“[A Whisper of Memory] Dreams have Secrets” (Poem)

A short poem Alyssa Wright wrote in February 2019.

A whisper
of memory,
deja vu perhaps,
or not?
Could it be
a fragment
of a dream
almost lost?

A whisper
of sameness,
something lived before,
or not?
Could it be
an inkling
of a thought
time had lost?

A memory
of whispers,
reliving our lives,
finding circles of time.
Could it be
a dream
filled with
what we once
Forgot?

“The Traveller” (Poem)

A fictional narrative poem by Alyssa Wright about the traveler mentioned in Walter de la Mare’s “The Listeners.”

I purposefully misspelled the word traveler to reflect an archaic spelling. This poem is a response to Walter de la Mare’s “The Listeners.” I originally wrote this in November 2014.


The people of the house’ve gone crazy,
An uproar found at every turn;
The Traveller’s come to visit,
The curious mister’s come!
Whyever could he be here,
How long will he stay?
The people are all anxious
To find out just the same.
So they call a meeting,
Ment’ning the Traveller’s name.
“He should make a promise, to prove that
He is safe, he means no harm or folly
To come upon our sons.”
“Whyever such a promise?
Such thing I cannot prove,
For folly is of something that I find does amuse.”
“So you say you’ll bring us harm?
Or that you are cruel?”
“For, nay, I say, but this I cannot prove.”
“If you bring us an object, a thing of a
Rare find, and in pristine condition,
Just as how you find [it];
We will grant you trust and invite,
No ridicule here for you, Traveller.”
He shook his head,
“I will be back, if not but soon.
This ‘fact of old possibly with me.
But know that I am coming,
Coming upon you thus:
I won’t send a warning, day or night,
I’ll show up and expect a welcome,
But not accept lavish gifts and such.”
So he left, the Traveller.
The peace returned to overwhelm that house,
For they had grown used to having
That Traveller about.
But as the days had gone,
With no sign of his return,
They all started [to] grow weary [of] wishing Traveller home.
The years grew long and fin’lly,
Those first old men burnt out,
Left the house to their young sons.
Still yet more time went by,
The Traveller not about,
All [the] boys and girls of [the] old house
Thinking he was but a story their
Dads had told them all but full of flout.
When finally the people of that house had
All gone out,
There came upon the place — the Traveller,
His promise yet unfulfilled.
So the house was full of phantoms,
Those men we spoke about,
List’ning to the Traveller
Say he’d brought the promised gift.

“Bike Crash” (Poem)

A short narrative poem by Alyssa Wright about a fictional bike crash.

I watch, cloaked in invisibility, as the
boy straddles the seat.
A look of determination etched on his
face as he pulls up one,
Then two feet into the air onto the propellors.
Push, push, push,
Around, around, around go his legs.
Arms bent at the elbows, hunched back, bottom lifted off the seat.
He flies down the street as a streak,
Figure barely to be seen.
My eyes move ahead, then I turn, throwing off invisibility.
I barely make it outside,
he is heading into…
sprinting to come close enough in proximity
to Warn him of impending doom lurking nearby.
He sees me in his peripheral vision,
pulling up on the reins slightly, slowing his stylish steed to
A mere trot.
I simply motion forward, he scrutinizes the spot,
alarm overwhelming his features as he,
Too, looks into Danger’s cold, dark eyes of cruelty.
He slows even further before stopping his craft.
Danger did not succeed, the
Crash never occurred.


This is a narrative poem I wrote in November 2014. I only made one edit to it. The form is a bit odd, but as far as I recall, it was intentional.

If you like my poetry and this blog, be sure to check out my Patreon.

“At Least Smile” (Poem)

A short poem by Alyssa Wright about the impact of humor on a serious situation.

How do you add
Humor to Solemnity?
Something funny to something serious?
It’s really quite simple:
What is your
attitude or your tone?
Is it
humorous or solemn?
funny or serious?
A sprinkling of a
humorous tone or attitude
Can work wonders
on a situation.
It can make someone
Laugh despite circumstances,
or,
at Least,
Smile.


This is from September 2014. I made a few minor edits.

If you like my poetry, be sure to check out my poetry collection! You can read some of it for free here, buy the collection, or join the January/February giveaway for a chance to win the ebook.

I’m also on Patreon. Be sure to join me there for cool rewards!

“Stomach Flu” (Poem) I & II

Two poems I wrote in January 2016 about having the stomach flu.

These poems were written on January 11 and 12, 2016. I am not currently sick.

Part I

I’m feeling better,
but not great.
I’m still feverish
and have a headache.
But my stomach
isn’t killing me,
and I won’t puke,
Which is an improvement.
Now I’m able
to sit up comfortably
though I’m hoping soon
to take more medicine.

Part II

I thought I was better,
but it seems I was wrong.
My stomach is sharp-edged,
and my headache’s a throb.
I may not have a fever,
which is something, at least,
But I didn’t eat lunch
and I can’t afford sleep.

“[For the Time Being] Melancholy Memories” (Poem)

When something bad happens,
You have to move on,
You have to let the pain fade.
You can’t stand still,
Soaking
Saturated
in the melancholy.
But how easy is this,
How easy is it to let the
Pain
Sink into the back of your mind?
To deaden the issue?
To dilute the event til
it could have been a dream?
This depends…
You have to realize
It’ll still be there
tomorrow,
next month,
next year,
next decade,
next century.
You can’t erase it,
But you can gradually move it
Closer to the back of your mind.
Not forgetting,
Just taking it out of the present
For the time being.


This was originally written November 2013. I made a few changes to that draft.

If you like my poetry, be sure to check out my poetry collection! You can read some of it for free here, buy the collection, or join the January/February giveaway for a chance to win the ebook.

I’m also on Patreon. Be sure to join me there for cool rewards!

“Deal With It” (Poem)

Everything is building up,
It’s getting to be too much.
You want to get it over with,
To say ev’rything is finished.
But no, you can’t.
You have to finish what you’ve started.
You can’t quit.
You want to, but
That’s not an option.
Your brain is sick.
Sick of the stress and strain.
You’re sick of it too.
You get to suck it up
And deal with it.
The stress makes it harder to sleep,
Harder to concentrate.
But still you must deal with it.


This was originally written in October 2013.

If you like my poetry, be sure to check out my poetry collection! You can read some of it for free here, buy the collection, or join the January/February giveaway for a chance to win the ebook.

I’m also on Patreon. Be sure to join me there for cool rewards!