hopes & dreams &
POEMS AT 3 A.M.
a peek into the artist's brain
BY GRACE WATT
Poems at 3 A.M. By: Grace Watt
For my friend, Taheera Washington and everyone else who has enriched my life. Thank you all.
Contents of my Heart Craving Home.............................................................5 Love Song to You.......................................................6 The Right Thing..........................................................7 Innocence...................................................................8 We Are Human...........................................................9 Into the Sand............................................................10 Dread the Box No More............................................11 I Wish I Had the Focus of a Cat................................12 The Operation...........................................................13 Intermission..............................................................14 More Than a Director................................................15 Dear Unborn Child....................................................16 Solitude.....................................................................17 The Wolfpack............................................................18 Compile Your Time...................................................19 Heal..........................................................................20 Naïve Enough for Love Pt. 1.....................................21 Naïve Enough for Love Pt. 2.....................................22
Craving Home Attention, love, hunger, craving, getting, losing. Some stay forever, some fade away. What is it you crave? Is it something simplelike the cliches? Is it something deeperan unusual feeling of need? Deepness, wholeness, sadness smelling, tasting, thinking. Tangibility fades and you're left with an empty hand; and you're right there on the edge of reality. But it's false. Craving home seeps into your mind. Not cliche, yet not unusual. Not tangible, yet not empty. Craving home seeps into your heart. A need, a will, a want, wishing. seeing, grasping. Expectations soar and once you have itit's gone. You feel alone. And the vicious cycle of craving takes it's course in your life once more.
Love Song to You Do you remember saying you loved me? Well I don't think you knew the words. You fell out of bed and jumped right into my life, and we were singing like the birds. The blues and yellows and greens of it all pale in comparison to you. When I smell sweet magnolias I know you're coming, and it makes me wanna be sweet too. Let's run away through the light of day into the broken moon. I'm thinking of you doing what you love, and it puts a smile on my face in a way that I won't be able to describe anytime soon. You give your heat to me when you kiss me tenderly. Palms against my face sleeping in a sweet embrace. Let's run away through the light of day into the broken moon. I'm thinking of you doing what you love, and it puts a smile on my face in a way that I won't be able to describe anytime soon.
The Right Thing I'm running together the words of this tetherball of a conversation. I'm never really sure where my heart plans on going, but my mouth sends the invitation. And all I can see is us slow dancing at that silent disco. And all I can feel is my limbs turning numb as I smell that summer in San Francisco. I wonder, do you ever think the same way I do? Breathing heavy at 3 A.M. and thinking about you too. I'm trying to find the right thing, but I draw the line that's unseen. I may be tired at best, but my pillows never let me rest. Are you in Japan tonight or in my hands tonightfading to sleep right here? Needing affection I turn my head, but all I'm presented with is just another beer. Not feeling all that great I sit down, and now I hope you understand why. I'm lost in your house and I can't turn around because then I'll see you cry.
Innocence Water fills my palms. It does not care if it seeps through my fingers. It is only water. I have the control. What could it do? Dew falls fresh on the lawn. It dampens the bottom of my heel. It does not care that it will be mowed later on. It is only dew. It is made to refresh. Fresh bread stocks the shelfs. It smells like heaven and I'm willing to bet it would taste divine. It does not care that it will be gone tomorrow. It is only bread. Perhaps it will be in the stomach of a child. Children play in the sand and build castles. They run carefree and pure. They are not bothered by pain and suffering. They are only children, and they can only keep playing until it occurs.
We Are Human And who are you to say when the blackbird sings? And who is he to make law what happens to my family? And who is she to declare when my life is put at risk? And who are they to tell when I am not allowed to move? And who are you to decide what speaks to me? And who are we to ask these questions? And who are we to shake the ground? And who are we to feel emotion? And who are we to laugh aloud? We are human. We are deserving to have bursts of happiness, to show our emotions upon our faces, to jump up and down when we want, to be inquisitors, to be moved by art, to dance without a care, to live fearlessly, to be a together unit, and to sing our heart out until there is no song left to sing.
Into the Sand What's in a name when that name fades away into the dust into the grey matter of life the clocks ticking arm shows it's my time to weather the storm. What's in a dream when that dream turns sour throughout my brain and into your power nap with the dusk hold on to my hand blowing through the water and into the sand. What is my life without you telling me to get out and go to set my spirit free in my eyes you're a diamond a featherweight girl and I see you shining bright in a cold, distant world.
Dread the Box No More I put my fears deep inside a box wrapped with pale green paper and a red ribbon atop. I shoved them down to the very bottom where they would hopefully soon be forgotten. But what I found was that when I took this action, my hopes and dreams were part of the fraction. I learned that fear is nothing to be afraid of. It should be embraced; it's what we're made of. Let's take a stand together today to face our fears and lead the way. Let's shout with joy in the direction of the moon, and let our pride make others swoon. Let's rip apart the pale green paper, and let our fears never be our maker. For we are so much more to Him, and in His light we shall never dim.
I Wish I Had the Focus of a Cat so intense, so focused, so set in her way on a mission where success is the only answer whiskers twitching and butt wiggling eyes never lose focus an extreme buildup the tail sways right, left, up, down right, left, up, down head lowers eyes achieve what seemed impossible they set a focus even deeper than before pure fear in the eyes of the stuffed toy mouse suspension... anticipation... and... Pounce!
The Operation Nobody else can solve your problems. No shrink or therapist could charge enough to take you apart before putting you back together. Ligament by ligament they tear, dissecting each organ, carefully picking apart your brain, playing operation with your emotions. And after all this do you feel different? Have your problems been solved after the archeologists have studied your heart? Is it even something that can be discovered? Is there even a purpose that can be uncovered? And when the surgeries are over, somehow it feels like your insecurities have only deepened. And after every session you begin to feel like you're ungrateful. Someone else's problems matter more. Others can't even afford half the luxuries you indulge in everyday. Why are you still unhappy?
Intermission Here is a page where you can take a break. Gather your thoughts, go eat some toast, scream into the night, then come back and write your own poetry here.
More Than a Director "The mind's eye" opens to the light of day, sounds "internalize in my mind's ear." The "shadow bow fading away, lifting slowly off the strings, until there is no movement at all." "Stillness" surrounds the air at last. "A bowl of cherries just out of reach, pick one up just by the stem." "Linger the sunset; don't wish it over." "Linger the after dinner coffee." "You need to be heard." You need to be "possessed by the passion." "Is the voice another instrument or just a voice?" Do you feel it? "Grow, grow, grow! And release." "Reflection, conflict, resolutionthen a prayer." "Release it to the instruments." "Where resolution and hope collide," sing velvet, and then we have "cadence, melody, harmony." It is more than a song now. Don't you see? It is music. And it is magic.
Dear Unborn Child, I hear you cry in a distant future. Is that you reaching out to me from Heaven? Step outside, you wonderful child. Feel the grass between your chubby toes. Tell me your name. From my imagination draws wild thoughts of how you may someday grow. The earth- it owns no wall. Isn't it quite nice how the air is everywhere, yet nowhere to be seen at all? Your heartbeat pounds into my own as I press my head against my pillow. And if it's quiet- extra quietthe beat will continue to grow and billow. All I want is your happiness, my sweet little rose. Questions arise. Will you have my eyes? Thoughts impose. Will you have your daddy's nose? Little one, I can't predict if you'll even ever come to be, but if you happen to bless my life, I hope someday that this you'll see. I hope you'll see so you will know, when she was just eighteen, your mommy thought of you one nightface down in her pillow.
Solutide Walking along uncharted low waters Not knowing not caring about location Seeing birds flutter up with the rising sun Yelling out without being heard But why yell when peace is inside Two more steps and the sand crumbles beneath It is like a slice of coffee cake in the morningSweet and texturized Like the beads strung around mother's neck in a lovely shape Blinking against the wind, hair flailing about Turn to be one with it- never fight The smell of sweetness fills the lungs A stroll along the boardwalk at sunrise Find the bench approaching closer A jogger or two may pass Feet keeping a soft and light pattern But other than the few joggers Solitude has been met with peace Book at side, thoughts in head Birds in air, legs crossed on the old oak bench Breathe in once deeply. Breathe out all of the busy thoughts. And turn a new page to find which Adventure awaits today
The Wolfpack appears over the hills. Alpha males pour throughout the still streets. When the North Star dies, am I a bird of prey or the predator? A Darwinian puzzle they become. There is safety in numbers, yet I am alone. Take shelter from the howls behind a skyscraper or perhaps in a tree. They storm our coffee shops. They ravage our libraries, taking the city as their own. What is there to do besides... claim them as our property? Yes, that's it. Let us domesticate the pack for thousands and thousands of years, until they forget their names, until they lose the Alpha title. Someday it will be the norm to see one of them on a leash held by our hands. Or, perhaps, we will see one perched in a small handbag. Still strolling the city streets, but no longer a pack are they. They diminish from a threat, and into a pet.
Compile Your Time Upon the timeline of your life, am I near the middle? How are you to know? Life could be long or shortover in the blink of an eye. You're skating along the ice, being cautious not to fall. You're working hard, but feeling as if it may never be enough. You're having your heart shattered into a million pieces. But don't you agree that mosaics are quite lovely? Sometimes you just need to take a moment to sit in a rocking chair and look on. Does it matter what actions you have taken that were seen in the public eye? Or, does it matter to some higher being, whose existence you may question in the nighttime hours such as these? Maybe all it takes is a gust of wind or the birth of an idea. Then you can come back to me once you have compiled your time, stuffed it in a bag, forgotten the panic, and just had a good laugh. And once you have learned to do that, maybe you can give some of it to me.
Heal In the face of fear, do we turn away to the darkest corners, where black fades from gray? Do we run into our room when we hear the clock strike again? Fear turns to doom and we can feel a looming pain. In the heart of our life, is the string still intact? Throughout all our strife, does our heart keep up the beating act? For that's all it is, as you may come to know. The heart's performance of bliss is sometimes a mere pity-show. In the deep conserved ocean, do we know how to breathe? When our spirit is awoken, is anything left up the magician's sleeve? Smell the roses on the bottom of the sandy shores, just to find out they are rotten and the stench fills your pores.
Perhaps there's a place better than this hell. Perhaps there's a face of some song-singing angel. In a far off future's land, or what we hope should be, a constant ticking hand, yet a peace for a few to see.
NaĂŻve Enough for Love Pt. 1 In younger years I liked a boy, sweet and witty. Just to find for other girls, Colton was a bit too giddy. I came to realize we were instead destined to be great friends, but of course, without maintenance, that may have unfortunate ends. I went on countless first dates that were quite subpar. As for second dates, it rarely came that far. I was young and thought I loved Christian, who had passion and spoiled me much, but rumors were spread, and it ended, like it began, in a rush. As transitioning in life I made many friends, but my intentions were often misinterpreted, leading to a few dead-ends. I spent some time with a slightly older guy, but when it came my time for discussion of labels, Sam became alarmingly shy. I had lots of flowers and chocolates sent to me and lots of dances requested, all of which were full of fun but never fully digested. I led on a friend in a darker time, and to Luke I'm sorry for struggling to ever make up my mind. I met up with an old friend at some last-minute event, but it wasn't a fit with us and the friendship was soon bent. The merry-go-round of first dates came about again, but much to my delight, or in the rare case, my dismay, the second date is the hard part. They quite rarely went my way.
NaĂŻve Enough for Love pt. 2 In later times I had fire and laughter with a handsome young man, but with Donnie, lack of communication and commitment played the upper-hand. I lost myself for a minute and trouble found me quite fast. Once Brennon's age was made clear I knew it simply couldn't last. I finally met Kross: beautiful, talented, and wise, just to find with my dreams I was not willing to compromise. He was my first love and for our continued friendship I'm very grateful. Maturity comes from healthy relationships even if they were doomed from the start to be somewhat fateful. In getting over the latter I found Joe from Britain. However the rest of that story was, to my benefit, abruptly unwritten. In lack of judgement, I met an interesting man while dancing one night. Just to find Jason wasn't the best for me, and anyway, destined for our country to fight.
Most men will cheat you and insult you and leave you to cry, but for some reason I still haven't given up on finding the right guy. Perhaps it's my confidence, but I hope it's not misplaced. It's not like I'm trying to make the outcomes of my relationships be nothing more than a waste. As for the rest of my experiences, I have changed and grown. And hopefully, someday I'll meet one better than any I've known. But even if that doesn't happen, I have something else; a great love for myself. And Gracie is someone that I could never, for any man, put away on the shelf.
About the Poet from the Poet You've made it to the end! I'm not sure that this page is even necessary because if you've read these poems, you've had a pretty intense look into my mind. But, to touch on a few surface facts, My name is Grace Elizabeth Watt, but you can call me Gracie. I'm a freshman in college attending St. Edward's University in Austin, TX where I study communication with a focus in journalism. This is the first poetry book I've written, and for the most part, the title is pretty true; these were mostly written around 3 AM. For this book I would like to thank many people; I've been blessed to have a life abundant with wise people. But, I would like to just put in writing that I thank my AP English teacher, Coach Clark, for teaching me most everything I know of poetry. I would also, of course, like to thank my mother, Ellen Watt, for passing on even an ounce of her love of knowledge and creativity to me. Lastly, I would like to thank all of you who have supported me just by reading even one poem in this book! I hope it provoked some kind of thought inside of you, whether it was negative or positive, I don't mind. I'm just grateful that it may have brought some understanding of my emotions to you. And for making it this far, to the very last page, I applaud you. I hope you always follow your heart. Love Always, Gracie Watt