Monthly Archives: October 2014

Spring Girl

Thought I’d share one of those 4 a.m. poems. I’ll let you figure out what its about, but damn!

Spring Girl

Spring is a place to live so free
The fields of gold, the hurting tree
The spec of a girl with eyes blue as the sea

Summer sun burns so unfair
Words and snickers also there
The spring girl with the burnt brown hair

Fall drops pain from its fingertips
Shunning and bruising wicked tricks
The spring girl with the rosy pink lips

Winter shatters and freezes out sin
People are cruel again and again
The spring girl with the pasty pale skin

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A season turns like a wily fox
Laugh at your joke, throw your rocks
Stare at the spring girl in the pretty wood box

Copyright @TaniaLRamos 2014

Tania L Ramos, RN, Author

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The 4 a.m. Poet

Every day we live, we learn. If you think you know everything about yourself then you are most certainly wrong. Opinions change from day to day, and one simple bad experience, or one wonderful great experience can sway you in an entirely different direction.

There are paths in life; some you chose, some you follow, some are pre-designed. For example; my daughter was adamant that she would hate surf school, that she would drown, be left out in the big waves alone, and most likely die. After much convincing, and the promise that she only had to try once then could walk away, she gave it a go. Wouldn’t you know (because I knew) that she loved it!

We just don’t know what we can do until we do.

I for one appreciate poetry, but a poet I am not. My brain thinks in long strands with elaborate situations, much to wordy for poetry. Then I had a two day run with messing up my internal sleeping clock. Day two was quite unique in that I promptly fell asleep at 9 p.m. then promptly woke up at 1 a.m. Wide awake! About 3 a.m. I was able to fall back asleep, but by 4 a.m. my brain was back on. Well, I assume it was back on, though the part of the brain that tells the body its awake was off. I remember 4 a.m. like I remember 10th grade geometry.

aa4But there on my phone was proof that some kind of electrical function was fusing at 4 a.m. Three poems on my phone, all written within 45 minutes of each other. Three very very different poems from heartache to funny to surreal all stared at me at 7 a.m. with the option to “save.” I was amazed; dumbfounded! They weren’t half-bad and one made me laugh. Maybe I’ll be sleep deprived a few more days, because apparently I’m only a poet at 4 a.m.

Tania L Ramos

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