Love is caring....
Love is caring,
Love is sharing.
Love even hurts sometimes.
Giving up someone you love
Just because,
You know its better, is love.
I've been through it,
To bad it doesn't come with instructions,
Because sometimes its hard.
Love is laughing & crying,
Love is living & dying.
Its the best and worst thing you'll ever go through
It's wonderful
It's beautiful
Love is the most horrifying experience ever.
Notes: goodness, I wonder what had happened when I wrote this. Its so depressing. There's no date on the page, but by the handwriting, I'm guessing I wrote this in early high school.
Friday, August 22, 2008
Saturday, August 09, 2008
English III - 6th period
Nov 1, 1993
Nov 1, 1993
Life
Life is so precious.
It is simply a dust devil in the wind.
Yet we want to grow up so fast,
Only to die and be forgotten.
Is there nothing else,
But to live and die?
Life is so precious.
Should we not learn to love,
Take our time,
And stop and smell the roses?
Is there nothing else,
But to love and live?
Life is so precious.
If we learn to love,
Will not our life mean more,
Than before?
There is so much else to life,
Love is what it worth living.
Life is so precious.
So strong and hard,
Yet so fragile and weak.
Are we able to balance between the two?
There is so much to life.
Are we able to be what is needed by others?
Life is so precious.
So busy is everyone,
Letting life fly by.
Is there nothing we can do to slow it down?
There is so much to life,
Can we choose what is important?
Life is so precious.
How can we just throw it away?
How can we assume that it is cheap?
How can we ruin something so sweet?
There is much in life,
How can we put a price on it?
There is little sweet life left,
Don’t throw it away,
Don’t let it get away,
Life is so precious.
It is simply a dust devil in the wind.
Yet we want to grow up so fast,
Only to die and be forgotten.
Is there nothing else,
But to live and die?
Life is so precious.
Should we not learn to love,
Take our time,
And stop and smell the roses?
Is there nothing else,
But to love and live?
Life is so precious.
If we learn to love,
Will not our life mean more,
Than before?
There is so much else to life,
Love is what it worth living.
Life is so precious.
So strong and hard,
Yet so fragile and weak.
Are we able to balance between the two?
There is so much to life.
Are we able to be what is needed by others?
Life is so precious.
So busy is everyone,
Letting life fly by.
Is there nothing we can do to slow it down?
There is so much to life,
Can we choose what is important?
Life is so precious.
How can we just throw it away?
How can we assume that it is cheap?
How can we ruin something so sweet?
There is much in life,
How can we put a price on it?
There is little sweet life left,
Don’t throw it away,
Don’t let it get away,
Because you can never get it back.
I wonder what all I was thinking about as I wrote this. Love, perhaps? Seems I thought about love a lot back then.
Thursday, August 07, 2008
"My", no, "Somebody else's Green Hand"
It's green.
It's wrinkly.
It's almost ugly.
But think of the places this hand could have gone: Europe, Asia, South America, the moon.
Think of the places it one day may go: Mars or universes away.
Someday this hand could save a life, or bring a life into this world. This hand may be the one to shake the hand of another or sign a paper for a peace agreement. OR this hand could kill, hurt, declare war. Each pair of hands in this world has a choice... good or bad... right or wrong... which will your hands choose?
Think about it.
You must choose one. By not choosing, your choice will be made; will your hands help or hender, love or hate? Each pair of hands will do one or the other. By doing nothing, no good is done, and if its not good... it's bad. Passive hands do nothing, thus resulting in wrong. Will your hands be passive and let wrong continue? OR will your hands be active and stop the hurt and pain in this world. Do not allow your hands to become passive, but active. Let your hand become the hand to stop a war, to help the hurt. You must choose what your hand will become.
-Rachael Anconetani, Sr. '95
It's green.
It's wrinkly.
It's almost ugly.
But think of the places this hand could have gone: Europe, Asia, South America, the moon.
Think of the places it one day may go: Mars or universes away.
Someday this hand could save a life, or bring a life into this world. This hand may be the one to shake the hand of another or sign a paper for a peace agreement. OR this hand could kill, hurt, declare war. Each pair of hands in this world has a choice... good or bad... right or wrong... which will your hands choose?
Think about it.
You must choose one. By not choosing, your choice will be made; will your hands help or hender, love or hate? Each pair of hands will do one or the other. By doing nothing, no good is done, and if its not good... it's bad. Passive hands do nothing, thus resulting in wrong. Will your hands be passive and let wrong continue? OR will your hands be active and stop the hurt and pain in this world. Do not allow your hands to become passive, but active. Let your hand become the hand to stop a war, to help the hurt. You must choose what your hand will become.
-Rachael Anconetani, Sr. '95
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
Wow, its been ages since I've posted anything here.
I was sorting some old papers this evening and found a few poems I wrote while in Jr. High and High School. I thought I'd like to have them some place more "permanent", so I'll type and post them here. I'll post one or two a day, at least every few days.
First up is a Valentines card I wrote, but apparently never gave. Or I gave copies... the card is on green paper. The paper does have edges that say it was tracker feed paper. If you don't know what that is, that's what printers used before ink jet printers were invented. The pages were attached to each other, end to end, and there were skinny strips on each side with regular holes that the printer could grab to pull the paper through. The pages and the edges were perforated to come apart easily. Here's the poem:
Dear Love,
My heart beats for you,
You are my life.
I see only you,
Among the many others.
I hear only your voice,
Among the many I hear.
Please be my one and only,
My Valentine.
Love,
Your True One
My hubby commented: that's way too much commitment for a high schooler. I must agree.
I was sorting some old papers this evening and found a few poems I wrote while in Jr. High and High School. I thought I'd like to have them some place more "permanent", so I'll type and post them here. I'll post one or two a day, at least every few days.
First up is a Valentines card I wrote, but apparently never gave. Or I gave copies... the card is on green paper. The paper does have edges that say it was tracker feed paper. If you don't know what that is, that's what printers used before ink jet printers were invented. The pages were attached to each other, end to end, and there were skinny strips on each side with regular holes that the printer could grab to pull the paper through. The pages and the edges were perforated to come apart easily. Here's the poem:
Dear Love,
My heart beats for you,
You are my life.
I see only you,
Among the many others.
I hear only your voice,
Among the many I hear.
Please be my one and only,
My Valentine.
Love,
Your True One
My hubby commented: that's way too much commitment for a high schooler. I must agree.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Gardens
Sometimes I think I catch a glimpse of the garden beyond the wall. The wall is tall, far taller than I, and is smooth and slick so no one can climb over. If I stand far enough back, I can see the sharp bits on top so that if you were able to climb up, those sharp bits would slow you down, stop you and send you back down this side. The wall goes around a garden that belongs to my neighbor, and it’s a pretty big garden. Of all my neighbors, most have walls of some sort around their gardens. Some have walls that are only a few feet high, and some have walls that are taller than this neighbor’s wall. Sometimes, the walls have no gate, but the owner keeps a mural painted of a beautiful lawn on the outside. Sometimes I wonder if he is hoping that people will believe that that is what the garden inside looks like. There are other folks whose walls are only small picket fences. You can see their whole garden, including all the places that are full of weeds, and all the places that are full of lush grass, flowers, big trees and bushes. Of the gardens I can see, everyone’s is a bit different. Some have trees, some are only grass, some have veggie gardens, some have flower gardens, and some are all dirt.
This particular neighbor, though, lives right next door. Our fences run right up next to each other. She comes out often to talk with me, and the gates are near each other, so that sometimes when she comes out to talk, I get a glimpse of the garden inside. There have even been a few times when she invites me to stand on the threshold of her gate and chat with her. But I’ve never been invited inside.
It’s dangerous inviting people inside. I wanted my garden to be a full garden, full of flowers and bushes and trees. I worked long hard hours to develop such a garden. Sure I’d had various people come in and point out that bush that was overgrown, or that I’d put that flower in the shade when it needed full sun. I remember one time when a friend I’d invited over pointed out the vine that was taking over and choking all the other plants out. I planted it small, a very long time ago. Recently it had begun to grow quickly, and I’d lost control over it. It was one that I’d have to rip out completely. Oh, I dreaded it, because I knew it would leave huge empty places where only dirt would show. And it was a vine that sucked everything from the soil, so I couldn’t replant right away; I’d have to wait and fertilize the soil and let it rest. That was hard to do, ripping that vine out. It was like declaring that the work I’d done was a waste. But I did it. I ripped it out.
Another time, I was learning about inviting people in, and had someone who had been so helpful as I cultivated my garden. He seemed to have such wise advice, and even now I’m not sure the advice was ever wrong. But after a while, he went beyond giving advice and began replanting things himself, and telling me that everything I was doing was wrong. When he ripped out the bush I’d planted so carefully and had poured such love and effort into, without ever asking me, I tossed him out of my garden and told him he must wait and ask before coming in again. Not long after, I was sitting peacefully in the shade of a tree in my garden when I heard a crash. I turned to look and I saw this man with an axe chopping at everything, and ripping up all my carefully planted flowers. The gouges in the earth were growing and marring so much. I cried out for him to stop, but he ignored me. He was bigger and stronger than me, and I couldn’t stop him, until finally when he had destroyed all that was precious to me, he turned and walked out. He never said a word to me. It was all I could do to sit down in the broken earth and weep at the destruction. It took me several years to replant my garden after that, and even now, many years later, I can still see scars in some of the bigger trees that survived.
I’ve been invited into other’s gardens at times. Sometimes they are lush, beautiful places and sometimes they are bare. I’ve put a lot of effort into cultivating my garden, and many years of effort. I want to use that to help others as they cultivate their gardens, offer them advice I’ve been given and share with them the knowledge I’ve learned. I am also learning how to invite others into my garden, again. Its taken time, but my boldness grows. I have also planted tougher plants, ones that are not so delicate, which means that when someone bumps into it, the plant isn’t injured. I also don’t have many plants with thorns or other defenses. I want people to know that my garden is a safe place for them, and that they are welcome to come and sit and rest.
Sometimes I think I catch a glimpse of the garden beyond the wall. The wall is tall, far taller than I, and is smooth and slick so no one can climb over. If I stand far enough back, I can see the sharp bits on top so that if you were able to climb up, those sharp bits would slow you down, stop you and send you back down this side. The wall goes around a garden that belongs to my neighbor, and it’s a pretty big garden. Of all my neighbors, most have walls of some sort around their gardens. Some have walls that are only a few feet high, and some have walls that are taller than this neighbor’s wall. Sometimes, the walls have no gate, but the owner keeps a mural painted of a beautiful lawn on the outside. Sometimes I wonder if he is hoping that people will believe that that is what the garden inside looks like. There are other folks whose walls are only small picket fences. You can see their whole garden, including all the places that are full of weeds, and all the places that are full of lush grass, flowers, big trees and bushes. Of the gardens I can see, everyone’s is a bit different. Some have trees, some are only grass, some have veggie gardens, some have flower gardens, and some are all dirt.
This particular neighbor, though, lives right next door. Our fences run right up next to each other. She comes out often to talk with me, and the gates are near each other, so that sometimes when she comes out to talk, I get a glimpse of the garden inside. There have even been a few times when she invites me to stand on the threshold of her gate and chat with her. But I’ve never been invited inside.
It’s dangerous inviting people inside. I wanted my garden to be a full garden, full of flowers and bushes and trees. I worked long hard hours to develop such a garden. Sure I’d had various people come in and point out that bush that was overgrown, or that I’d put that flower in the shade when it needed full sun. I remember one time when a friend I’d invited over pointed out the vine that was taking over and choking all the other plants out. I planted it small, a very long time ago. Recently it had begun to grow quickly, and I’d lost control over it. It was one that I’d have to rip out completely. Oh, I dreaded it, because I knew it would leave huge empty places where only dirt would show. And it was a vine that sucked everything from the soil, so I couldn’t replant right away; I’d have to wait and fertilize the soil and let it rest. That was hard to do, ripping that vine out. It was like declaring that the work I’d done was a waste. But I did it. I ripped it out.
Another time, I was learning about inviting people in, and had someone who had been so helpful as I cultivated my garden. He seemed to have such wise advice, and even now I’m not sure the advice was ever wrong. But after a while, he went beyond giving advice and began replanting things himself, and telling me that everything I was doing was wrong. When he ripped out the bush I’d planted so carefully and had poured such love and effort into, without ever asking me, I tossed him out of my garden and told him he must wait and ask before coming in again. Not long after, I was sitting peacefully in the shade of a tree in my garden when I heard a crash. I turned to look and I saw this man with an axe chopping at everything, and ripping up all my carefully planted flowers. The gouges in the earth were growing and marring so much. I cried out for him to stop, but he ignored me. He was bigger and stronger than me, and I couldn’t stop him, until finally when he had destroyed all that was precious to me, he turned and walked out. He never said a word to me. It was all I could do to sit down in the broken earth and weep at the destruction. It took me several years to replant my garden after that, and even now, many years later, I can still see scars in some of the bigger trees that survived.
I’ve been invited into other’s gardens at times. Sometimes they are lush, beautiful places and sometimes they are bare. I’ve put a lot of effort into cultivating my garden, and many years of effort. I want to use that to help others as they cultivate their gardens, offer them advice I’ve been given and share with them the knowledge I’ve learned. I am also learning how to invite others into my garden, again. Its taken time, but my boldness grows. I have also planted tougher plants, ones that are not so delicate, which means that when someone bumps into it, the plant isn’t injured. I also don’t have many plants with thorns or other defenses. I want people to know that my garden is a safe place for them, and that they are welcome to come and sit and rest.
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