and... modeling a master (Emily Dickinson)

Emily Dickinson's poem:

Will there really be a morning?
Is there such a thing as day?
Could I see it from the mountains
If I were as tall as they?

Has it feet like water lilies?
Has it feathers like a bird?
Is it brought from foreign countries
Of which i have never heard?

Oh, some scholar! Oh, some sailor!
Oh, some wise man from the skies!
Please to tell a little pilgrim
Where the place called morning lies!


my model of the above poem:

"Daybreak"

Oh, will Daybreak really come?
Will it show itself today?
Whether seen by few or some
Will you please show it the way?

I have seen it only once
The memories aren't clear
While the great Night Moon still hunts
And the Daybreak hides in fear.

Oh, some hero! Oh, please save it!
Save the Daybreak from the Moon!
I am sure you won't regret it
Daybreak shall repay you soon.

second poem by Amy Bohon, 2.23.10

ah, just for the heck of it, here's my acrostic

"Worship"

We know the almighty power
Of the supreme being; the
Rightness in his word; how we are
Shown the way by his ever-guiding
Hand; all who seek
Innocence shall be welcomed and safe in his
Palms.

by Amy Bohon, 2.19.10

Haikus... post 3

"Willow"

Branches hanging down
The cold wind makes her shiver
Found in a graveyard.

by Amy Bohon, 2.19.10

Haikus... post 2

"Stapler"

Kind of small and black
It holds papers together
Well, the staple does.

by Amy Bohon, 2.19.10

Haikus... post 1

"Lockers"

Standing tall and grey
Stacked together; all attached
I have the bottom.

by Amy Bohon, 2/19/10

testing a new poetry strategy... eh.

To see again.
That is my only wish.
That, and for my "killer to see me now".
To see that I am not dead.
Just blind; can't you tell?
He accused me mad;
Insane.
They all did.
So he took my sight, and killed me.
But, aha! His actions failed!
And now I am waiting...
Ever so silent.
Ever so still.
waiting... waiting...
until the day he comes by.
waiting... oh yes, I'll be waiting when he comes by.
Always waiting.
I will never move.
Where does a blind man have to go, anyway?

"Sour Revenge Beyond the Grave"
-Amy Bohon, 2/4/10, Thursday, 10:55 pm

my first rhyming poem EVER. what do you think about it?

Pit-a-pat,
Pit-a-pat,
raindrops on my roof.
Sprinkle sprinkle,
tinkle tinkle,
raindrops on my roof.

They hold off the sun,
the moon,
the stars,
that's how they have fun.

Pit-a-pat,
raindrops falling,
sprinkle-splat,
their shape turns flat.

With a chill in my ear,
February air,
another life is omitted
to the after-stair.

"A Murder in the Rain"
-Amy Bohon, 2/4/10, 10:46 pm, Thursday