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Hey, my name is Kala Lynn McMurray and I'm a
rising Junior at Gate City High School. This page holds three of the poems I wrote during Governor's School this year. I've been writing for quite a while now. I also sing and write songs, and I've been singing since I was about four. In addition to writing and singing, I ride and show horses. I hope you enjoy my work and be sure to check out everyone else's pages! You can email me at k_mack023@hotmail.com. |
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"The Black Velvet Box on the Dresser" This is a poem spoken from the
point of view This poem embraces the feelings of Like the title implies, this poem
celebrates
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“The Black Velvet Box on the Dresser”
I was there On the fourth day of May 2001 When walks were taken And promises were forever I felt it that day The smooth tan skin Regarding me As the American Dream I was there On the seventeenth day of March 2002 And he came Their Southern sunrise I felt it that day The sweet newborn skin Seeming to pull Everything together I was there On the saddest day of her life When he decided Forever was a diminished dream And circles could be broken I felt it that day Her saltwater tears streaming Carrying her Maybelline makeup As she wiped them away I was there On the day she found her strength When she placed me In the black velvet box on the dresser I felt it that day The feelings of goodbye And black velvet
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Another slight breeze Changes the path of a tear Trickling down my face A prisoner escaping the Alcatraz of my eyes The wind picks up As I stand entranced Letting sand drift through my fingers Like tiny solid raindrops falling from a solemn sky My eyes look to the left As if searching for a sunset in the east Or a promise that never existed When the last grain of sand leaves my trembling hand I stand up, wiping away tears and memories As another slight breeze Changes the path of my heart
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I’m from worn lead ropes held by tough hands, from Circle Y Saddles and big Belgian geldings leaving hoof prints in the soft brown mud. I’m from the dusty tobacco fields. I’m from the weeping willows casting their shade on hot July days, The oak trees losing their leaves in the front yard.
I’m from wagon trains, football games, and riding since I could walk, from Betty Sue, and Terry Lynn, and Thelma Jean. I’m from the patient horse training and dedicated farming day after day. From sit down and be quiet and don’t climb that tree. I’m from Jesus loves me, the Lord is my Sheppard, and if you’re happy and you know it say Amen.
I’m from “Faller’s” Branch and East Carters Valley, Mom’s apple cobbler and butter sandwiches. From the old, made-up ghost stories told on Saturday evenings, the stinging smell of tobacco in the barn, the worn and dusty boots on the front porch, and the silent legacies set in stone.
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