Walking Here & There, And Other Early Works: A Collection of Poetry and Lyrics

By Koda

After more than twenty years of writing poetry, it seemed time to share with more than just friends and family. This collection of poetry and lyrics is a compilation of finished pieces, spanning over ten years. This collection includes over 120 pieces, created by Koda between 1995 and 2005, including "Walking Barefoot in the Dark", "Walking in Slippers on the Gravel", "The Daydream", "The Brush Song", "Dish Pile", and many, many, more. Sectioned by subject matter, and containing pieces both juvenile and profound, Walking Here & There has something for every poetry lover, young to old. However, because there is such a wide range of content, please preview before putting it in your children's hands. (G-R ratings ASL)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Koda
• Release date: Feb 25, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311002686

Book preview

Author’s Note

Dear Reader,

The book you’re about to read is a compilation of poetry and lyrics, written over the course of ten years. The oldest poem is from 1995 (I was eleven years-old then; so you’ll see a definite progression in my work over the course of each section.) Rather than putting every piece in order from oldest to newest, I decided to section them off by category. Each category’s contents, however, have been placed in sequence of year-first-written.

Although most of the categories have to do with its contents’ emotional genre, there are a few sections that contain works of a similar type (e.g.: stories), and are not prejudice in their subject matter.

Some of the works have been edited, either prior-to or for inclusion in this anthology, and if those edits were content-based, the creation dates were updated at the time of the edit, and the dates of original creation are included on the copyright page of this edition.

For a lot of these titles, it is the first time they’ve been shared with the public, although one (The Daydream) had been previously (and professionally) published. On that note, I’d like to thank a man I do not know, Kovid Goyal, for creating the software Calibre which made the (initial) creation of this ebook possible. Writing poetry is easy - it comes naturally and is spontaneous. Creating an ebook, however, takes some finesse. Luckily, I had some experience writing HTML before taking on this project, which didn’t seem to keep me from having to convert this from Word when uploading, anyway. (Haha!)

On a final note, regarding any dedication-to segment (or lack-of, rather): I found it would take up many pages to include such a list for this compilation. There are works in this book that were inspired by or co-created by others…some that I’m sure are special to a one, or another… and for that same reason, I’ve decided not to put names on every piece. Three poems, and two lyrics were specifically written as tributes to people, and on these pieces, those tributes are noted. In turn, those pieces which were collaborations include the names of those who helped. (Girls from 12th grade English: Your last names are only included thanks to Jennifer [Sheetz] Ballagh, who helped me remember via Facebook…and Kandice, for the life of us, we just couldn’t remember your last name. If you read this, please contact me for credit in the next edition/s.) All of the pieces within had original drafts before 2005, with the exception of About the Author (which was written for this book).

So, with all of that said, please enjoy the works within this volume in any order of your choosing, and as often as you like.

with love,

your friend-

Walking Here

Walking Barefoot in the Dark

This is Texas, and as I creep out from my bedroom window, the grass cushions my bare feet and the warm wind blows through my face.

I am wearing jeans that drape over my ankles and rest on my feet. My skin is tickled slightly by the frayed ends of denim. The shirt I wear is thin and short-sleeved, but it is warm at two a.m.; the calluses on my feet embrace the rough pavement of the cul-de-sac as I step from my yard.

I turn to face the beginning of my street.

It is time for walking barefoot in the dark.

I move forward, distracted by the stars,

(Oh! Did one just fall?)

but search continuously for objects that might ruin my posture, for it could be difficult to walk barefoot in the dark with holes in my feet…

I love it here---where I am. Under my heals, the sting of loose gravel is comforting. I can withstand the pain, for this underground railroad is the path to my freedom…

to my sanity.

Even at

(What time is it?)

two-fifteen in the morning, the sky is pitch black, but the moon is full and my road is paved in yellow glow from above,

(there’s no place like home; I am home.)

where the world looks like an ant pile.

Each night, I walk in the same directions, on the same route, but take a different path. Out here, my mind is not in chains, and I think

(I shouldn’t have said that to my mother)

both selfishly and regretfully. Out here, my soul is at rest, and my legs press on

(I am everywhere)

along the uncomfortable, poorly paved road, and I am confused.

(OW!)

(Who needs sandals?)

(Not I!)

I turn at the end of my path; already I am half way to my house.

(I am home)

The night

(morning)

is filled with sounds of life: a sparrow chirps melodically in the broken oak at my left; crickets line the curb, playing violins,

(My heart beats. My soles scratch the earth.)

and ahead, on the road---

Headlights! And my illusion is broken…

Quietly,

(THERE ARE PEOPLE TRYING TO SLEEP HERE!)

I pivot onto my street. At two-forty, the street light in the cul-de-sac is still awake, and my yellow road

(follow, follow, follow, follow)

is swallowed by a cold orange light. It flickers and I hope for its death.

Far from home now, I approach my window and climb inside. Turning out my bedroom light, I lie in the darkness of the morning.

My