Laying Over All

The sky,
Opened grey and white,
Hid the distance
As the snow took flight.

The mountains,
Standing great and tall,
Were helpless
As the snow would still fall.

A cabin,
Laying lonely and warm,
Sat in wait
To outlast the storm.

A road,
Curving through the wood,
Was empty,
As there in the snow I stood.

Adventures in Wonderland

Alice,
following down and curiously,
Not so happy now
In your tear-made sea.

Mouse,
Reciting tail and long,
Trust is a must,
But you may be wrong.

White Rabbit,
Running untimely and late,
Don't forget your white gloves
As you close the garden gate.

Alice,
Following up and forward,
Read the meaning,
Not just the word.

Little Bill,
Climbing high and unsteady,
Run far away
From a foot kicking ready.

Caterpillar,
Smoking large and blue,
Answer me one question,
Who are you?

Alice,
Tasting one or two,
Just how tall this time
Did the mushroom make you?

Pigeon,
Screaming loud and clear,
Get the serpent away!
As if it is such a great care.

Cheshire Cat,
Sitting high and there,
You're mad you know, but then,
We're all mad here.

Alice,
Uninvited girl and guest,
Do you like it there
In Wonderland quite yet?

Mad Hatter,
Speaking clocks and tea,
It's time now,
But no seat for three.

Cards,
Making ruckus and mistakes,
You did it to yourselves,
Now your necks must ache.

Alice,
Smarting mouth and motive,
Not always so lucky
As to have someone forgive.

Queen of Hearts,
Ruling impatient and fierce,
Not very nice
To whose heads you pierce.

King of Hearts,
Hiding coward and low,
What could have happened
To kingdom long ago?

Alice,
Annoyed uneasily and polite,
Think of things so nicely
Yet no one sees you as bright.

Mock Turtle,
Sobbing story and fate,
Your lessons are queer
As they lessen along with the date.

Sister,
Listen quiet and fair
To the adventures of
Your good young sister.

Alice,
Running thoughtful and gay,
Keep this dream
From this wonderful day.

Walls

With eyes covered in steel,
You stare back at me.
Without the thick gray wall,
What is one to see?

Perhaps only nothing,
Behind the wall being
The same cold emptiness,
Nothing worth try of seeing.

Perhaps there is some color,
Enough worth a small peek,
But if there was even that much,
Then why do you not speak?

Point your finger here,
No more, for I from prison
Am an innocent.

Sensing Peace?

Speak of peace.
The peace of gunpowder.
The peace of explosions.
The peace of hiding in fear.
I hear of no peace here.

Look at peace.
The peace of blood.
The peace of empty shells of metal.
The peace of empty shells of flesh.
I see no peace here.

Feel peace.
The peace of sadness.
The peace of hatred.
The peace of never being safe.
I feel no peace here.

Smell peace.
The peace of metal.
The peace of smoke.
The peace of red soaked dirt.
I smell no peace here.

Taste peace.
The peace of salty tears.
The peace of gritted teeth.
The peace of screams on the tips of tongues.
I taste no peace here.

Sense the peace.
The peace of death.
I sense no peace here.

Hands, Do Tell

My hands tell a story,
The story of my life,
Of joyful high hand claps
Or of wringing times of strife.
My hands have eyes,
They know of my memories each day.
They've seen every word I wrote
And every word I ever may.
My hands tell my story,
And yours will tell of you,
For you have but a start
And many adventures will ensue.

Departure

Watercolors paint the sky,
Its canvas one time blank.
Blending,
Blurring,
Whizzing by,
As the sun, with time, sank.
Bowing low,
Down soft and steady.
Look away
And it's gone already.
Darkness seeps from one direction,
Taking the color and leaving perfection
Blank and lovely for the light
That riddles the sky this lovely night.

I Am From

I am from boxes hiding beneath my bed,
From kindergarten Halloween photos,
And seashells from the beaches of Maine.

I am from jean scraps and pieces of cloth
Sewn together again into one.
From doors covered in comics and stickers,
And notebooks of doodles on the floor.

I am from my grandparents who taught me to be happy,
My aunt Andrea who can always make me laugh,
From photographs of relatives that have blood in my veins
And were born more than a hundred years ago.

I am from the scent of tomatoes,
The striking light of sunflowers in mud,
Memories of turtles made with dirt and water.

I am from candied yams, popcorn balls, and Friday night pizza,
From games of Rummikub, Monopoly, and Scrabble.

I am from the crooked pinkies my father passed me,
From my toes with an angle to match.
From Dacci, Desqua, and Julietta, whose names cover my thoughts down on paper,
And from books of old age, horror, fantasy, and mystery that sit waiting on my shelves.

I am from red corner and helicopters that fall from Dave's tree over the fire hydrant in autumn,
From snow angels made in crisp white at dusk,
From picking tulips for my teachers in spring,
And from puddle stomping in fresh rains of summer.

I am from phone numbers scribbled on report cards,
From my mom's vampire romances on the hamper and floor,
From "check in", "be safe", and "I love you".

I am from my experiences in my life. From the people, from the places, from the memories, from the sensations.
I am from the world.

Eye Contact

Eyes hold the truth one can't see otherwise,
The truth of all within there lies.
They say the eyes are the window to the soul,
But yet, a window shows a glance,
Not the thing as a whole.

Limbs for Snow

Overfilled,
The skies of grey,
Will pour out
On the Earth today.

Softly flutter,
Pure and white,
The bird of calmness
Taking flight.

Tendrils of feathers,
From the Sky,
Lay down to rest
With a gentle sigh.

A tree,
Its licking flames,
Had no effect
As the snow down came.

Half is bare,
Half is bone,
Gnarled fingers,
Outstretched and overgrown.

Reform

Watch the clouds begin to form
As first in evening comes the warm
Warning of the nearby storm
To break soon overhead.

Watch the sky, the weapons it wields,
Over the waving golden fields,
To leave the Earth fresh and healed,
Breaking soon overhead.

Watch the rolling snapping power,
The liquid likes of a meteor shower,
Fire that sparks growth of a beautiful flower,
Breaking overhead.

Watch the water through cracks sweep,
Letting the land begin to weep,
Greedy soil gathering to keep,
The breaking overhead.

Watch the storm of soft sound mind,
Dwindling to leave few drops behind,
Sky and Earth now intertwined,
By the broken overhead.

Watch the grass of early morn,
Growing, new life, only barely born,
Along a path, weary and worn,
Broken underfoot.

Watch the swirling, gliding mist,
Where air and water dance and twist,
Leaving breath softly kissed,
Broken in your hands.

Watch the clouds begin to form
As first in evening comes the warm
Warning of a nearby storm
To break soon overhead.

Untitled Shorts

Under the safety of the moonlit sky,
With every star ablaze,
My thoughts wander miles high,
The universe keeping my gaze.


One must have first lost love, if ever again to find it.


Spoken words are like flowers - they will eventually wilt, but their legacy remains in the minds of those who view them.


If you were to have a book filled with every thought in your mind, every action you performed, and every word that you spoke, I would hope you would have nothing you feel to go back to and tear out.


Cycles of moon go steady and slow,
Whatever in life comes, you'll always know,
To look in the sky at the moon's gentle face,
And if it's not there, the absence will comfort you in its place.

If I Were a Poet

If I were a poet,
I would write of such things
As fish beneath the ocean,
Or of the graceful eagle's wings.

If I were a poet,
I would write of such things
As springing late blooms,
Or the colour autumn brings.

If I were a poet,
I would write of such things
As fire-breathing dragons,
Or of bitter, greedy kings.

If I were a poet,
I would write of such things
As words beneath the pages,
Or of silent songs I sing.

If I were a poet,
I would give my thoughts a voice,
To which one could listen
Through any strength of noise.

Oh My!

The time has come, the Rachel said, to talk of many things. Of shoes and ships and ceiling wax, of cabbages and how I suddenly decided I need a different blog purely for that which is nonsensical as in the way of writings. Yes, yes, it's not the way the rhyme goes. But it works for my purposes, you see. So. ;)

Why should writing be kept within the binding of a book when there is so much farther for it to travel beyond? So now, formal introductions to Pure Mud from moi:


Pleasure to see you. I do hope you will enjoy my "poetry", perhaps take something from it. What that something will be is up to you. You have a vending machine with an infinite combination of buttons to press. Pay me your attention and the choice is yours.

I'm Rachel, a fifteen year old girl who has a knack for confusing herself. Perhaps she can share some of this with you. :)

Oh yes, and before we begin. You may benefit by reading some posts with a British accent in your mind. I find sometimes that I randomly start writing that way, so it only makes sense to read it that way as well. And I apologize for tenses. Sometimes I'll go from present to past tense so fast it's as if I was run over by a reindeer and make grandpa believe in Santa. (See? "was" and "make" in the same sentence. That was even purely accidental.)

So anyway, I hope you don't think of me as being too ___(insert whatever judgment you may have within your mind)___, for different eyes see things in different ways.

Oh, and if you've read my other blog, you may notice that you've seen some, or maybe many, of these before. Spare me from being told it. :)