The Story of my Blog Title

Quilt of Dragonflies- My blog is named that for a reason.I am lucky enough to own a genuine Quilt of Dragonflies, which I am sure brings me good dreams when I sleep beneath it. It was given to me by a friend of my mother's, who handmade the entire thing. Color meets pattern in this fantastic piece of artwork which sits on my bed. Brilliant shades of purple, blue, and green intersperse with tie dye dragonflies. I will not hesitate to call it my inspiration.

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Blog Rest

Hello, all! I am just writing to say that there will be a brief blog rest tomorrow and the next day, and I will not be posting. I am going away for a couple days, and I was not planning on bringing my computer, as it would be a bit of a hassle. I promise to be back with stories, pictures, and poems when I return. Thank you for understanding that we all need a bit of a break once in awhile, and I hope you do not mind.

Happy Holidays!


Blah Days

Everyone needs
a rest, a blah day, twenty four hours of pajamas and
Staring out the window at the pencil thin branches
of mournful trees outside
Everyone needs
a break from the bleak, a good book and someone to laugh with
When spirits become low and temperature drops
A couch with pillows and blankets
A lamp to throw warm shades of gold
Across your face and the pages of your book
Everyone needs
A day of self love
Pajamas and all

Monday, December 26, 2011

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas everyone! Happy holidays! I hope you all had a wonderful holiday and are enjoying the time with loved ones. I know I am! I wish everyone joy and peace, and much happiness in the days to come and in the new year.

Thank you for everything!


Sunday, December 25, 2011

What Happens After

The aftermath is
A torturous affair full
Of wrapping paper

Saturday, December 24, 2011

We Have Waited

We have sat by closed doors
To hear the crinkling of wrapping paper
Eaten away the candy
From the gingerbread house, piece by piece in secretive longing
We have prayed for snow and searched the heavens
Rewarded with a brown Christmas, sunny and still
We have made hushed plans for presents
Baked food, hosted parties
We have fretted and worried, smiled and felt giddy
With excitement
Now all the waiting, all the cookies and carols have come down to
This night
Of magic fantasy
We wait now, in agony as the last day slips through our fingers
Chunks of wet sand, unwilling to fall to the ground
Time goes by at a slow drag
Like a tired old horse, slipping along
Trotting much too slowly
Twenty four hours suddenly seems
Like quite a long day
It's Christmas Eve

Friday, December 23, 2011

The Game

The blood begins to pump
Up through veins and into
A heart and soul for the
Game. Pure and simple it
Spells out energy and
A thirst to prove yourself
It pounds in your ears and
You run the length of field
Desire in every step

Thursday, December 22, 2011


Starting slowly
I eat the snacks before the guests. Indulge in root beer and vegetables
With onion dip, they don't come at first I joke
What a party, we have no guests
And then the friends come
In from the rain and darkness outside
Stamping boots and shaking out clothes
Handing over treats. Bottles of wine we may never use.
Slowly the party quickens, colors heighten and the Christmas tree glows
Small children adults teens and babies
Crowded into a happy home
Clean for tonight
Lights in every window and laughs at every turn
Food and food and food
Filling the bellies, too fast for me
Dishes left untouched because I was already stuffed
Soda, a rare dose of sugar
Mixed with happiness is intoxicating
The lights dance and friends giggle
My laughs sound loud and crazy
I cackle and fill up my heart with a golden syrup
Feeling simply wonderful
Later I will crash
Sagging against my bed and attempting to find humor
At the jokes that were so funny
An hour ago
Eyelids drooping, head throbbing from the soda and the cupcake
Remembering the party
In a haze of cheeriness

Tuesday, December 20, 2011


The ink runs freely
Pen in hand I draw the world
A scrap of paper

Monday, December 19, 2011

Rain-Five Seven Five Seven Syllabic Verse

The silver leaves with grey sides
Turned up toward the clouds
These leaves are a bad omen
There is a silence

Then suddenly a drip drop
Flip flop slippy slop
There's many funny noises
Rain slapping pavement

As you might slap a bad child
Trees moan mournfully
Groaning and creaking like old
Men who sit and stare

Five Sentence Fiction: Poison

When she looked at him, her heart doubled its beats and a bead of sweat formed on the tip of her nose. Her tongue tied itself in knots and her toes curled and uncurled in her designer boots. He was her poison, infecting her body and seeping into her. With every meeting, she grew more frail, more fragile, and more in love. When his gaze fell upon her, she felt weak and strong, frail and powerful, and blissfully happy.

Sunday, December 18, 2011

What To Eat...Anglo-Saxon Split Line

I wish for a water but without the ice
As cool as a cucumber, crisp and fresh
Or maybe a melon with mangos and juice
Slipping and sliding, it's sweet in the mouth
Some pasta or pickles with peppery tang
Laughing and licking the lemon with zeal
'Til the teacakes are toast-it's the end of the meal

Saturday, December 17, 2011

Cold Happiness

In the frosty air
Clouded breaths go sharp with the
Excitement and joy

Friday, December 16, 2011

Only an Afternoon

Crowding around me
Elated, bouncing with joy
And hugs. So many hugs my arms grew weak
The self confidence boosted
Hey, people miss me. They wish I was there. They really do care.
Last year I up and left
Knowing they would all continue their lives without a care
Would they even notice I was gone?
Thoughts confirmed today. With smiles and laughter
We were reunited and happy
Are you back for good? Will you stay with us?
I apologize but stay firm
A good decision. A wonderful decision
We had fun. It was an era, an age
The age of Claire being there.
They go on every day. Mostly oblivious that I am gone, which suits me
Seeing them all is great,  a joy
People I don't know say they miss me
Teachers laugh and joke about my absence
Good times remembered
If only for an afternoon

Thursday, December 15, 2011

The Memories Remain

Plunged into darkness
When light is lost and shattered
Memories remain

Wednesday, December 14, 2011


Yesterday's post was a poem about writing poetry, and the joy I get out of it. The poem actually started as a free verse, so I am posting the original today. I like the revised draft better, but they both express my feelings about writing poetry.

When I can sit and write
Forget the world, and who I am
Define myself in ways unaccounted for in
The poems flow through my fingertips
Easy as bathwater drifting down the drain
Fragments of me come off and find themselves
Buried in the poems. Locked into the words and unable to get away
Thoughts can fly as free as birds
Unroped, into uncharted lands
My life, my soul can fit
Into a string of lines-poem
Of the universes
Stars dance in my palms and butterflies kiss
The first grasses of spring
My poetry defines me
Those letters strung together are the puzzle of me-myself
I feel free with my computer screen
Or a notebook and some shady grass
A pencil is my wand to wield
When faced with danger, sadness, black days
The journey to self expression
Is just beginning

Tuesday, December 13, 2011


The journey starts with ink and pen
I sit and write the world away
For when the blackness seeks me out
I with poetry will stay
Define myself in ways so bright
The letters flow and so do I 
To fight against the darkest night
With poetry I touch the sky
There can thoughts fly free as falcons
When I write stars dance for me
Poems fly through the tips of fingers
Words unending as the sea
I love my notebook full of dreams
The puzzle pieces of myself
When I am ripping at the seams
To this I turn upon the shelf
And sit to wield the sword of words
In one gleaming, glittering ark
With writing I am always free
On this journey I embark

Monday, December 12, 2011

Poetry Revolution

Today's poem is one of a slew of not very good practice poems I have been writing in the past couple days. I am struggling to learn new vocabulary, along with timing and rhythm of poems. I have a wonderful poetry book by Stephen Fry which includes exercises with each segment to help with the learning. I love using the book, and although the poems are not good yet, I know they will be. I use the practices to get better at the basics, rather than just the fancy little things that go on top.

Anyway, the poem for today was from one of the practice exercises on the beats of a poem, and really trying to get them down. The challenge was to write two standard quatrains (four line poems) of iambic tetrameter about TV. I tried my best with the beats and accentuated syllables, and I hope you like it.

A cooking show where people eat
The spoils and losses of their food
A show where people dance and sing
And star-crossed lovers will be wooed

The stars of shows will flaunt their dreams
And open them to viewers all
Those heartbreaks bleeding fresh and strong
Because all pride comes 'fore a fall

Sunday, December 11, 2011

Shakespeare Quote of the Day

"Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises,
Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears; and sometime voices
That, if I then had waked after long sleep,
Will make me sleep again; and then in dreaming,
The clouds methought would open, and show riches
Ready to drop upon me, that when I waked
I cried to dream again."

-The Tempest

The Tempest

A voilent windy storm.

the sounds and sights of the theater
"shall hum about mine ears...that when I waked, I cried to dream again"
that dream of actors
strutting the stage, playing their parts as the story unfolds
the angry king, lost of a son and crying along the beaches
caliban, the monster
whose words will open up a passage
into the island. sweet and melancholy
brimming with revenge
the set-shelves of twinkling lights
artwork, books with tattered covers
then the words
sliding across my ears and into
my soul
beautiful and heart breaking
the words of a playwright
whose reign started hundreds of years ago
and will never end
wherever the tempest brings you
it has you in its grasp

A Short Note on the Order of Things

First off, I am very sorry about not writing a poem yesterday. I wanted to wait until the night because  I was going to see a brilliant production of The Tempest, and I wanted to write about it. By the time we arrived home, it was late and I knew that I wouldn't write a poem to do it justice. I will make it up by writing a poem about it today.

My second note concerns the quality of poems up until this point on my blog. I have written some lovely free verse poems, and tried my hand at others, but none were stellar, or especially well crafted poems. The blog up until this point has been about exploring my thoughts through poetry, and basically write quick poems about whatever I was thinking about, with mostly no editing and little real attention to detail and the anatomy of the poems. My holiday season goal is to whip this blog into shape, and fill it with true poems full of emotion, rhythm, and holiday magic. I have been reading up on poetry, and realized it is much harder than the thoughtless typing I have been doing thus far. This weekend I discovered caesuras and enjambments, iambic pentameter and the rhythm that goes into each and every good poem. I have vowed to try harder with my poems, polishing them and experimenting with different and more technical types of poetry. One can hardly call oneself a poet if all they write are haikus and free verse. It just doesn't work that way anymore.

Of course, my poetical revolution will not take place overnight, but I am determined to get better as soon as I can. It will be a slow journey to the types of poems I have read and loved so much, like Shakespeare's sonnets, but I am learning, and I wanted you all to know that. I am determined to become a less immature poet and grow up a little. Hopefully I will keep you posted on my progress. Thanks for all you kindness, and as always, if you have any advice or critiquing, please comment and tell me what you think. Thank you so much.


Friday, December 9, 2011

Five Sentence Fiction: Nineteen

One and two together make a pair, though seven and eight are going strong. Sixteen and eighteen are the gossiping ladies, eating little tea cakes and drinking English blend. Ten stands, broad shouldered and aloof, with secret eyes for petite four. Number eleven has been dieting of late, some new fangled appetite for fractions, and it is really paying off as far as twelve is concerned. Nineteen is the widow, weeping and sighing, and watching her family grow beneath her with the pride of motherhood fresh in her eyes.

Well, that was a really odd piece. Not at all sure where I came up with that.


Shakespearian Sonnet Attempt

Shakespearian Sonnet (attempt):

When all the world is dark and grim
When shadows fill the sky
Despair which lurks in thickets slim
Shall arise and climb on high
On seeing this the masses weep
And surge away from doom
Wander now in waking sleep
Through each meandering room
Dreaming of a lighter day
Without oppress of dark
So near the windows they will stay
Watching shadows mark
Until the light of dawn comes here
Then far away shall dire steer

Thursday, December 8, 2011

Talking with Friends

Pouring emotions
In buckets on the table
Much laughter and tears

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Shakespeare Quote of the Day

"A kind overflow of kindness. There are no faces truer than those that are so washed: how much better it is to weep at joy than to joy at weeping"
-Much Ado About Nothing

Rain and Lights at Night

Fuzzy lights, dimmed by the rain
Streaks of color
Red tail lights gleaming
Misty eyes and quiet smile
Trees dripping in the blackness
Blacktop dancing in the light and the
Rain drops
Singing, pattering
The sidewalk is set aglow
A candle in every window
Twinkle lights and glittering trees
Cozy living room windows
Cars with their friendly hum
So many lights at night
In the rain, in the cold

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

Fight for your Life

Every time I run astray
Onto solid, morbid ground
I turn back into the fray
Hungry as is any hound

To prove myself to masses here
And to myself, for who am I?
Who lurks and sulks both far and near
And prowls dreaming on the sly

Into the battle I am thrust
Seeking allies through my life
Who is weak and who can trust
Me, the illusion of strife

Friendships come and friendships go
Jumping waves and mountains high
Some are quick and others slow
Reaching ever towards the sky

So fight this war. It is your last
Streaming glory at its height
Dreaming now of seasons past
Sing it loud, it is your fight.

Write on Wednesdays: The Twelve Days of Christmas

The queen had been in a rare mood when he left the palace. She was whining and screaming that she wanted the Twelve Days of Christmas, and she wanted them now. What a brat. She had even thrown a stuffed teddy bear at him, which had luckily bounced off, but he was seething as he trotted down the steep mountain path to the village. The lurid pink silk banners in the palace gave him a headache, he continued to trip over blocks and dolls wherever he walked, and now the queen needed the twelve bloody days of Christmas too.

This was a day in the life of Figaro, the esteemed toy maker to the one and only, Her Majesty Queen of All Larynthia and Sovereign on High. He grumbled under his breath all they way down to the village, where he packed his bags and set off on yet another fantastic voyage to seek treasure for the queen. She was just a toddler, and here he was taking orders and scrambling all over the earth to find some stupid milking maids and pipers who deafened him with their spontaneous playing. On the boat, he to bunk with the turtledoves, and arrived on deck every morning spattered with poo and grinding his teeth.

The journeys never got any shorter either. Can you imagine spending seven years on a ship with a bunch of lunatics like dancing ladies and leaping lords? What garbage. Well, Figaro could, and with every year, his beard got grayer and his spirits lower. It was all the fault of those stupid geese. Where were you supposed to find a decent goose-a-laying, and laying golden eggs at that? He spat over the deck and thought long and hard about those geese. He needed them, after all. Figaro wasn't stupid, and he knew what the infant queen would do to him if he failed to return with the Twelve Days of Christmas. He grimaced at the thought and turned back towards the boat of calling birds, French hens, and drumming drummers which gave him such a headache.

Monday, December 5, 2011


Witches cauldron
Bubbling and boiling, filled with
Unlikely ingredients. This is my life
Stewing and simmering
Seething and adding
A pinch of stress
A dash of bliss
Together, magical
The commotions and conundrums of
Everyday life, living in the great iron pot
Melting and mixing into a blend
Sweet and sour, hints
Parts of me strew casually around
Tablespoon of love. Smidgen of tranquility.
In with the warts and toads eyes
There are things beautiful
Disgusting, yes. Melancholy, yes. But beautiful too.
Stirring the pot is the witch.
Watching me with blood shot eyes and gap toothed grin.
She smiles, waiting to see
What I will become.

Sunday, December 4, 2011

Chorus Concert

The candles glow and set the faces
Of the watchers golden
Shadows pool in dusty corners
Eager to hear as is everyone else
Solemn, they advance down the carpeted line of pews
Folders clutching music
Faces pushed upward in smiles and song
The notes fly toward the great heavens
The arches of ceiling high above
Wreaths and garlands hang down
A light in every window
Guiding the newcomers
To the chapel
The song lifts the people
Fluttering its wings and dancing
A being all its own
Red and green and gold
Mouths form small o's
Rejoicing in the melody

Saturday, December 3, 2011

Holiday Season: Baubles and Bangles, anyone?

We have got all kinds of interesting colors, and I can't wait to get them all hung up!

Recently, I have been taking a lot more pictures because I realized they are a great way to document life. They are also a nice visual compliment to all my writing, and I love looking out at the world a different way.

Me, the amateur photographer who can't really do anything fancy, is just learning how to do fun things to pictures using iPhoto.  The best part: it's really simple!

Happy Holiday season everyone! The lights came out this weekend at my house, and I thought I would post some pictures.



Relentless study
Figures blur before my eyes
Words reduced to smudge

Friday, December 2, 2011

Five Sentence Fiction: Secrets

She began to hack and cough as a blackness seeped into her lungs. Twirling tendrils through her mouth and nose, obscuring her vision and dilating her senses; these were her biggest fears. Thoughts so secret that thinking them caused her to fall into a blackness so deep, she knew one day she would never return. As the inky memories and ebony desires engulfed her, she took one lingering look at the world with clouded eyes: the woods, trees, and the babbling brook. Where she was going, she would need all the inspiration she could get.


Camera in hand and
A different perspective
Unstoppable me

Thursday, December 1, 2011


Sweet nostalgia is
Drinking from the honeyed cup of the past
Delighting in the sunlight
Golden memories
Swift they fly towards you
Alight on window sills and trees
Of flaxen leaves and amber blossoms
The reminiscent color of the past
Floating clouds of butterscotch
Smiles framed in sunshine
Laughs which tinkle and throw
Caramel colored beams across the walls
Bouncing beauty
Sounds and smells and sights
Tinted yellow in the bank of memory
So carefully hidden away
A cavern of thoughts and emotions
Glittering with crystals of gold
Scenes from the past
So willingly brought forth

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Shakespeare Quote of the Day

"I am not what I am"
-Twelfth Night


Giddy, anticipation goes
Down from my hair to the tips of my toes
But I can't let them see
What they're doing to me
I'll sit here and itch down my nose

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Thanks, Guys!

I was just checking up on my stats and realized that I have over 5,000 views on my blog. Thank you so much for all your support since I started this blog about a year ago, and I am having so much fun!


Shakespeare Quote of the Day

"Nothing that is so is so."
-Twelfth Night

Seaman's Song

the joy of wind filling your sails
land lubbers to seamen pale
in comparing the two I find
the sea is the one which captures my mind

I do love my lady, the lady the sea
she is the most dearest to me, to me
whenever I gaze out at the water so deep
she is the melody to which I sleep

green grey waves in the ocean of time
each minute that passes is sublime
my watch is the sun that beats down on high
the moon and the stars dapple the night sky

I do love my lady, the lady the sea
she is the most dearest to me, to me
whenever I gaze out at the water so deep
she is the melody to which I sleep

and when to the shore the boat is set
I reach down to touch her and get myself wet
for I am a sailor and for me
I am the one married to the sea

I do love my lady, the lady the sea
she is the most dearest to me, to me
whenever I gaze out at the water so deep
she is the melody to which I sleep

Monday, November 28, 2011

Write on Wednesdays: Notre Dame de Paris

Write On Wednesdays Exercise 26 - Look at the photo at the top of this post. What does it inspire in you? Set your timer for 5 minutes. With the photo in mind, write the first words that come into your head until the buzzer rings.

Staring through the lens of her camera, her breath caught and her heart began to flutter about as a butterfly does in a field of wildflowers. Seeing those candles evoked such an emotional response that her hand shivered as the camera clicked away. She hoped with all her heart the photos would come out. Watching the flickering candles floating down the river, she imagined great mountains of gold shimmering in the night. Like a great volcano, the mountain was alive, a being so ethereal that she could barely blink. The candles sailed majestically down the river, spinning lazily in the current and drifting out, away from civilization to a place where they could be free. She continued to snap pictures while watching the magical stream of lights pass her. It was never-ending, a beautiful arrangement of pinpricks not unlike the universe spread above her. 

Suddenly, there was a movement behind her, and she caught her breath as she heard a splash way out in the river. Then another and another, as someone began to throw pebbles at the golden spires floating away. Someone was cruelly trying to sink the boats, and they were succeeding. Her breath caught in her mouth as one fiery tower teetered, and finally collapsed into the river with a hiss and several drops of liquid wax. She whirled on the spot, revenge hot and sweet in her mouth, determined to stop the idiot, no, the murderer, of the light. 

Thank you for Thanksgiving: A little late

On Thanksgiving day, I didn't have the time to thank all the people who deserved it. I love you all, and I am taking this opportunity to give thanks for my wonderful life.

Thank you
For the songs, the music and the dancing
Thank you for making me feel loved
Reaching out to me, raising me, befriending me
Thank you
For helping me discover bit by bit
Who I was
Who I am
Thank you for tears and laughter
Thank you for lighting up the room
When you walk in and
Making me smile when 
You smile
Thank you for supporting me
In worthwhile and
Stupid endeavors
Thank you so much
For loving me, teaching me everything you know
Thank you to those who are
A big part in my life
And thank you to those
I have never even met
You have shaped me
The family, friends, people who care
Thank you for being there
A shoulder to cry on
A hug
When I am least expecting it
Thank you for your humor
And your sorrows
Thank you for opening up and sharing you with me
Thank you for sunny days and inky nights
Beaches and mountains
And cozy couches
Thank you for snuggles
Reading to that little kid
Who would someday grow up
For believing I could achieve anything
And helping me along the way
For getting frustrated and shouting at me
You helped me grow
Thank you for showing me that I was not perfect
And never will be
Thank you for adding patches
To my quilt of life
My quilt of dragonflies too
Thank you for the magic of the moment
Thank you
from me


Recently,  I went to visit grandparents for Thanksgiving, which included going on a ferry. I love to take pictures, so here are some of my favorites... 
The day was very warm, and the sun was shining. I had the upper deck all to myself for several minutes before we set off.

The coming home journey, when I took the pictures, was much better than the ride there. While going there it was cold and very rocky, so I stayed inside.

Sunday, November 27, 2011


The bright skies beckon
I stare out the grimy window in surprise
The sun is smiling
Grabbing camera strap and pounding up the salty stairs
Out onto the deck of the ferry
I feel on top of the world
The waves below me dance in the breeze
The flag whips around the pole
A joyful reminder of our country
Snapping photos
I feel patriotic
The sun tanned bench
The yellow smokestack,
Stacks of wood sitting quietly in the water
Guiding ships into shore
Through my lens, my eyes
The world takes shape
The gulls whorl around
Singing and crying a joyful song

Saturday, November 26, 2011


The bright orange liquid flows
Across the table, forming rivulets of sugar
And artificial flavors
The poker chips cry out
As a faint splash hits them
Brother and Mother scream in agony
At the very thought their precious technology may be injured
The soda slithers under the table cloth
Sneakily hiding in the folds of the napkins
That helplessly try to clean it all up

Friday, November 25, 2011

Five Sentence Fiction: Sacrifice

The little boy's face shone like the sun as a bright and shiny red balloon was handed over the counter to him. It was finally his ballon, only his and no one else's. Laughing and bouncing the balloon about in the air, the boy skipped over to the bench where his mum was waiting for him. It was then that he noticed the little girl with the ragged t shirt and gap toothed smile staring at his balloon with curious eyes from behind the trashcan. She had obviously never seen something so round and red, and the little boy's eyes suddenly stung with an emotion he had never felt before as he grudgingly held out his hand-he now knew the meaning of sacrifice.

Shakespeare Quote of the Day

"When that the poor have cried, C├Žsar hath wept:
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff."
-Julius Caesar

Sunset Over the Water

Streaks of violet
Pale clouds set richly on fire
Sailboat masts stand tall

Thursday, November 24, 2011


the bird comes out
steaming from the oven
a grand matron of great prestige
she calls attention to herself
delicately shoves aside the dishes
who bow and scrape in her wake
the guests gaze in awe
tongues lolling out 
like so many labradors
eyes rolled back in anticipation
gravy follows 
pooling between mountains of potatoes
an alpine lake
turkey is to Thanksgiving
as fireworks on the 4th
Presents for Christmas
I am suddenly
an outsider
it happened so fast, in the course of a year
different from my family
for not eating a bird
they are nice
don't stare
as I fill my plate with docile vegetables and 
heavy mashed potatoes
inside they wonder
why does she obstain?
What is the reason?
I have my reasons
not to consume this rich delight
the turkey parts the ground
like a wealthy spinster
who wraps the guests around her little finger
er, drumstick.

Wednesday, November 23, 2011


Lingering nausea
The ferry is tossed around
like a salad
in the ceramic blue bowl
of the ocean
Up and down
the raging water pushes us
The boat is a toy in the hands of a small child
being shaken as the child laughs hysterically
Her chubby cerulean face
Emotionless, the ocean
Wide and long and never-ending
The boat pushes forward ever faster
Never noticing the evident discomfort
Of the passengers, who sit with sweaty hands
Plastered to the plastic seats
Faces strained and
Little beads of sweat dripping down their foreheads
Seasickness answers
to no one

Tuesday, November 22, 2011


The frantic packing
Throwing clothes and books around
What a crazy rush

Monday, November 21, 2011

The Mountain

the mountain smirks
when I open the door of my bedroom
and trip over it
yet again
sweaters and dirty socks
novels and paperback poetry
shirts and shoes and bags
dresses, boots, math homework
t shirts of questionable cleanliness
where is the carpet?
the mountain lies about
the picture of laziness
what a slob it is
to grow and grow
never to get up
go out
leave me in peace
the mountain laughs
at my attempts to clean
it retches out bookmarks and scraps of paper
spitting candy wrappers and cameras and crumbs
on my feet when I walk in
it frightens me
the mountain
what shall I do
but brave it
the soldier of cleanliness
wish me luck

Five Sentence Fiction: Lightning

Standing solitary in the middle of the field, I cackled and thrust my hands toward the sky. The clouds swarmed like ants around me, the grasses whipped from side to side, and my face was lit with the eerie light of the tempest. Summoning all of my strength, I jumped up into the air, rising many feet from the ground with my skirts swirling about me and my wrath. Alighting on a blackening cloud, I began to chant the language of magic and the world started to hum. Suddenly, a fiery finger of lightning lashed out at the grasses, setting the field where I had stood ablaze.

Write on Wednesdays

The saddest thing I ever heard...

It was the piglets. Their frantic cries pierced my heart, sad eyes turned toward the camera. How could anyone do this to innocents, so like our babies?

I watched their blood spurt, watched the men laugh and high five with each small pig killed. Would you kill your baby
simply because it was small? Or nurse it back to health, carefully, breathing life into the tiny animal who needs it so desperately?

The tears rolled down my face, though not as fast
as the sticky blood of the animals, slaughtered by men with cruel, hard faces. Why do we treat the same animals who love us and care for us so badly?

The cows whose sad eyes stare at the camera, pleading for just a  chance. A chance at life, a chance to be saved. I promise you, they promise you, it will be worth it.

This week's prompt was "The saddest thing I ever heard..." and I found it very hard to write. Right away, I knew that the saddest thing I had ever heard was the animals on a video I watched shortly before becoming a vegetarian. The emotions there are very raw, so I apologize if this was a little graphic. I almost started crying just while writing, so I know this struck home with me. 


Sunday, November 20, 2011

Shakespeare Quote of the Day

"Keep thy friend
Under thy own life's key."
-All's Well That Ends Well


Caught behind the lens red handed
Smiling awkwardly
You know I am looking at you
Hair swept back in the breeze
Casually beautiful
Arms outstretched to the trees
Which lean down around us
Friendly and forgiving
Your cheeks are two pink circles
Your nose a cherry button in the cold
Eyes are half shut
The flash must have been bright
Your skin a perfect bronze
But you don't think so
The leaves are caught
Forever in one position
Some staring idly
Others drifting from the trees
They hang in limbo
Permanently suspended in the autumn air
The picture is soon to sit
On a mantle
In the dusty pages of an album
To be opened years later and laughed at

Saturday, November 19, 2011


Silver tears shimmer
Down cheeks and right over dreams
Crushed hopes on the ground

Friday, November 18, 2011


Greedily biting pages
licking paragraphs to catch the juices
that trickle down the spine
smiling a hunter's smile
as you catch your prey and hold it fast
one chapter at a time
lustily tearing apart the words
sentences, fragments of dreams
the story unfolds
you stuff it in your mouth quickly
savoring is a thing from the past
Text blinds you and suffocates you
yet you continue
to the end

Thursday, November 17, 2011

Shakespeare Quote of the Day

"Hear my soul speak. Of the very instant that I saw you, Did my heart fly at your service"
-The Tempest


The sun
A blistering heat 
Scorching, dangerous
Burt fingers teach lessons
Or do they? 
Will you continue to be burnt
again and again?
despite the temperature
The soft light of dawn 
Tender and caring
From the first rays
to the last
Gentle and sweet
Primrose colored 
in the early morning
late in the day
The light
kisses your cheeks
and bare shoulders
in the summer
Caressing you
without a care in the world
The sun of love

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Rainy Game

the fans show their disappointment
with an irritated flick of their umbrellas
raindrops tumble down from the brightly colored domes
swishing onto the wet grass
what a day
the team is losing
stumbling in the mud and sliding
missing the ball only by inches every time
it is raining
and why did we come to this game anyway?
what a failure.
Oh, look. She's got the ball!
a groan
like the squealing of an oil tanker
brushing the docks
loud and prolonged
the fans slump
on their bits of grass and
we collapse in on ourselves
misery pervades the air
why, why are they failing us?
will screaming at your team
really help them?
the long line of umbrellas
bends back and forth in the wind
on the sideline
a garden of plastic stripes
swaying in the breeze
but no sun
what a

*Just a note, these are not my views at all. I went to a rainy soccer game today where the fans of both teams seemed dissatisfied and unhappy. They were yelling at the girls the entire way, so I just tried to imagine how they felt the way they did*

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Shakespeare Quote of the Day

"I will not be afraid of death and bane"


Whenever I see you
A smile blooms across my lips
Slowly but surely growing
A head nod, salute
A raised hand which tilts
Slightly from side to side
That warm and fuzzy feeling
A soft glow when I am with you
I am always happy
Are you the sun which rises
And beckons me with a quick flick
Of you hand in greeting?
The words which spread between us
Deep and mighty as the ocean
We have only said hello
What have you done
To capture my friendship?
Apart from the casual hi
The small talk of someone
Who knows me
How do you make me feel this way?
Am I just as good
A friend?

Monday, November 14, 2011

Write on Wednesdays...think with character

This week at WoW we are doing a pick your own adventure day. I have been wanting to explore some of my characters with greater depth, and I think this is a great time to do it. The exercise involved choosing a character from a previous piece and finding out something more about the character, or creating a new character all together. I decided to make up my own character, because I couldn't find an old character that I really wanted to work with. Some characters are built to be vague, and when I tried to think of how to introduce them, I was at a loss. So I am starting from scratch. Enjoy!

Anne was a quiet kid. A reader, a writer, a silent adventurer.The kind of kid that all the parents chatter about during family gatherings.

"Oh, she's gonna have a big life in front of her. Bet she's gonna end up at Harvard or something like that."

"You'd better get her out of this town before she gets like the rest of us."

"She is awfully quiet though. What have you been doing all these years, letting her listen to Beethoven?"

You see, Anne was a small town girl. This town was one of flannel shirts and forgotten dreams, and from a tender age, Anne wanted out. This was a town of gossiping women hanging out laundry because it dried more natural that way. In this town, everybody knew everybody, and if you didn't know somebody, you weren't anybody. The days in this town were long and hot in the summer, short and frigid in the winter. The men wore jeans in the winter and cut off jeans in the summer, and kept the flannel all year round. The women were stuck in a time long gone, most of them still had a variety of worn dresses in faded pastels that dusted the floor with every step.

Anne grew up in a house full of very noisy people. No one could tell why she had grown up so quiet, though her mother attributed it to the fact that she had been repeatedly dropped as a baby. On sunny days, Anne would head for the hills, sometimes not even coming back at night. The parents considered her a wild child, and told her siblings in hushed tones to stay away from her. The youngest kids regarded her as magic, with her billowing red hair and a beautiful smile for those who were lucky enough to see it. Whenever Anne could, she went outside and wandered aimlessly for hours by herself, savoring the freedom that only solitude could bring. She would read in the branches of a tree, sprint through fields of wildflowers, or befriend the small animals that she found in the forest.

For many years, she was the largest source of gossip in the town. Anne ignored everyone and continued untouched through the path of her life, quietly singing in the crystal voice that no human had ever heard. Life for Anne was lonely but refreshing, until the day that she met Jonathan.

Shakespeare Quote of the Day

"I warrant thou art a merry fellow and car'st for nothing"
-Twelfth Night

Warm Days

happy winds flutter
brisk and joyful they find me
reveling in warmth

Sunday, November 13, 2011

Blue Man Group

violent splashes of color and sound
lights sparkle and burn bright in the dark theater
the audience laugh
hard, from their bellies
cobalt faces staring, cyan fingers twitch
drums beat and sing a deep and solemn song
strobe lights divide time into short bursts
erratic poses and pictures of people
dancing and laughing
clapping and cheering
the band thumps on without a care
neon faces shining in the dark
guitar riffing, cymbal crashing madness
toilet paper streaming from the ceiling
white rolling over the audience, the strips forming crisp patterns
giant tubes gyrate above
they glitter in the black light
everything turned on end
upside down and spinning
reality is shaken
by the azure paint
the fixed stares of
the blue man group

Saturday, November 12, 2011

Living for the Team

Covered in face paint
Mouth open in screeching wail
We live for the team

Friday, November 11, 2011

Shakespeare Quote of the Day

"Present mirth hath present laughter.
What's to come is still unsure"
-Twelfth Night


ice cubes popping in plastic glasses
voices raised in careless fun
when the sun creeps under the horizon
the party in my house has just begun
the guests stream in and take over
immediately feeling at home
shedding shoes and coats
spilling food and drinks
in an absentminded way
detached from the day
with its fears, hopes, and failures
laughing and giggling raucously
how they resemble a pack of hyenas
piercing cries and guffaws
finding their way up the stairs
scavengers, they clamor at the food
how I feel safe away from it all
antisocial? or merely made of different things
the quiet, the peace of my bedroom, the window
no sticky puddles or
crumpled up and forgotten worries
hiding like dust bunnies
in a freshly swept corner

Five Sentence Fiction: Delectable

Alice St. Jemming sat at the cafe table, leaning towards the plate of cookies which was grinning elfishly up at her. The bottle of sparkling water sat nonchalantly beside her elbow, as if it was whispering to her, "You are in Paris, city of light, so enjoy yourself." Eat me, beckoned the cookies, as the glass clinked against the plate. Drink me, sang the fizzy water, staring at her perfectly manicured fingernails and the phone which sat beside them, deliberately turned off. Alice was in a wonderland, life was perfect, and from now on she would choose her own adventure.

Well, there you go, my story for this week. The word was delectable, and I had five sentences to come up with something. Hope you enjoy!


Thursday, November 10, 2011

Purple and orange

Here are two poems wrote on a whim about the star-crossed colors of purple and orange, plagued by the fact that they cannot rhyme perfectly with anything.

purple skies at night
poet’s delight
orange skies in the morning
poet’s quiver and give warning

for these two colors we hold dear
should actually induce fear
to the heart of writers all
beware orange-it means sqaull!

the rhyming pattern battens down
the hatches and shutters of the town
for orange and purple have no rhyme
just a tropical feel and hint of lime

but not enough
the poet screams
purple and orange?
in your dreams!

door hinges consort with the mysterious nurple
but how will we find a real rhyme to purple?

Second poem:

abstract colors with
no relations
left adrift in the inky world of poetry
orphans of print
the live in the foster homes
of “nurple” and “door hinge”
in hopes of fitting in
they are the dawn
breaking on the horizon
achinly beautiful
silently alone
grasped by artists in painted fury
splattered across canvases
on smocks and fruits and crayola crayons
yet still shunned
by the world of words
these poor abandoned colors
left to fend for themselves
these are

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

In Bed

sunken eyes peer out
from the dark cave of blankets
a wondering soul

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Shakespeare Quote of the Day

"Come not between the dragon and his wrath."
-King Lear

Feeling Bad

From the bottom to the top
Yucky all over

Monday, November 7, 2011

Shakespeare Quote of the Day

"When that I was and a little tiny boy
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
A foolish thing was but a toy,
For the rain it raineth every day"
-Twelfth Night

Can I be Blamed?

cranky spanky
she calls me. mrs. meany pants from my brothers.
can I really be blamed? hard weeks make tensions run as high
as the temperature in a certain valley in California
pulse beats strong and fast. my head aches from the sheer brute force
attempting to knock down the walls of my sanity. they stand tall mostly.
yet sometimes curve under the strain.
adrenaline runs through my veins. the bad kind, anyway.
the kind that makes you jumpy and jittering. the kind that keeps you awake
tossing and turning in your bed
like a ship being tossed in the roiling waters of an ocean of self doubt
tears spill from my eyes like drops of acidic lemonade spilled
on a warm summer day
my faults are obvious. flaws glare in the daylight, reflecting like mirrors, bouncing
doubts and bad thoughts across my brain
can I be blamed?

Write on Wednesdays: Making Fire

This week, the WoW prompt was the words "We are learning to make fire." It was another five minute timed exercise, which I usually enjoy but I had a little trouble with this one. Wasn't really sure what to write about, though I think this came out fine in the end. Well, here you are:

We are learning to make fire. Slowly, grinding the skin of the earth into flakes. Filling the bowl of dirt with golden flames. Shards of the old life will drift skyward with the ashes. Lighter and lighter, faster and farther they fly up. I watch them lifted by the breeze, up into the bowl horizon, the clouds of grey dreams sitting low over the land.

The fire will burn steadily, the warmth inside us will rekindle the joy of long ago. Primal spirits drift in the wind, whipping this way and that, twining through my hair. The dancing flames will lick the sides of the bowl, happily nipping fingers and pieces of wood. The ashen sky reflects the ruby of the fire. Soon it will be the inky indigo of twilight, then the residual blackness of night. For now, it stays grey and silent. It does not answer the calls of the fire, which crackles merrily and longs for a playmate. Just like a little child, dancing in the breezes, chasing the leaves which float eerily around it.

 I watch the fire begin to die. In one night, the cycle of a lifetime. The fire is old and creaky, longing to take its last rattling breath and ascend to new adventures. I pour sand over the fire, dousing its misery. We have learned to make fire, and fire has learned how to live.

Sunday, November 6, 2011

I am a Dreamer

I am writing this poem as an extension of a former poem...I was given the idea by Katie, who said it would make a good longer poem. I agree, so here goes:

I am a dreamer.
Imagination billows across my mind
Slipping in through the cracks of imperfection
Pooling in the most used corners, hiding in the light
I am a dreamer. With every breath I take comes
Ideas, new life and light.
Stars are beautiful, the starry night of brilliance
Dances before my eyes, sings in my ears and tickles my skin
I am a dreamer of color and texture and shape
Azure and vermillion, rough and smooth, perfectly round with jagged edges.
Happy endings and crushing defeats, oak trees and strawberries, perfectly picked
Sunsets on beaches and sunrises on the tops of mountains
Snow blinding the eager eyes of watchers.
I am a dreamer of today and tomorrow. And yesterday.
Continuing to dream and laugh. Today and tomorrow and tomorrow.

Saturday, November 5, 2011

Shakespeare Quote of the Day

"Nothing will come of nothing: speak again."
-King Lear

Postponed Halloween

Costumes, candy, treats
A trick for every household
Postponed Halloween

Friday, November 4, 2011

Shakespeare Quote of the Day

"Following darkness like a dream"
-A Midsummer Night's Dream


I am a dreamer
Imagination fills my

Thursday, November 3, 2011

Shakespeare Quote of the Day

"Our court shall be a little Academe,
Still and contemplative in living art."
-Love's Labour's Lost


Flitting softly through the sky
Dipping, tripping through the air
Thus we meet the dragonfly
Flying freely, not a care

Skipping over water blue
Silky wings with diamonds glitter
Singing high then back to you
It really is a wondrous critter

Beauty bouncing wing on wing
Dancing in the summer sun
When the dusky twilight sings
The dragonfly has just begun

Five Sentence Fiction: Bewitched

Bruno's head was resting easily on the velvet of the box, his pink tongue lolling slightly out of his mouth, quivering with each slow exhale. Next to him sat Jane, her hands clutching at the armrests and her eyes alight with a fire he had never seen before. With every crystalline note, her heart beat out of her chest and she sighed in rapture, staring at the bewitching scene on the stage. Opera was her passion, where her very heart and soul went out onto the stage, and Bruno was too oafish and boring to care. Jane glanced over at Bruno, drooling slightly, and she knew then that he was not the one.

Well, that was this week's prompt. It seems that I will never be able to use the common definition for words, but I was just not in the mood for writing something scary. All my Halloween stories end up helplessly cliche and I liked where this piece was going. It was fun to write! For anyone seeing Five Sentence Fiction for the first time, you can check it out at Lillie McFerrin's blog...

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

Shakespeare Quote of the Day

"If I do not usurp myself, I am"
-Twelfth Night

Bumbling Fumbler

There once was a dog named Mumble
He tripped on his own tail and bumbled
He swore one day
To make them pay
But alas, he still had a fumble

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Shakespeare Quote of the Day

"At Christmas I no more desire a rose
Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled mirth;
But like of each thing that in season grows. "
-Love's Labour's Lost

A-hah! I have found the perfect quote about the October snow!


Punch a high note and
A slow smile because you are
Sublime soprano

Monday, October 31, 2011

Shakespeare Quote of the Day

"Is it a world to hide virtues in?"
-Twelfth Night

Happy Halloween!

In October when the sun goes down
There comes the beasts of gown and crown
Fluffy pink and midnight blue
Can you be cute and scary too?
Fierce little tigers, ghouls and ghosts
Grabbing candy from their hosts
Princesses marching up the street
Waving wands to gain a treat
Bloody pumpkins, chains, and moans
Skeletons with missing bones
Enough candy to rot teeth
Put your sword back in its sheath!
Toddlers dressed in pumpkin suits
Cowboy hats with high heeled boots
Do you need a pillowcase?
Better bring two, and increase your pace
Maybe you will need a truck
That much candy will need luck
Give them a sweet smile and say
"Hope you had a wonderful day"
The creepiest is the haunted house
The witch is sweating through her blouse
Face paint really makes a scare
If you put it in your hair
Shall we eat some pumpkin seeds?
The gypsy wants to buy more beads
Boards that creak beneath your feet
Hungry for anything sweet
Circumstances unforeseen
Wish me Happy Halloween!

Write on Wednesday-When the music's over...

The Write On Wednesday Rules: Get creative with the writing exercises - there isn't a right or wrong. Please do try to visit the other members of Write On Wednesdays and leave a comment of support and constructive criticism. 

Write On Wednesdays Exercise 22 Select a piece of music that reflects the mood of writing you'd like to aim for. Press play. Start free writing. Write the first words that come into your head. When the music's over, so is the writing. I'd recommend finding out how long the song is before you start the exercise. You may feel cheated in your writing time if you pick a song by The Ramones. Of course, if you feel like writing a short, punky piece by all means, go for it!

This week's prompt was a good one, and I liked choosing the song and then writing whatever came to my fingers. I chose the song "Music of the Night" from the Phantom of the Opera, because I am a HUGE fan of that musical. Anyway, I came up with a pretty odd piece. I had no idea it would end up like this, and it was rather dark, but then again so is the song. I kind of cheated and played through the song twice, because after listening once I could feel that I wasn't done yet. Anyway, hope you like it, and thanks again for all your lovely comments last week!

The grass was cool under her feet and the moon hung ripe and low in the sky. She could feel the night pulsing, around her and through her. The sweet air made her feel drunk with darkness and serenity. Trees dipped and swayed in the breeze, and her night gown rippled with the grasses. At this time, light was silver, the night was magical. Warlocks hid behind bushes, doing dastardly deeds. She could feel the heartbeats of mice, asleep in their dens, and the soft padding of the cat’s paws in the dark. The cat was a wanderer, just like herself. 
She found herself walking across a field, staring up at the galaxy spread above her, a patchwork quilt of the sky. Every fiber felt alive, the leaves whispered to her, the stalks of plants tickled her feet. The blackness of the forest gleamed at her hungrily. There was the unknown territory, and it was pulling her in. She could feel the tug, the urge to jump into the dark waters of the lakes, to rush through woods of blackness and sing to the moon. 
As the night began to consume her very being, she gasped in ecstasy and again, when she looked down to find her feet several inches from the dewy ground. She rose up, nightgown billowing around her, a sail to guide her journey into open ocean. The trees danced in a sudden wind, she heard the howls of wolves and the gentle snores of sleepers. The night around her pressed inward, her pale, pearly hand outstretched to meet the ebony blackness on either side of her. She glided towards the stars, cushioned by shadows, blanketed by the specters of night. Blooms of murkiness ballooned about her, weaving long black tentacles into her auburn hair. 
Every sense was alive, joyous, and in tune. Her bare feet rose, brushing the treetops, and she began to fly up. Up over the houses, away from the woods, over the gloomy waters of the lake. Already, there was a pale line of primrose on the horizon, the night was drawing to a close. She turned her ivory face away from the sun, her arms outstretched, embracing the darkness, not the light. The music of the night flowed around her, the shadows lurked inside of her. She turned away from the light, the life she had. As the sun rose in brilliant splendor, she sped west, following the night which had captured her soul and her heart. She could hear the music. She could feel the magic of the night. 

Sunday, October 30, 2011

Picture Story: A Night of Snow

Once on an October night
The weather put on a show of might

We awoke to wind and snow
Where oh where did autumn go?

The morning came, we rushed outside
Laughing, we started to slip and slide

The camera flashed and captured trees
That looked a little weak at the knees
The scoreboard stood, I watched and grinned
Winter came quickly to snag the win

With Halloween but a night away
What were we to do today?

My brothers did just what they could
Playing and fighting with snow and wood

The trees were chilled, and so were we
We ran through fields, happy and free

Until it was time to go inside
Where it was time for our mother to chide

The day was passed in snowy fun
Yet the snowstorm had us all stunned

The day before Halloween came snow
We wanted it gone, it had nowhere to go

Versatile Blogger Award

First off, thanks so much to Lillie McFerrin and Rain for nominating me for the Versatile Blogger Award! I am honored that people who I have known for such a short amount of time could choose me as a versatile blogger. I am getting all warm and fuzzy inside!

The rules of the versatile blogger award are as follows: I must give seven facts about myself, then pass on the award to 15 newly discovered bloggers who I think deserve it.

Here are seven interesting facts about me:

1. I love to write haikus. They are quick and easy, yet can hold so much depth and emotion in so few words. Haikus are my go to type of poetry, but my favorite type to write ever is free verse. I love to stare at a blank page and know that I can write anything I want to.
2. My (not so) secret dream for "When I grow Up" is to become a writer and a poet, and live on a farm in Vermont. In my fantasy, I would own a donkey and two collies, and perhaps other animals too.
3. I am completely obsessed with soccer. I avidly follow international soccer, and my favorite team is Chelsea Football Club in London. I love to watch and play soccer, and my bedroom is covered with posters of Lionel Messi and Cristiano Ronaldo.
4. I am the textbook definition of a bookworm. I adore classic literature, especially English, including Jane Eyre, Shakespeare, and P.G. Wodehouse.
5. I am a helpless romantic and believe that the best stories have happy endings. I LOVE happy endings (Nicholas Sparks, anyone?)!
6. I have two brothers who were born on my third birthday. People are always interested by this, even though I would rather have my own birthday!
7. I love blogging, and am quickly becoming an obsessive. I now have two blogs and my favorite part of the day is always writing my poems.

And now for the moment of truth...The truth is, I don't know who to give this too. I love getting it, and I wish I could just give it to everyone!
I would like to give this award to everyone who I have read so far at Write on Wednesdays. You are all amazing writers, and made me feel so welcome in the world of writing. Special shout out to Gill at Ink Paper Pen who organizes WoW and is a very versatile blogger, and to Lillie McFerrin and Rain, who nominated me, and who I would like to nominate back, because I think the same of them. I also want to nominate a friend of mine who is new to blogging, because I believe she will develop something special. That is Sam at Team Reverie...

Thanks again so much for nominating me, and thank you to everyone at WoW who has helped me along the way!


Saturday, October 29, 2011

Shakespeare Quote of the Day

"We should be wooed, and were not made to woo"
-A Midsummer Night's Dream


My hands they feel as numb as ice
If only thick gloves would suffice
But know the chill seeps right through all
I guess I will brave out this squall

Friday, October 28, 2011

Shakespeare Quote of the Day

"I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
Where oxlips and nodding violet grows,
Quite overcanopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine"
-A Midsummer Night's Dream


White fabric covers the grass. Pure as a wedding dress, light as the downy feather of a baby bird.
Wet and crisp as a juicy apple. Sifting over the orange of our pumpkins. Dripping, melted from the roof.
Before its time, like jingle bells in September, flip-flops in January.
Snow in October? Can it be?
Methinks it is a little early...

Five Sentence Fiction

Hey there everyone. I have been meaning to try out five sentence fiction for awhile, because I was curious and it kind of reminded me of poetry. Five sentence fiction can be found every week at Spring Days, New Growth, which is another good writing blog I found through Write on Wednesdays. Anyways, here we go!

What it’s all about: Five Sentence Fiction is about packing a powerful punch in a tiny fist. Each week I will post a one word inspiration, then anyone wishing to participate will write a five sentence story based on the inspiration word. The word does not have to appear in your five sentences, just take your inspiration from that word. 

Word this week: Horror

"Mo-om, this tiara doesn't fit right, " whined Sabrina, picking at the sickening costume she herself had decided on. Oh, the horror, thought her mother, drifting up the stairs yet again to perfect the cloud of pink which had descended on her daughter. Sabrina had found this year's costume "all by herself," which had haunted her mother solidly for the past week and a half. As she straightened her sweetie's glittering crown in preparation for the big night, anyone watching would have thought this was some pre-pagaent ritual, that she was reading her daughter for the catwalk, but Sabrina's mother just sighed. It was only Halloween, after all.  

Thursday, October 27, 2011


Rain is sad. A deep and thrilling melancholy which wrenches the soul and suppresses the senses. Seeps beneath your hair and into your brain. Rain is a blessing. A wet plague. Rain makes cars angry. They splash defiantly past and a cruel wave of water follows. Drenches innocents who walk
By the side of the road.
Rain. So very sad and wet. Frigid rain, slanting sideways in the wind. Chilled to the bone. Desperate. Rain is a torture.
Light and warm. Silky smooth and smiling. Summer rain. Washes clear the sky. Slips by, sugary sweet. Summer rain brings Rainbows.
Rainbows bring Happiness.

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Shakespeare Quote of the Day

"My state is desperate for my master's love"
-Twelfth Night


here I am 
all alone
left to flourish
left to roam
I stepped into this pot of soup
It's up to me not to droop
I am ready
do your worst
I refuse
to feel cursed
I feel blessed 
every day
I hope my luck
is here to stay
here we go
it's time to jump
I will not
land with a  thump

here we go
I'll fly away
and jump into 
a bright new day

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Golden Leaves

Scattered bits of gold
They litter the grass and fall
From the boughs of trees

Monday, October 24, 2011

Shakespeare Quote of the Day

"Away before me to sweet beds of flowers.
Love thoughts lie rich when canopied with bowers"
-Twelfth Night

To Catch a Sailboat

One day when I was down by the sea
Drinking in the warm summer sun
A magnificent thought came to me
But my adventures had just begun

The sun was shining clear and bright
I saw a sailboat passing near
The sails were crisp and in full height
I almost jumped right off the peer

The sailboat laughed, but me, I cried
To watch it sailing far away
Through the water it did glide
I swore at it and cursed the day

The day the sailboat turned me down
The day my hopes were dashed
I slid into the water and tried to drown
For Oh the sailboat and I did clash

But swim I did and rather fast
Down the narrow, chilly straight
The sailboat snickered from the mast
All the way low to its freight

One day I caught a white sailboat
A day of sunshine clear and bright
And I have learned to gloat and gloat
To sing about my glorious might

Sunday, October 23, 2011

Write on Wednesdays-I thought I saw

Write On Wednesdays Exercise 20 Write the words " I thought I saw" at the top of your page. Set a timer for 5 minutes. Write the first words that come into your head after the prompt. Don't take you pen off the page (or fingers off the keyboard). Stop only when the buzzer rings! Do this exercise over and over if you wish. Write beyond 5 minutes if you like, you can link it up as an extra post.

I thought I saw a flash of lightning. Quick and jagged, piercing the ebony night like a rip in the fabric of the sky. My hands drummed nervously on the wheel as the rain began to come down. First slowly, then heating up fast like a salsa dance. My foot eased off the gas pedal and I frantically turned the dial of the radio, searching for a distraction. I hated lightning. Thunder boomed a bass note and the trees stood out, tall and unforgiving against the greenish black light of the tempest. Now the bass of the thunder was echoed by the thumping bass on the radio. The car's windshield wipers kept time, an odd tempo. I jiggled in my seat and swung around a narrow corner. Perhaps I was going too fast, but I wanted away from the storm and the night and the terrors I am sure were awaiting me. The steering wheel was now as wet as the car with beads of sweat from my fingers. Suddenly, a truck loomed before me, lights blinding and wheels skidding. I screamed in perfect time with the song, but for a very different reason, as my hands came off the wheel to cover my face. Lightning raced across the torn fabric of the sky as the rain poured down. The storm was in full swing. 

Well, that's what I have for this week. I enjoyed another five minute stream, because it gave me enough time to get my scene warmed up, yet not enough to let me stop and think about what to do next. I like the hurry, because it forces my ideas to come more quickly. Last week's prompt went very well, and I received a lot of wonderful feedback. Thank you so much for the time you put in to read mine, and I try to read most of yours...


Shakespeare Quote of the Day

"This was a great argument of love in her toward you"
-Twelfth Night


Voices raised in joyous melody. 
Soaring on high, melding with the rich wood of the rafters.
Conveying the words of a hundred years past.
Sweet tones, dulcet airs. Everlasting song.
Mouths open and swaying to the tune.
Music so deep it seeps slowly and lazily into your soul.
The chorus brings soft smiles to the faces of those who listen.
The chapel is brimming with noise. With happiness.
Like a cup of sunshine, singing. Drink it up, the warm feeling.
Music in your heart and mind together. Carved wood rejoices when it is hit
By the tender notes
Of a song.

Saturday, October 22, 2011

Shakespeare Quote of the Day

"You pay a great deal too dear for what's given freely"
-The Winter's Tale


There's nothing like the swoosh of the net
To prove to your team you are a threat
The rocket shot that came from your soul
Has found its way into the goal

Friday, October 21, 2011

Shakespeare Quote of the Day

"I do adore thee so
That danger shall seem sport, and I shall go"
-Twelfth Night


Pitcher of honey
Golden and creamy, tonight
Taste of excitement

Thursday, October 20, 2011

Shakespeare Quote of the Day

"Thou art a foolish fellow"
-Twelfth Night


Once a frigid morning chill
Crept up to my windowsill
Pleaded for me to let it stay
I chastely sent it on its way

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

Shakespeare Quote of the Day

"And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything."
-As You like It


A fiery sphere bursts through
Grey trunks of dawn
Silent grasses wave
In a faint zephyr
The sun rises
A haze of golden dust
Descends upon the earth
Warming the ground
Emerald leaves
Now ruby in the light
Across the field
A house is lit by the sunshine
The upper window is open
Letting in the bird's sweet song
The chill of morning
The light
Inside, a girl wakes
Rubs her bleary eyes
Her smile thick with sleep
She rises and pulls back the shade
She wouldn't miss it for anything

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Shakespeare Quote of the Day

"Fools cure not mad folks"

This is me running

Lungs straining and gasping. A pair of twins that work as one, they rise and fall. Legs pumping, chest heaving, sweat falling out of my pores like a faucet with a solitary drip.
Drip. Drip. The blue crust of the track is slippery under my feet. It is beginning to moisten under the slight rain. Drip. Drip. Dripping from the sky.
The music in my ears is harsh and pounding. Just the way I want it today. I open my mouth in the fog and the rain, breathing deeply and raggedly. Stop to stretch, put my hands on my knees and survey
The dark morning. Two walkers pass by, they are casual and unobserving. A dog is barking somewhere, but in my state of being, I cannot hear a thing. This is me running.

Monday, October 17, 2011

Shakespeare Quote of the Day

"The painter plays the spider, and hath woven
A golden mesh to trap the hearts of men"
-The Merchant of Venice


One spark of sunshine
Alone in a world of grey
Protected and saved

Sunday, October 16, 2011

Write on Wednesdays-Sunshine in a Cup

This week, the WoW exercise was only 5 minutes. I love Emily Dickinson, and I loved this exercise. In the end, I wrote two and decided to post both. I think I am leaning towards the first one, but tell me what you think...

Write On Wednesdays Exercise 19 - Sunshine in a cup. Write the words of Emily Dickinson: "Bring me sunshine in a cup" at the top of your page. Set a timer for 5 minutes. Write the first words that come into your head after the prompt. Don't take you pen off the page (or fingers off the keyboard). Stop only when the buzzer rings! Do this exercise over and over if you wish. Write beyond 5 minutes if you like, you can link it up as an extra post.

First Attempt:

Bring me sunshine in a cup.
Let me drink it out of the mug, still warm from your fingers.
I will smile a lazy, happy smile. The rays of light will fill me to the brim. I will be full of joy.
Next, I will hand my cup to you. Share the love and the light. A wave of warmth will spread through me. I will forget the worn couch and the peeling paint on the walls. There will be grass at my feet. We are in a meadow full of emerald and flowers. Bees are humming busily and everything in the world has something to do. I rejoice in the sights and sounds, my light shirt whipping around me in the wind. The sun is shining and we are smiling. So much happiness I think my heart will break. The trees sway in the breeze as I find the mug and greedily take another swig before setting it down and wrapping my arms around you. Bring me sunshine in a cup.

Second Attempt:
Bring me sunshine in a cup. Heal my wounds, make me whole again. Child, I have stories that would make you cry. I know they make me cry. Bring me sunshine, child, My bones are too old to get it myself. Now, go out into the fields, find the right place, and sit down. Close your eyes and feel it all around you, feel it inside you. Let the sunshine seep into your soul, and erase everything else for just a moment. Erase all the pain. When your back is as warm as your heart, think of me. Think of me sitting in this dark room, not seeing anything. When you think about me, I will feel it. There is my sunshine, child. Bring it to me, I cannot get it myself.