The Golden Shovel

Hi there! Today’s poem is an interesting one. It’s called a “golden shovel” apparently, which is where you take an already existing poem and you use each word in that poem as a last word for each line in your own new poem. Sound confusing? Just wait, it’ll make sense in a minute.

This is the already-existing poem I used:

First Fig

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends–
It gives a lovely light!

So look at each word in this poem above and then look at the last word in each line of my poem below. See it? It’s the whole of First Fig right there. Pretty cool, but was pretty tricky, too.

Enjoy.

Oh, The Light!

by Ruqaiyah Davids

As I began this journey of my heart – and to my
Heart – I felt warmed with happiness as I became swarmed by the light of this candle.
It illuminates my path and my past; the want for more burns.
I stand looking down the way ahead, and looking back, and at
Once, I want to go both
Forward and back. The questioning never ends.
To go forward would be wise, to go back would be dangerous, yet it
Plagues me so, the wonder of what lies there. Will
It ever be enough? I wonder and I wonder, not
Living now but impossible to live then, too. It’s been long since I last
Knew where the road was headed; long since I journeyed on my own. But now the
Enlightened trail is darkened. The sure way is shrouded by night.
There lingers still a faint light. A glimmer. It is dark still but
There is light! Ah,
There is always light. Sometimes only a spark, sometimes only a flicker, but sometimes a fire. My
Path has not yet ended. I will travel on with friends and I will travel on with foes;
Both will help me to my ultimate end. There is purpose to it all. And
There is light. There is still light. Oh,
There is light! It is small, it is shy. It is not yet strong or bold enough to show itself proudly. My
Thoughts linger; they sit for a while and breathe in the smell of old friends.
They take time looking around. Much too familiar, and yet much too strange. It
Is still there – the path. Waiting for me. It gives
A fair chance. But too much longer and the light might dim. Too much longer and a
Wind might change the course. But for now it remains. And how lovely
It is to know and to feel the light.
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