Biography of Sophia White
When Sophia is not at class, doing homework, trimming hedges, spelunking, sleeping, eating, reading, or spending time with her frieds, she writes poetry. 'I first became interested in poetry when I took a class on it in the ninth grade, ' says Ms. White. 'I am enthralled by such poets as Shel Silverstein, Alfred Noyes, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and Don Marquis.' When asked where she finds her inspiration for her poems, Ms White thoughtfully twirls one golden red curl around a finger before replying, 'I think that people I know well and care about a lot can move me to words, as well as particularly emotional experiences. That is when I write my more personal poems, such as 'Darklings' and 'When Words Fail.' However, when I am in a 'green' sort of mood (read 'Color Me! ') , I love to write idylls and ballads, like 'A Light and Fair Wind's Blowing', 'My Myles Has Gone Away', and 'Cursed.' Ms. White has been writing poetry for one year - 'And it's been a most lovely year, too, perhaps the best I have yet lived! ' At sixteen years old, Ms. White is a young poet, just begun on her literary endeavors. She looks forward to growing in her creativity and command of the poetic devices. 'I think structured, rhymed, and metered poems are the most delightful, ' she says, 'and I think free verse is used much too freely and in often bad taste. Much of my own free verse is ill done. It is much harder to write a structured poem, but the results are so much more rewarding.' When asked what her goal as a poet is, she promtly replies, 'I want to write poems that leave the reader with a refreshed, sweet, and pleasant taste on their lips, as though they had just sampled a small droplet of nectar from a honeysuckle.' Ms. White lives in the lush green foothills of the Appalachian mountains, where she and a small group of friends write poems frequently. She enjoys outdoor activities and anything related to literature.
Sophia White's Works:
'A Light and Fair Wind's Blowing' published in 'Immortal Verses' by the International Library of Poetry. Also, two other poems published in some books somewhere, but she isn't sure where. She's rather scatterbrained.
Sophia White Poems
Dare I Hope?
Dare I hope to hope? Is it safe? Is it right? Am I hoping for nothing But a black and empty night?
Something About A Forest
There’s just something about a forest That makes the turbulent soul fall still And listen to the mournful dirge Of the solemn whipporwhill.
A String Of Simile
Words bind me, wrapping around me like vines And like vines they grow, and constrict, like a boa And like a boa they hiss in my ear, the most wonderful things.
This place is now a nest of darklings. The air is rank with all their lies. Once it rang with truth so sparkling; But now, in the storm, truth dies.
I've made a paper airplane With wings of Crayola blue I made it just for me To fly away with you.
A Child's Dream
I loved to look upon him, The Hunter near the Way. So strong his arm and long his bow And so bashful of the Day.
The sky is bright, the sun’s on the sea The salt’s in the wind and the wind’s on me. The world is good, the weather’s fair,
To The Storyteller
Spin us a tale, tell us a rhyme, What happened “Once upon a time”? Give us a ballad, sing us a lay Of kings and princes far, far away.
The World Is Quiet Here
The door is shut, the window is open. The gossamer curtains are dancing in the breeze And I hear, distantly, a squirrel chattering in the trees. The world is quiet here.
A Woven Web Of Light
The clouds have scared the stars away And I am left alone. So I weave above my head A thousand of my own.
An Angel And A Violet - In The Garden
A small garden, lush with flowers Pinks and whites and lavenders Specked with candles in colored glass Strolled two young and handsome lovers.
I see His mark writ in the stars And in the ocean’s roar I see His hand among the trees And in the eagle’s soar.
Sometimes I can be zany-zony orange Crazy as a loon, Light as Splenda Popping here and there, Floating in the air
The sky is blacker than a bottle of ink Spilled across a panther’s pelt In the deepest, darkest cave.
How bright! How bright
The stars are tonight!
How bright! How bright
is their merry light.
A canopy of song,
A wondrous fine throng.