usually comforting,
But now they only intensify my fear
Am I swirling?
It might be the world
I'm getting dizzy and nauseous
How much time to I have left here?
A minute?
A day?
I would rather stay frozen in fear than know.

Sequence Poem:

A tiny birth,
One child takes center stage,
I am watching,
A tiny head appears,
A single breath and a life ignites.
A forth sister for me,
Her shrill voice pierces the air,
I go to bed shortly after,
And in the morning I awake.
I go downstairs,
I ask my sister if a name had been chosen
Eliana Mara?
An odd name,
I had expected the Mara,
But Eliana?
I go back upstairs to make sure,
There she lies, sleeping,
Mother cuddles her gently.
I leave.
I try to keep my mind off the new arrival but I can't
She seems to be everywhere.
I leave the house.
I walk for a while and come back.
She's still there
She's crying,
I go and hold her, rock her.
She falls asleep in my arms,
I walk with her,
Around the house,
Downstairs, upstairs, in between,
Be fore I know it, it's dinner time.
A prayer and a candle lighting,
Then food.
Soup, not exactly a Shabbos meal, but good enough
After dinner I hold Eliana again.
She is nearly a day old.
Old enough for a nickname,
Ellie, her name is Ellie,
This name suits her well.
And soon she'll be one of us.

Self-Portrait Poem

I am Morit
Daughter of Don and Tina
Who needs space and company
Who loves fresh air and firelight
Who sees technology and nature
Who hates cold and humidity
Who fears loneliness and crowds
Who dreams of freedom and admiration
Who has found poems of beauty, awkward and solid
Resident of Bunker Hill, Warren
Gross


I am a gamer and crochetier
I wonder about the sounds and images of painless death
I hear the laughter and banging of children at play
I see boots running past with a face I barely recognize
I want to be loved by an outside being
I am a gamer and crochetier

I pretend that I'm fast and able to fly
I feel that I am free
I touch the soft colors of the landscape
I worry that someone is coming for me
I cry that I'll never know who
I am a gamer and crochetier

I understand that what I love is nonexistent
I say I will make it real
I dream that what I do can someday matter
I try to do my best at stitching straight
I hope that I am benefiting newborns
I am a gamer and crochetier

Response Poem:

November 3, 2005:
Honour marched courageous hearts
through our city streets.
But horror painted the faces of the mothers,
Of the boys now eighteen
The War will make them cold,
Death everywhere,
War cares for no one,
But takes all,
Babies, mothers, fathers,
Sick, wounded, strong,
War destroys,
Can the leaders bring back thousands?
Can the troops build families up?
Orphans are created,
Widows watch,
Striped coffins lower
All they wanted was to be a hero,
All they wanted was pride,
They're in a memorial garden,
Where all who stay here have died