Poem For OTMAA

[Romanov_fan]

The poem above does a good job of conveying the emotions it os about, the language is good. I like it! I am glad to see this thread is starting up again.

[granduchess_leah]

yea i agree with you imperial angel

[Holly]

Wonderful poems Leah! Forever Young actually made me cry! I am so happy to see this thread started up again too. Every time I read a new poem it makes me eager to write another one and gives me new ideas. Could someone please help give me an idea for a poem? I am having some trouble right now! Thanks!
                                         Holly

[granduchess_leah]

yep i agree

[JesseCairns]

hi ;

Maj. Jesse Carnes here.
HERE is an Acrostic poem about OTMA, which I have come
across.   If it is in the wrong thread, please RE-direct me, and I will submit it again to the proper thread.  I just couldn't find an OTMA or OTMAA poetry-related thread.
I beg the forgiveness of the forum administrators, as this
thing was written in all caps and I did not have the time
to convert it to munuscule.   My deepest apologies.

____________________

OTMA—A TRIBUTE IN ACROSTIC POETRY



OLGA—THE CLEVER AND GRACEFUL ONE WAS FIRST . . .

TANUSHKA, THE LOVELY AND CONCISE ONE PROVED NEXT ;

MASHKA’S "BLUE SAUCERS" HAD RELENTLESS LOVE THIRST ;

ANYA WAS NEVER SHY—BUT, AN IMP, A WAG AND A VEX.



RUSSIAN ONE—AND—ALL, BUT CULTURE-TIED TO BRITAIN,

ORDINARY, NYET-AN EXCEPTIONAL SIBLING CORPORATION ;

MAIDS DEVOTED, ABOUT WHOSE LOVE MUCH IS WRITTEN,

ALL VICARIOUSLY BORE THE PAIN OF THE 5TH CREATION—

NICKY’S HEIR WHOSE 13-YEAR LIFE PROVED BALE.

OF HIS VISAGE, PROVEN DELICATE AND OFTEN PALE—YET

VOWED FAITH IN CHRIST AND LIFE PAST DEATH’S VALE.


LONGED—YET TO LIVE, LAUGH ; TO LEARN AND JOY . . .

INSTEAD PRIVATIONS, UNCERTAINTIES FEARS AND LOSS ;

VISITED BY MEN, BENT UPON KILLING BOTH KING AND BOY—

EXTINGUISHED WITH THE REST BY THE ANARCHIST’S BOSS,

SINGLED AS SAINTS—KIND, GIVING, LOVING, AND MOY.

! AMEN!

______________

*(MOY = gentle, mild ; SEE the OED)

[Nessa_Ancalimon]

OTMA
Four stars make the sky  
Brighter.
Four flowers make a beautiful
Fragrance.
Four notes can make a  
Song.
Four puzzle pieces make a
Picture.
More than just sisters,
They are best friends,
Devoted to each other.
One a reader,
The other a "governess"-the Big Pair.
An angel
And an imp-the Little Pair.
Very special sisters,
Giving to others,
Putting a smile on a face.
Their letters and stories
Bring to others
Both tears and smiles.
Indeed four roses make a dark room
Beautiful.

[Holly]

  Thats beautiful Andy! Great job. I like the last part especially. I hope you write another.  

[Nessa_Ancalimon]

Aww thanks Holly. I liked yours ALOT

[Tsaritsa_of_Wolves]

Here's one I wrote for my Creative Writing class....

EKATERINEBURG

A city groans on its foundations
Whitewashed monument to change
Ghost-people go on walking still
Heads bowed to hide their shame.
The house now glares at passers-by
“It’s not my fault they’re dead!”
Cart creaks in hopeless protest
At the burden it's now bearing
Young faces made faces no more
By unfeeling rifle thrusts.
Smoke hails the hasty burial
As now the “Dark Man” laughs
You see, he cannot hear
Their blood now crying from the ground.
And he’s no way of knowing
They call two missing from the crowd...

[TheAce1918]

Whoo!  These poems are great! 8-)  

Tracing through my files, I found a poem I had written last year...and it connects with the IF in a way, though not directly.  


What does a lone little drop mean?
A sigh of relief?
A cry of despair?
Does it result from a battle of beliefs?
Or does it simply fall from mid-air?

A single tear
Is nothing more than a collection
Of fear, hope, anger and concern
All flooded into a drop of perfection
The sole result of a lesson hard learned

Sure love mingles in
Death invades often
But the tear would shine when life was dim
And it would capture the most firm shade of doubt
And soften it

A single tear
Is only worthy of those
Who have a big enough heart
Sailing through life’s highs and lows
To finish, from start

[cr]

[granduchess_leah]

Sorrow

Enamelled cross in the tab against the jackets grey
what hauntingly beautiful faces
they have all long passed away
Such resigned and sorrowful faces
so despairingly pale
the Heir, the Empress
the four Grand Duchesses
doomed to irretrievable bale


Your Blue World

Through your blue world
You glimpse the future
Grasping it in your palms
You open them wide

Close your eyes
And you shall see
The colour blue
And all that you will be

You pray for salvation
A tear rolls down your ashen face
You hear music
Or is that gunfire?

You walk through the abandoned hallway
You stumble blindly
You find the secret garden
You hide the key

Blessed are the shallow
Depth they'll never find
You hope that somewhere
The door will be mine

These are the corridors you used to run down
Now they are dark and haunting
You are afraid
You run for safety

Your hair snags on limbs and thorns
You are no longer safe
They are coming
Where are they now?

You are lost
You are forgotten
The light has been snuffed out
The candle has been disposed

Close the wound and clean the scar
Heal the twisted limbs
They have all passed away
On the hard bloody floor

I will live on.

[granduchess_leah]

Their Pain

I can only imagine
What it's like to sacrifice
How it feels to do without
What it takes to pay the price
To offer all I have
Unto others with a need
I can only imagine
For myself, I live in greed

I can only imagine
What it's like to be alone
How it feels to be rejected
How to get by on my own
To never share a secret
To feel empty deep inside
I can only imagine
For myself, I live in pride

I can only imagine
What it's like to be abused
How it feels to lie awake
Feeling angry, tired and bruised
To have no friend to turn to
Filled with rage I can't release
I can only imagine
For myself, I live in peace

I can only imagine
What it's like to know such pain
How it feels to wake each morning
With a past I can't explain
To live a constant nightmare
That no else can parallel
I can only imagine
But for them, they live in Hell

[granduchess_leah]

here i wrote a new poem
called to young to die

to young to die
my name is anastasia
perhaps you have heard of me
well if you havent this is my story
i was born into a fine world
one that could not be mine
my parents were the tsar and tsarina of russia,
the last of russia
i was a granduchess of russia
so were my sisters and brother
my brother was heir
but he had a diesease
so my parents kept it a secret.

i grew up lively, wild and free
i was a silly girl
a clown
a joker but then oneday i was captured with my family
and no longer was a granduchess no more
we were trapped in our own home
then oneday we were taken
taken into a celler
my family and I
it was there we were all shot
and taken from this world
i stood and cried
as i watched my sisters die
we children were to young to die

[Olishka~ Pincess]

  That sounds like a perfect poem for Anastasia it has what she likes to do in it. I like it Leah it's great. The other two their sorrow and pain sounds said and tragic but still realistic. Those are also nice.

[Holly]

Here's a poem I just wrote in memory of Anastasia Nicholaievna. Please tell me what you think.

 "Under the Forget-Me-Nots"
Under the Forget-Me-Nots is where she lays.
It's where she's been for many days.
Singing with the wind, and crying with the rain.
Only flowers and insects to entertain.

Once upon a time she danced and played.
There was a time she was never afraid.
Her shining blue eyes sparkled when she spoke.
Laughing inside at some new joke.

She often liked to fool around.
And seldom cried, but often frowned.
She acted out plays in her own lively way.
And never held back if she had something to say.

She loved all animals, except the mouse in the wall.
And candies and chocolates first of all.
Sketching and painting were a passion of course.
If anything upset her, lessons were the source.

When her family was held captive in different places,
She kept up everyone's spirits with fun and embraces.
Though she , too, was sad and lonely on the inside.
She couldn't understand it, and often cried.

The last days she lived were filled with dread.
She always wondered about the days ahead.
They said they would come to rescue them.
So she sewed inside her corset every gem.

One night she was awakened by a knock at the door.
She was told to get ready, and go to the ground floor.
The double-doors opened and she walked inside.
The man arranged them and then stood to the side.

"We have decided to execute you", She heard him say.
Suddenly her sisters began to pray.
"Papa!" she screamed, but no one could hear.
She was filled with the most terrifying fear.

Soon she felt light and her vision went black.
When she awoke she screamed, and they turned to attack.
She fought all she could but that wasn't enough.
They even killed Jemmy, who hid in her muff.

Her laughter still ripples around the room.
And you can still smell her violet perfume.
That flower she picked is pressed in that book.
And there is the photograph that she took.

That dark night a young girl's life was taken away.
What's left of her now will slowly decay.
But her undying spirit remains in girls' such as she;
Who put on a smile for all to see.

Under the Forget-Me-Nots is where she lays.
It's where she's been for many days.
Singing with the wind, and crying with the rain.
Only flowers and insects to entertain.

For my dearest friend. Rest in Peace.