Poetry by Rose West

The reason I've put this collection together is partly because of myself. I thought it would make things easy if I had all my poetry cataloged in one place. If I get organized, maybe none of my poems will get lost. Well, the other reason I put this together is you. I hope this helps you, my reader, to find all of my poetry, if indeed you desire to read all of my poetry. My readers are the ones who make my writing worth anything. So thank you in advance for reading. 

Poetry, to me, can be such a relief. I am no master crafter of poetic words. Anything I've learned about meter and rhyming schemes always seems to get erased from my memory. A poem is a moment in time, my moment in time. I love the sense of fulfillment that putting my thoughts in a poem gives me. I don't moralize (often) in the endings. Sometimes, poetry doesn't have to end. I am reminded of Psalm 88, the Dark Psalm. It doesn't have a happy ending, but that's because it doesn't have an ending really. So, raise your glasses with me, and let's toast to neverending poems, relieved emotion, and human attempts at the beautiful!

This poem was inspired by Psalm 31:21: "Blessed be the Lord, for He has made marvelous His lovingkindness to me in a besieged city." This verse struck me one day in that way that Scripture sometimes does: all of a sudden it meant something to me, personally. I live on an island, far away from the home I once knew. Lonely island, besieged city - same thing. And even through isolation and loneliness, God can break through with His mercy.

I have a habit of looking in other people's windows as I pass by... not peeping, just glancing for a half-second. That half-second is a moment in someone else's life; it's a part of a story. One night, driving home from a bonfire on the beach, I watched the glowing inside of the houses seeping out through big picture windows (or postcard windows :). It made me feel alone. I was cold in the dark, with the distant warmth of those homes just touching the tip of my nose. Nevertheless, the most of this poem is inspired by a disappointing evening in a lonely Starbucks.

One morning I woke up and these words were floating around me. Sometimes that happens. You wake up with inspiration on the tip of your tongue, you write it all down, and then the rest of the day goes down the drain. Just kidding. Well, not really, but anyhow, I hate sleeping with worry; I hate waking with worry. I am learning to trust God more and not worry so much. Learning is the key word.

Life in Hawaii isn't always easy, especially when that life is completely different from your former one in that you live far away from so many people that you love. I had a hard time when I first moved to Hawaii, which sometimes feels like a foreign country more than just an island across the sea. But over time God has showed me that He can use your life wherever you are. A bad attitude about your circumstances is never going to help. I still miss friends, family, and things like "hard-pressed cider," but I believe God will redeem my time here.

This is the poem of a person dreaming of love. Love is an illusion to that person, yet it is still something quite tangible. We all love to love, but sometimes love takes a long time to come to fulfillment, leading to frustration. It is like a tortuous maze in your mind, where fiction and reality meld together.

All right, for those of you who tire of long, drawn-out winters and snowy cold afternoons, this poem might not make sense. Close your eyes, and try to imagine what it would be like to live in place where you rub on sunscreen on Christmas, where your blood runs cold if the temperature dips to the 60s, where you can't remember what season it is because the seasons don't seem to change. The worst part is when I feel sad, and the sun stares me straight in my downcast face and silently laughs. This poem is a song of complaint, I suppose, but like I said before, a poem is a moment in time - just a small moment.

This poem was the result of one of those dismal red-eye flights to the mainland. The girl sitting in front of me kept changing her clothes (in the bathroom, of course), as if the cramped plane was her bedroom. The tiny television was playing one of those lame shows about animals or plants or something... and I was sad.

I used to live in a house with slatted doors. Sounds and cracked light would pour through the slats from room to room. Some days are so warm in Hawaii, that life doesn't really seem to begin until the day ends. It's like you are awake, waiting for the sun to set, waiting for the heat to fade. 

This poem (with its weak attempts at rhyme) is about change. It is the change that God gives a human heart. Unlike popular opinion, I believe the human heart is born dead. Dead is a strong word. But life is an even stronger one, and God gives life to the dead. We can't do anything to save ourselves; only Jesus Christ can save us. I really don't like the first word in this poem, but I can't seem to change it.

This poem is a jumble of my childhood memories. They are like frozen pictures, flashes of moments. What is a buttercup nose, you might ask. Well, when I was little, we used to put buttercups up to our noses to see if they would glow. I can't seem to remember why we did that, so if anyone out there did the same thing, please remind me.

One of my greater faults is a leaning toward negativity. Everyone hates rejection, I know, but I have a bad habit of finding rejection in more places than I should. I also have the fault of passivity when something is bothering me. I have a hard time speaking up. These problems combined with a frustrating situation made this poem. Maybe someone should just send me a mailbox.

There is a line in a Sara Bareilles song: "You loved me 'cause I'm fragile, when I thought that I was strong." Gravity, it's all gravity.

The albatross is regal when he is still, poetic when he is flying, but when he tries to land on the ground after roaming among the heavens, he loses his balance.