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.

Wednesday, December 26, 2012

Five Sentence Fiction: Vision

What is FSF? Each week, Lillie McFerrin posts a wonderful one word prompt here. I am horribly inconsistent about keeping up with FSF, but now that I am on school vacation, I am trying to stretch my writing muscles once again. Merry Christmas to everyone, and I hope that all is good as we head rapidly towards the new year. I am excited for a fresh year of possibilities and poetry, and hopefully this blog will see some action as the result of a resolution to keep writing. This week's FSF word is vision.


When the Bing Crosby version of White Christmas came on the radio, she sang along loudly, her voice heating the car and filling it with a jollity and festive air that she loved. As the little VW Beetle wound its way up through the mountains sugar coated with snow, she flipped on her headlights and wind shield wipers. The snow was coming down fast, making her feel very alone on the dark roads with miles to go before she reached her destination. 

Perhaps it could have been avoided, had her boyfriend decided to come with her to her parents' house for Christmas. 

Perhaps with another set of eyes, she would have sensed the pick up speeding the opposite way, covered by the dark blanket of falling snow.

Confessions of the Wandering Poet: Haikus

Haikus are for (in this case) the 
frightened poet
the (this) restless mind, wandering in search of their soul
unable to set themselves free
slapping down syllables
burrowing ideas deep within
meandering through lines
hiccuping phrases, the quiet one at the breakfast table
thinking into her glass of juice
never a complete thought
there-and gone with a flash
this poet is unsure
a coward
(she's me). 

Saturday, December 22, 2012


A few hesitant
Flakes fall from the slate grey sky
Not enough for me

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

A haiku for this season

On the streets, shared smiles
Each opening their heart to
This season of joy

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

A Prayer for Newtown

a candle burns in remembrance
sitting in my heart
gusts of thoughts make the candle quiver
the flame burns on

Reflections on Being Swedish

The sky outside was still dark as whispered voices and muffled footsteps echoed throughout the house. In the early hours of the morning, the kettle hummed and a little girl dressed herself all in white. A tray was loaded with tea and lussekatter, saffron buns sprinkled with pearl sugar and shaped into swirls. Three young heads bobbed up the stairs, glowing in the light of candles. As the door to the master bedroom was eased open, quivering voices began to sing. “Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia.”

I was the girl clad in white with a red sash and a crown of candles, followed resolutely each year by my brothers into the room of my parents on that frigid morning in December. In that moment, my face sparkling in the glow of the plastic lights on my head, I was Saint Lucia, reenacting the rescue of the poor peasants in Sweden on a dark night long ago, saved by a glowing presence in white who offered them food and comfort. I grew up with the story of Saint Lucia, and each year on the thirteenth of December, I lived the life of a Swede.

I will always be proud to say that I am one sixteenth Swedish. My household growing up was not of one rich cultural background, I did not come home to a second language, and I do not have one direct country of origin. Instead, out of a melting pot of European countries, there arose a love of my Swedish heritage, and I grew up knowing of my ancestors from Sweden and holding in my heart a country other than the United States. Each year, I lovingly arranged our dala horses, brightly painted in blues and reds, and read the story of the mischievous Tompte, the little spirit man who visits farms at night to bless the inhabitants. I heard news of our distant cousins living in Sweden, and occasionally thumbed through photo albums of the trip to Sweden that was made when I was two years old. Although I do not remember Sweden, it has played a large role in my childhood years and as I begin to understand my heritage.

While it may seem easy for those who are directly descended from a particular ethnic background to celebrate their culture, it is equally important for those of us who are made up of many stories and many nations to learn and to live remembering who we are. Though I may not be able to trace every country my relatives have come from, I am able to rejoice in my Swedish traditions, to proudly show up each year for the annual tree trimming at my family’s Swedish Lodge and to dance around the Christmas tree, butchering the Swedish words to every song.

Five Sentence Fiction: Devotion

What is FSF? Each week, Lillie McFerrin posts a wonderful one word prompt here. I am horribly inconsistent about keeping up with FSF, but now that I am on school vacation, I am trying to stretch my writing muscles once again. This week's word is devotion.

Each day, early in the morning when the mist clung to the tree tops and the family was asleep, Mae tip toed down the stairs and eased open the front door. The grass was cool under her feet, and she felt goose bumps rise on her arms as she scurried towards the pines and the the cool dirt that lay beneath. This was Mae's quiet time, the time when her younger brothers drooled onto their pillow cases and her parents, exhausted, stayed in bed. When Mae reached the roots of one pine tree, she stopped, and crouched down to gaze at a small green shoot peeking above the soil. This was Mae's special time, and to her, this plant was magical. 

Book Recommendation

Recommendation: Les Miserables

Well, I am officially a slacker in regards to this blog, and I am so sorry for not staying in touch with this blog. My life this term has been incredibly busy, my schoolwork demanding but exciting. Now that it is vacation, I have been getting back in touch with my vacation self, reading, knitting, writing, and taking pictures. Coming into vacation I knew that I wanted to read the classic French novel Les Miserables before the release of the new movie on Christmas day. I am a huge fan of the musical, and I love to read classics, so I sat down contented with reading the 1200 page chunk of literature.

This book is a masterfully crafted book of a different era, so be prepared for a level of detail similar to Charles Dickens. Victor Hugo writes about many, many characteristics of the human spirit, and it is impossible not to be touched by the struggles of the people you encounter. Set in the early 1800's in France, Les Mis is a story of epic proportions, a story of love and betrayal, hatred, justice, and resolutions. While it can be difficult to follow at some points due to the volume of characters and information, every sentence is beautiful, and Victor Hugo knows how to make a reader laugh and cry. I recommend it to anyone willing to read the whole book, anyone who is looking for a read that captures a time period and a group of people perfectly.

Sunday, December 16, 2012


it's a nagging pain, like a splinter
a throb every once in awhile
to make me remember

then those thoughts flood in
leisurely lunches spent laughing
cold days trudging along together
our misty breath mingling in the chilled air

memories send tiny pin pricks up and down my spine
sometimes i cannot bare them
but never can i spend a day without them

when we meet again
whisper dreams into my ear
and i will listen

Monday, August 27, 2012

Boston Skies

i stare out the window
it's funny, my face is reflected
into a sea of stars
we are together, the stars and i
in the deep blue of early night
swimming through the sky
there is no horizon
from this high up, just
a smudged charcoal line between blue and deeper blue
the wing tip nods in the wind gently
hard to believe how fast we are going
there are no clouds, or they are
the same color as the sky
just the pinpricks and the reflection of
my tired eyes
we begin to lower
i see the lights of a city
my city, i feel protective
but mostly just exhausted
we glide over the bay, and suddenly i see
the moon, gleaming off the wings and
sitting in the sky
the water shimmers as we rush
past, falling down towards it
i am not scared because i am not alone
i have the stars
the city is illuminated with a thousand
tiny lights
so is the runway
they look like christmas lights
and we are down
bumping along
staring out the window
for our last glimpse of the sky

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

Five Sentence Fiction: Perseverance

I am so happy to have found my way back to FSF! After a bit of a blogging vacation, I am thrilled to start writing again (I have been writing a lot, just not for anyone else to see.) This week's theme is Perseverance, and I hope not to embarrass myself. For anyone who is seeing this for the first time on my blog, you can join at



I guess it makes sense that the more you work, the harder you work, the easier it will become, but it hasn't happened for me yet. That's for sure. Every day, I put on my T-shirt and shorts, my socks, and my soccer cleats, my watch for timing myself. Every day, I go to the field behind my house and run until tiny rivers of sweat spill down my face and I can taste the salt on my tongue. I guess it makes sense for me to persevere, but right now I'm just hoping it gets easier soon. 

Rosebud After Rain








Running, running, running

From one vacation to the next I go
The hot summer sun makes me wish for snow
I have just one day
To pack-then away!
Oh, how I wish to go slow!

Tuesday, July 24, 2012


patches of sunlight slide across
the room; bars of gold drifting
toward my face


a laugh a smile a nod
in a second, the friendship is secure

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

Moments of Majesty

there are moments
shifting, like the patches of shade in a forest
where you feel a spark
a time of peace in a world of endless hustle and bustle
disconnecting yourself
watching the sun set over the water
finding the tips of the misty mountains at dawn
afterwards, there is a hush of understanding inside of you
then a rush to share the peace
with others just like you

Monday, June 25, 2012

Outdoor Concert

hands stroke the piano keys
the sound resonates
up through the wood and the lines of chairs
up to the green mountains
that stand above, casting sunset shadows down
to the listeners
sitting in the grass
ears pricked like dogs
hearing the notes
a symphony hidden in each shining key

Sunday, June 24, 2012


These mountains take my breath away
In each moment, I feel defined, something small that takes up
Little space
Solidly, my feet stand on the ground
The same ground that these giants have sprouted from
Did they curl up like the leaves of
An emerald fern?
Or in a second
Just begin to be
Vast and silent, standing above
Us all?
These mountains are the rainbow
In a day
From the pink tips of sunlight just rising into the bowl of the sky
Down to the fiery orange of midday. The green of the trees
That cling to the ridge line, stubbornly in their place

When the light grows tired, these mountains are purple
Dyed brightly against the haze of the sky
They fade against the background as the bowl grows dark
Until the only thing that separates these mountains and the sky
Is the stars. 

Monday, June 18, 2012


in your new clothes and
sure smile
you are ready to take the leap. move forward and
leave a part of you behind
growing fast and not looking back
you will appreciate these moments later
khaki pants
maybe for the first time in your life
listen to the speakers and hear what they say
maybe not remember beyond today, but they have good advice
a segment of your life is over
tune in next week for another installment
for now
just laugh with friends
store your memories somewhere safe
for another rainy day

Saturday, June 16, 2012


Robert Frost said
Mowing was a scythe
Whispering against the grass
With me, it's a growl
a bloody battle
We having nothing in common
the mower and I
He spits at me
Sputters and groans with each
long aisle of green
Robert Frost's hay made itself
With me, the grass works backwards
Against me
we fight too
In fact
sometimes the whole
yard is out to get me
i raise my rake
and set to work

*Note: This poem references the wonderful Robert Frost poem Mowing, which I happen to love. I have no grudge against him for loving mowing.

Wednesday, June 13, 2012

Splashing Cars

the splash of cars is comforting
out of my window
funny how that noise
can seem so cozy
and safe

Friday, June 8, 2012

I Watch in Wonder

Times like these
weak ray of sunshine slides into my room
poor thing, the clouds have suppressed it
grey but present
I watch in simple wonder

Cloudy Window

being sick is
staring through a cloudy window
little bits of dust and build up
blocking your view
you seek the sunshine
the energy of the other side
but it is elusive
hiding behind the opaque glass
you see the faint outlines
of ideas that should be carried out
tasks yet undone
but you have no power to break the window
no way to find the light
on the other side
be patient
scrub quietly
until life reveals itself
on the other side once more

Sunday, June 3, 2012


Spitting rain and the umbrellas
Pop up like daisies
In somber shades of black and grey
The speakers rise to the occasion
And as words form and programs are passed around
The rain stops
Several seconds the sun is out
The weather understands that this
Is not a day for rain
White dresses, roses, blazers
Do we want to say goodbye?
A few tears, laughs,
Memories in abundance
Cigars and the smoke makes me choke
Maybe I'm choking on something else
Something intangible
Smiles and bright futures
Shining through the rain, which has started again
Refreshments, families
In every sense of the word
We hear of this school as a way of life
Never to be forgotten
The graduating class of 2012

Saturday, June 2, 2012

The Horses

A wet soccer game
A brothers' wet soccer game
I watch
In the pouring rain
Over my shoulder
There they are
Sometimes bad things
Create good ones.

Thursday, May 31, 2012

Finally Finished

What a year! but now
The thoughts are coming choppy
I will find them soon

Tuesday, May 29, 2012


The sun rises and sets
Several times I feel
Alone in a vast space
My dreams are barren and
Crying out for someone to find me
In waking hours
I study and
Feel like the Sandman
Has visited me once too often
Sprinkling grit into my eyes
Making my shoulders droop
When they should not
I wish it were over
Wish I could sit down and write
Letting the loneliness go along
With the steady stream of papers and
How ready I am for
A summer of no regrets
To sing and dance on the cool grasses
And gaze up at the sky

Sunday, May 27, 2012

Summer at Last

Finally it feels
As though the sun has kissed the
Tiny blades of grass

Friday, May 25, 2012

The Weekend Before

The calm before the
Storm. I feel serene, nothing
Can worry me now

Thursday, May 24, 2012

What of the Umbrella?

How does the umbrella feel?
With the cold raining spattering across
It's colorful chords?
Is the umbrella angry
That is being so taken advantage of?

Tuesday, May 22, 2012


Self esteem dips and
Rises. Heating up like tea
Then cooling quickly

Monday, May 21, 2012


Someone else's words
Physical discomfort
No good
Stress, stress, stress
Very bad
Everything going wrong
It truly is
Terrible horrible no good very bad day

Friday, May 18, 2012

You Say Goodbye, I Say Hello

I hate partings
I really do
Where your eyes mist over and you smile
Like there is nothing the matter in the world
Everybody is smiling
Smiling as tears run down their faces
You laugh with the rest
But inside you are breaking
Just a little bit
So are they
So is everyone

The room is laughing
at a joke someone made
Putting a hasty patch on the farewell
Just one more line
One more night

The future is bright
For everyone
But standing in the middle of the road
You want to look back desperately
Instead of forwards
Safe in the life you have
You laugh
We laugh

I hate partings
Hate the tearful hugs and
Sentimental speeches
One less second until you are gone
But what are you supposed to do?
When one fabric is torn apart
Leaving you to slap on
Quick stitches in
its place.

Thursday, May 17, 2012

Water Project

the fleeting drips of water
cascade down
camera clicks
liquid rushes
then, all of a sudden
tray soggy
lens covered in droplets
has the shot come out?
to the computer to upload
but only after this has been repeated
many many times
lucky to get one right

Tuesday, May 15, 2012


big test tomorrow
hours spent studying can
never prepare me

Monday, May 14, 2012

False Hope

We had so much hope
That day of tank tops and sun
Now it is cloudy

Sunday, May 13, 2012

Busy Bees

the bees buzz loudly as
                       a noisy fan in the dead of night in
        a room of the sleeping. humid and dense
they roam from flower to flower
frantic, a quick  burst of energy 
taken by surprise
spiraling figure eights
then back again, another flower, 
humming along the ground
circling in the sky
never really slowing down
legs collecting pollen
in puffs of yellow
                    never a dull moment
surrounded by friends
       singing to themselves
a drone of work done and work
                not yet accomplished 

Friday, May 11, 2012

The Dandelions

The dandelions float around
In the summer breeze
Their tentacles of white tremble
They dance here with ease

On every morning in the dew
The dandelion sees
The sun come up from over hill
And over giant trees

Then opens wide its yellow fronds
To attract friendly bees
And sit in sun and warmth today
Oh, what lives are these!

Thursday, May 10, 2012


What I wouldn't give
For just a peek of sunshine
Rain. More rain. More rain.

Wednesday, May 9, 2012

It takes rock bottom

It takes rock bottom
To see the sky
Only when you have truly reached
The depths can you look upward
And only upward
Towards the clouds and the deep azure
It takes crying and screaming
Tearing your hair out
Or silently hating yourself
It takes weakness
True weakness
To find strength
It takes a week of rain
To see sunshine
Seven days of being inside
Listless and upset
Countless puddles and cars
That splash you as you come outside
Rain doesn't last forever
The clouds will move past
And you will find the sun
It takes rock bottom
To see the sky

Tuesday, May 8, 2012


Rainy day tempers
Run high as the charcoal clouds
Drifting 'cross the sky

Monday, May 7, 2012

Ball Game

Take me out
To the ball game
Crowds of people
Buying food
Franks and fries
Shadows and sunlight
I snap pictures
Players run onto the field
Boring, boring, boring
Seriously, it's a pastime
Not a sport
The man next to me
Takes up one seat
And a half
The air is crisp
Downright cold in the shade
Jumping up and
Doing the wave

Good pictures
If nothing else
Constant drone of noise
French fries
Not a day
But I would love
To have been watching

Saturday, May 5, 2012


Seeing friends again
Watching, laughing
Catching up
Speaking as if
No time has gone by
Long absences seem short
When we are together

Thursday, May 3, 2012

Julius Caesar

Blood falls to the ground
Quietly, no man hears
The sounds of knives
No honorable man lives
Without remorse
No man sees treachery as good
Or evil
Simply the ways of Rome
To bathe hands in bloody fountains
Impassion masses
Against one they loved
With open arms
To come from war
A hero
And to be slain
Or simply human nature
To rise against the powerful
Inspire the weak
Plot in nights
Of thunder and minds
Not quite decided
No man believes
The soothsayer
The one who was right
In the end
The bloody spiral continues
Even when the last man runs
Into his sword
There is another to take his place
In the eyes and hearts of Rome
And so it was with Caesar.

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

Rainy Today

Freezing droplets
Scattered on the roof
Even rain boots don't cheer me up

Sunday, April 29, 2012

Am I?

Am I like the sun
Which shines bright upon the world
Bringing golden joy to those who
Turn their heads to face
The sky
Am I the water
Cool and sincere
Slicing waves that fall
Onto the earth and
Lap at the feet
Of those who care
Am I there
In the moment
When the laugh ripples through the crowd
Am I there
To watch the rising ball of fire in the east
Or see the grey green ocean
Am I there?

Saturday, April 28, 2012


Tearing into flesh
Sparkling rubies of blood drip to the ground
Tendons snap and bones crunch
Sharp beak clacks
Feathers ruffle
Claws clench
The thrill of flight is over
The feast begins

Thursday, April 26, 2012

The Night Before

Standing in front of
A sea of empty chairs
Microphones trained
Speakers in every corner
A ripple of anticipation
Flutters through the chorus
White table clothes
Round tables
And we begin to sing

Wednesday, April 25, 2012

Warm Ups

red leather yellow
 Leather unique New York and
My lips twist around

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Deceptive Sunlight

Deceptive sunlight
Sparkling down through trees and clouds
Vicious wind that chills

Monday, April 23, 2012

Rainy Day

Today was cold and rainy, and obviously I have been blogging a lot to make up for the miserable weather. This afternoon, I put on my rain boots and trudged around in the garden for a while, because despite the cold, there were some fantastic photo opportunities. I ended up with around 100 (got a little carried away), and here are some of my favorites. Try viewing them larger to catch the water droplets.



TODAY is the 448th Birthday of William Shakespeare, master poet and playwright, and the most enduring writer of all time.

William Shakespeare was born on April 23, 1564, and became one of the most influential playwrights in the world. He was born in a London suburb called Stratford-Upon-Avon, married Anne Hathaway at age 18, and later had twins named Hamnet and Judith, as well as an older girl named Susanna. Shakespeare moved to London around the turn of the century and became a playwright, one who quickly became the talk of London, even performing for the queen.

Shakespeare wrote thirty seven plays and many sonnets and longer poems, which were collected by his friends after his death in what is referred to as the First Folio. Shakespeare died on his birthday, April 23rd, 1616, but his work will most likely live on forever.

The words of The Bard continue to shape our cultures and our worlds today, inspiring us and making us laugh and cry. He was a genius, and I wish him a very happy birthday today.

"Look, he is winding up the watch of his wit
By and by it will strike"

"Et tu, Brute?"

"If music be the food of love, play on"

"Be not afraid of greatness:
Some are born great, some achieve greatness,
and some have greatness thrust upon 'em"

"A jest's prosperity lies in the ear of him that hears it,
Never in the tongue of him that makes it"

Wild and Windy Nights

There is something about
Wild and windy nights
That feeds the soul

Something in the way it howls
The sheets of rain driving down
That makes you come alive

You feel the urge
To run out
Into the dark and stormy
To fly through the air
Sing the song of 
The tempest
Scream with the trees
That bend and sway
Drench yourself
With the water
In the darkness

There is something
About wild and windy nights

Sunday, April 22, 2012

Five Sentence Fiction: Scorching

The rain fell in fat drops with miserable abandon towards the ground, and even my rubber ducky colored rain boots and matching umbrella did nothing to lighten the mood. Taxis splashed me with more dirty water, and goose bumps began to pop up on my arms. Slate clouds rolled in and out over the grimy city, over the thousands of chilled people making their way home from work. My teeth were chattering as I jogged across the street and promptly ran into you before standing back and looking into your face. Even from a foot away, your gaze was scorching.

Note: I have been away from FSF for a couple weeks, which I feel very bad about, but I am trying to get back with it. Here, I used a word that I had missed. 



In the forest
green seeps into my being
mosses underfoot
and the trees
staring down with leafy branches
tucked up and leaning towards the sun
there is a strange golden light
tinged with emerald and no sound
accompanies my footsteps
the breath of the trees
is a steady beating
uninterrupted and at peace

Friday, April 20, 2012

Somewhere, right now

In a second, a child is lost
Crying. Somewhere a mother
Weeps and a student
Studies with furrowed brow
In this minute
New life is created
A small fish swims
Under the weight of an ocean
Somewhere there is a deep
Belly laugh and
A birthday celebrated
At sunset
Right now
A person treads lightly and
A baby is comforted
Right now
You are thinking of me
And I of you

In A Moment

Living here
In this moment alone
I feel a breath and
Wind on my neck. Dappled sunlight
Country music in shreds from
Baseball practice nearby
Making sense out of
Nonsense and
Trying desperately to be
Fully in this moment
Watching blank computer screen
Filling up with words
Breathless words
Words of desire
To breathe in and
Out again and
Clear my head
To live in this moment alone
Buds on the trees
A bower of green
Fresh and new
Crisp white houses
Two yellow lines stretching down the road
To nowhere
Making sense out of nonsense
In this moment
I am here

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

The Big Game

when the team scores
we scream and cheer
then frantically
bite fingers and tap them against
the table in
severe nervousness
each pass another
each touch on the ball
another fit
of emotion

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Early Morning Noise

the fan drones in a
monotonous tone and a
desire to be

Monday, April 16, 2012

A Collection of Pictures

A beautiful sunset from this morning

Twin Cranes from a weekend trip to the water

An array of boats

White flowers, with the morning sun in the background

A photogenic pile of bricks in the garden

Hot Days

A blast of hot air
The kiss of sun on shoulders
Temperatures will soar

Friday, April 13, 2012

Poem Edit: Seaman's Song

I have been thinking lately about my poetry. I wrote a bunch of wonderful poems at the beginning of this blog, but I think some of them could do with a jolt of some sort. I have never been one for editing poems, but I would like to go back and edit a couple that I loved but could be better. The first is one I wrote a long time ago called "Seaman's Song".

Here is the original:

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

Here is the edited version. I have not changed everything, just a couple parts I didn't like as much in the first version.

The crashing waves and crisp sea air
The blank horizon to which I stare
Sailing into the blue I find
The sea is the woman who captures my mind
I do love my lady, my lady the sea
She is the best lady for me, for me
With eyes as blue as the briny deep
Her song is the one which sends me to sleep
No other girl shall be in my head
When I can rest on the sea bed
And in the morning, with sun on high
She smiles as ships go passing by
I do love my lady, my lady the sea
She is the lone lady for me, for me
With eyes as blue as the briny deep
Her song is the one which sends me to 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, my lady the sea
For she takes good care of me, of me
She is the one I have struggled to find
Forever will she stay in my mind.

Thursday, April 12, 2012

What if...

What if raindrops
Fell to earth in different colors?
Magenta smears on raincoats and
Deep blue puddles.
What if clouds were rainbows
And the earth was one vast
Canvas. Ready to be
Painted on.

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Things That Make Me Happy

I love my
guinea pigs. Family and friends.
Coral colored nail polish.
Hugs and apple pie. Bright colors and
sandals. Braids. Eating well
Sleeping long. Quilt of dragonflies.
Singing all alone. Being barefoot.
Julius Caesar and old summer journals
Rereading and discovering memories.
Laughing hard, receiving the mail
Reading good books
On rainy days.
Bubbles and breakfast and misty mornings.
Knitting. The ocean. Hot chocolate
Happy endings.
Scrabble and rain boots
Tie dye T-shirts.
Walking slowly. Ice skating outside.
Soccer playing. White Christmas.
Broadway plays and Shakespeare
In black box theaters.
Free verse and blogging.
Living, Laughing, Loving.

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Long Day

What a long day and
Another one coming as
The sun comes again

Monday, April 9, 2012


The sky is dark, in comes the night
Bringing clouds of deepest light

Sunday, April 8, 2012


from the audience
a great guffaw rises up
settles down again

Saturday, April 7, 2012


actors are blank slates
to be scribbled upon by children
and hastily erased-swept
the careful script of maturity
flawless lines and drawings on the black
chalk can be scrubbed away
but a thin coating remains
the shell of roles past
roll upon roll
dusty layers of
with each line drawn
each angle
there is added another
swipe of chalk
until the slate is
crisscrossed with marks
the actor has marks
of personality
many people slipped into one
a face on each corner.

Friday, April 6, 2012

Early Spring

a blush of spring
a breath upon the sad limbs
of a knurled tree
bringing life and golden sunshine
blossoms of pink
a baby's cheek
sky the color of
a bit of eggshell
lying blue against the ground
no green yet
but buds and delicate
petals fluff in the wind
and the sun shines
weak from above

Thursday, April 5, 2012


Rushing around can be no fun
Stuck inside you can't see the sun
Working throughout
Without a pout
Can't wait until it is done

Wednesday, April 4, 2012


Sitting in the dark
Letting it spill around you
Dark and dank
It welcomes you, a stranger
Into its moist depths
Folds of blackness slide in around you
Lost to the world
You lie back
It sifts around you
Delighting in your

Tuesday, April 3, 2012


repetitive and
oddly soothing. feel the stretch
in your every move

Sunday, April 1, 2012

Race and Rain


Seeing grey
On the horizon. Fat drops fall
With vengeance and
The world slips into slumber


The slapping of sneakers
On pavement
Loud against the breathing
Of hundreds.


Finishing with flushed cheeks
Gasps and the voice of an
Overly cheery announcer
Grinning and shouting numbers.

Friday, March 30, 2012


Sometimes words are hard.
Stringing together syllables
You don't feel. You cannot find letters
That mean what you feel
Inside. Your mind feels crowded
Noisy, like a subway station
As the train rushes steaming and blowing
To the next stop.
Sometimes words don't come
And you feel empty
A misty moor in the dead of night
No light or life.
Sometimes the words fail
And you resort to

Wednesday, March 28, 2012


some say a haiku
cannot have metaphors but
the sky is a bowl

Monday, March 26, 2012

On An Unrelated Note

Reflections on Ice Breaking

Is dandy
But liquor
Is quicker."

Ogden Nash

Not Yet Spring

the sharp fingers of spring snap
about my ears. they are not sun colored
but deep blue and cold.
not yet warmed to the idea of 
puffy white clouds and flowers
with a slap to my ears
they buffet me about
drifting across the streets
pulled by the wind that tugs
at my hair and the jacket
I so wisely wore. 

Sunday, March 25, 2012

On an Unrelated Note

"The cow is of the bovine ilk; one end is moo, the other milk."

Ogden Nash

another day

another day stuck
watching soccer
the beautiful game
becomes less beautiful in the rain
and cold, damp fields
of sticky astro turf
clamoring for window seats
inside where it is warm and
loud. full of adolescent boys and
sweaty smells
but better
than outside

Saturday, March 24, 2012


a day of soccer
sweat and turf. clouds and some sun.
time to sleep and rest

Thursday, March 22, 2012

Write on Wednesdays: Alex Miller Inspiration

First off, thanks so much to Jennifer for hosting us this week at her blog. She created a great prompt, and I was so excited to try it out! I chose to write for five minutes, and I came up with this piece, though I am not sure where from. I don't think it is really related to the prompt at all, but sometimes my mind takes me to strange places...


‘Something of great importance to me happened two nights ago.’

All alone in the great house, I sat silently by a flickering television, trying to distinguish my feelings. First, there was the gut wrenching anger, the passion and fury so powerful it threatened to take me over. Then, quickly after that, the strong and sweet tang of remorse, followed by a painful longing that throbbed and chilled me. I sat there, huddled in my blanket, sifting through all those feelings I thought were finally gone, watching the trees bend in the wind, submitting themselves to a great force. At some point, my hands began to shake, and I felt a single tear slide down my cheek. The spot of salty wetness on my shirt was a mark of incredible feeling. It brought together the doubts and frustrations and the great love I was feeling. I sniffed quietly, wallowing in my self pity and anger, letting the moon gloat over my horrible state. Even the stars giggled and viciously hid behind a cloud, locking me out. I felt a bottomless lonely feeling, one that even the blanket wrapped tightly around my shoulders couldn't squeeze away.

Wednesday, March 21, 2012


warm spring days means weeds
pulling up roots and some worms
cool dirt on fingers

Monday, March 19, 2012

Owenus Digestivus Theorem

ladies and gentlemen:
the Owenus Digestivus Theorem
the incredible system of food 
in an eleven year old's body
one small compartment for food
one for drink and another
just for dessert
he can be full of food
plenty of room for dessert
"no mom
not one more bite"
but pie on the other hand...
the mother whispers, "he shall eat cake
and have room for dessert. always room for dessert."
The Owenus Digestivus Theorem
us kids have proof it is real
he picks apart the chicken
stuffs his face with ice cream
strange. some kind of
what are these
mother swears to go to her grave
"he will always have dessert." 

Here lies a Mother. There is always room for dessert. 

Sunday, March 18, 2012

The Coming of Spring

the coming of spring
means storm windows stowed away
barefoot running in the grass
premature use of the sprinkler
sunbathing in the grass and feeling
warmth on your face
tank tops and coral colored
toe nails
photos filled with sun
guinea pigs enjoying fresh grass
and a lightheartedness
heralded by it all
a skip and a hop
outside in the spring

Saturday, March 17, 2012

Destination Imagination

we enter a strange world
of wonky hats and matching
neon shirts
hallways full of 
cardboard princesses
characters walk by
jackets and ties
frantically whispering
laughing hysterically
competitions all around us
judges wearing aprons
covered in pins
timers beep
actors begin
again and again
a day of 

Friday, March 16, 2012

The Game

When the game is not about the game
When the field is not the field,
But a place to hurt others, to argue and whine
When your mind is clouded and your forehead
Wrinkled in a frown
When you feel angry and you want
Revenge. Vengeance. Stop.

The game is not about vengeance. Not about being
Bloodthirsty or eager to deal
What has been dealt to you.
The game is about smiling and 
Running. Getting sweaty and loving what
You do. It is about every touch on the ball
Every cheer from teammates.
Not the decisions of a referee.
Not the score or the number of times she whispered something
Mean under her breath.

The game is about the game. Keep it that way.
If the game is not about the game.
Stop and think. 

Thursday, March 15, 2012


the mop
sits there
me staring
at me with
those eyes
he knows
I need him
the tendrils of mop
B  R  A  N  C  H    O  U  T
Over the floor.     Spreading and sucking bits of dirt. Out from under and around.
The mop cleans with the mouth of a monster. The tentacles of a giant squid. And yet I need him. Evil as he is. 

Five Sentence Fiction: Coincidence.

Every morning at ten of eight, I bustle across the street with a bright scarf and a smile, swing open the diner door with a tinkle, and sit at the stool closest to the window. I order a hot chocolate with whipped cream, and anxiously check my hair in the mirror behind the counter while I wait. He comes out, wiping hands on his snowy apron, smiling with glittering teeth and running fingers through his wavy hair while carefully holding my cup in the other hand. Coincidence? His smile makes my heart flutter.

I have not gotten around to FSF in quite a while, and I am glad that I have time not that I am on vacation. This is my first try in a long time, so I hope it is ok. 


Wednesday, March 14, 2012

Write on Wednesdays: Zany

This week, I got to host the weekly WoW, and I created the zany prompt. Hopefully, I have done Gill justice here! I am not sure where I got the idea for this one...Just popped into my head.

Melodies wrapped their winding arms around her, sweeping her up in soaring measures and stunning verses. Her mind and body filled with the bass beats and cello strings, the sopranos and heavy rockers and pop stars. With every step she took, every thought she pondered, the music played in her head. It was ever present, the first thing she heard in the morning and the cool lullaby that sent her to sleep. Wherever she was, she carried the music.

She looked strange, walking down the street like that. Robert pointed out to Mummy the strange girl twirling across the zebra crossing. She had her arms outstretched, just like a bird he thought. Maybe she was a butterfly. Mummy glanced quickly, then told Robert that the girl probably heard The Music, and that was the reason she was dancing. She said that those who heard The Music couldn't stop it, couldn't control it, but were happy all the time. They smiled and waved at strangers, and danced from place to place. Robert was curious about this Music, and he wanted to know more. He asked Mummy. 

The music was strong inside her that day. It was its own being, lifting and soaring through her, channeling her energy. She felt powerful with the music in her. She could do anything. Notes pitter-pattered through her like drops of rain on a cloudy day. She lifted her face to the sky to feel the music pour down upon her, a heavenly song. 

When Mummy told Robert about The Music, Robert caught his breath and stared at the girl now pirouetting down the sidewalk. She looked happy and free. Robert wished he could hear the mysterious notes, and feel the joy that she felt. Suddenly, he tugged his hand free of Mummy's and ran down the street towards her. She watched as he rain up to the girl and brushed her arm with feather light fingers. She turned, and listened as his lips moved. Mummy watched but couldn't hear what Robert was saying. The girl laughed and bent down to whisper something in his ear. Slowly, Robert's face lit up and he began to giggle and spin about in circles, raising his arms to the sky. 

Tuesday, March 13, 2012


Vacation is a welcome break after
 Long days and studying
To sleep and wake To yawn and lazily slip
Out of bed late
Breakfast and a run
Then free time
 Spinning about you
Dreamily sliding through
Sunlight and shadow
Thinking of times
 Laughing at jokes and singing
 In the shower
Spending time with
 Guinea pigs
Reading and reading
Turning pages
Living lazily

Monday, March 12, 2012

Write on Wednesdays: Zany

Write On Wednesdays
First off, I want to thank Gill at inkpaperpen for letting me host Write on Wednesdays this week. I am really excited, and glad to give her a break, as she works wonderfully hard writing prompts and reading all our work. We couldn't have done it without her!

For this week, I wanted to explore characters a little more. When I say characters, I mean characters. There are so many people we interact with every day, and I can't help but imagine their stories as I see them. What does the mailman do when his work is done? Why does the grocery lady always wear the same earrings? Of course, we have the normal people in our lives, but I am sure everyone has their fair share of zaniness.

Personally, I love things just a little quirky. I am the first to admit that I am a little strange, and gladly. I confess to wearing interesting flowing skirts or reading Shakespeare's sonnets at dinner or walking barefoot in the rain. I also love quirky people. Last week, a woman stopped her car in front of my house, walked around, and let a small pink piglet out of the back. Keep in mind that I live in a normal suburban area with houses, not farms. She put a red leash on the pig and proceeded to stroll down the street as if nothing strange was happening. I thought it was the greatest!

So here is your challenge for the week, WoWer's.

Write on Wednesdays: Zany
Zany, adj.
amusingly unconventional or idiosyncratic.

This week, try to find the zany in your life, or just create the zany in someone else's. Feel free to write a fictional quirky character, or take inspiration from your own life. Wherever the prompt takes you, a letter, poem, song, anything you feel like writing. Keep your post on the short side: up to 500 words OR a 5 minute stream of consciousness exercise. Link your finished piece to the list and begin popping by the other links to enjoy others writing. The linky will be open from Monday to Friday.

Have fun discovering the wacky, zany, quirky, silly, crazy side of yourselves!


Sunday, March 11, 2012

Buds in Spring

The buds of spring
So readily pop from
hard cold ground
Pushing eager heads
out into the weak sunshine
of March
Dead leaves pile around
Them but with a 
Splash of color they explode
Out into crisp air
Waiting for spring
To begin

Saturday, March 10, 2012

Car Trip

the car stays the same
all around trees rush past and
the car stays the same

Friday, March 9, 2012

author comes

He walks to the middle of the room
Bag at his side, holding the book
His hair is thinning at the top but he seems
When his lips part, he captivates the audience
With his notecards he stands
This book is...ehhh...about...
Simply wonderful
The author begins to speak of journeys
philosophers and atoms
Ancient times with scribes and
Malicious people too.
A way of life, a radical solution
He has found the way of the universe
In an old text
A latin poem
He says the beauty of the words
Is immense
As the universe that spreads around us
With so many other worlds apart
From our own.
The author stops and thanks
The audience and signs books
Smiles wearily
Is congratulated for his successes
Leaves with a
ring of the bell
hanging above the door.

Wednesday, March 7, 2012


A whiff in the air
A breath of breeze and could it
Honestly come now?

Hooray! Cheer the plants on as they push themselves up from sodden ground and into sunlight.

Green, a lost color, coming back to life.

Discover baseballs lost all winter, in the depths of the backyard.

Tuesday, March 6, 2012


what a monster
eating away at your insides
filling you with nervous energy
you do not have
millions of thoughts
worries are free
from the cell they were confined to
ready to swoop about
your brain and
torment you to the edge
of sanity

Monday, March 5, 2012

Another Language

Another language
It seems
Magical, another world
Sounds unlike yours
Twisting your tongue around
Trying to make yourself
That you can speak
And use this
Magical language

Sunday, March 4, 2012

Simple Life

Studying all through
The weekend of sleep and food
What a simple life

Saturday, March 3, 2012

Half Birthday

There is something very
Satisfying about a half
Smack in the middle
of two very different ages,
You feel older
And at the same
Time, younger.
How you are still one age
But in a day
Will be closer to the other
Leaves you pondering
And eating
Half Birthday
Humble pie.

Thursday, March 1, 2012


in a small place
warm and dark
curled into a small ball
head on your knees
cradled in your arms
around, snow falls
silent and still
the trees watch
you lie
watching the whiteness all around you
aimlessly drifting
like you
piling on the ground
so many flakes
come together
you lie alone
at peace
from the turmoil inside
and out

Write on Wednesdays: Small Expectations

The Write on Wednesday Spark: Small expectations
As I am thinking about education and learning, kindergarten and university, I have taken this week's writing exercise from one of my early childhood books. It is an activity I do with small children and one that always inspires so I thought it would be fun to see what the exercise inspires in adults. So, your prompt is: Imagine yourself as tiny as your thumb.Where would you live? What would you do?

When I saw this prompt, I was immediately reminded of one of my favorite books, The Borrowers. It is an adorable book about a family just about as large as your thumb who live under a clock in a big house. I recommend the book to anyone who loves children's literature just as much as I do. 

My favorite time is dinner time. When the Big Ones sit at the table and chatter and laugh, I can watch from the bookcase without being seen. They all love each other so much, and I find a warm feeling creeping from my toes to my nose. Being all alone all the time makes me lonely, but seeing them passing around the mashed potatoes and telling jokes makes my life just a little better. 

I sit quietly behind Shakespeare and Luisa May Alcott, not making a sound, and watch them be a family. I don't need to be quiet, because the Big Ones wouldn't hear me even if I was screaming, but I like to listen. I enjoy the quiet. 

In the Big Family, there is Big Mother, Big Father, and three Big Children. The Big Children smile all the time, and the Big Mother and Big Father love each other very much. Sometimes I wish I could smile all the time, or have someone who loved me that much. I am all alone. The days are long, but I don't mind because I have the Books. Living inside a bookshelf has its advantages. I read almost all day, trying to lose myself in the pages that are twice as big as I am. The letters are the size of my head, but I have learned to read by walking up and down along the pages. Reading is a journey, and every book is a new discovery. 

Sometimes I wish I were Big. Then  I could write and smile and see others like me. I could dance in the sun and not worry about the Big One's cat. Sometimes I wish for a miracle. A miracle that will never come true. 

Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Where From?

the snow comes from nowhere
a stealthy spy
creeping across the sky
down to the ground
tumbling silently
what messages do
you bring?

Tuesday, February 28, 2012


The song flows thick throughout the chapel
Billowing, a sail in the wind
Melody blossoms and singers smile
Holding music up proudly
A banner of victory
Called to attention
With the tap of a stick on music stand
Director halts the flow and offers
Praise, comments
Start again
Legato, arpeggio
Musical words float
In time with the notes
We are singing Latin
Dixit Dominus
Heavy consonants
A thousand things
That will slip out of your grasp
The moment the music
Starts again

Sunday, February 26, 2012


The clouds froth and bubble
Stewing in the pot of azure sky
Rumbling and swirling
The products of some powerful spell
Racing, scudding like ships
Across a turbulent sea
Sliding over land 
Huge ocean freighters 
Slow and consistent
Growing heavier as they pick up cargo
Dense and dark, menacing
An angry frown of the sky
Then down comes rain
Open the hold and 
It falls to the ground
Millions of drops
Suspended for a second
In the air

Bad Bridge

big bridge
mammoth of steel
swallowing cars
laughing with zeal
creaking in song
a sinister start
molded in metal
he has no heart
far above water
the grey above blue
a menacing smile
he's coming for you

Friday, February 24, 2012

A Man on a Bus

A man on a bus
He sits in the back
Looks out at the rain and

A man on a bus
His fingers cold
He rubs them together swiftly
Friction creates heat

A man on a bus
Scrutinizes other 
Which to tell?

A man on a bus
Walks up to my seat
I lean in 
He tells me his secret.

Thursday, February 23, 2012

Wet and Dry

Wet then dry and wet
Again and the rain is gone
Crazy weather day.

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Singing the Spring

A breath of warm air
Seems a kiss of a zephyr
Singing of the Spring

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Write on Wednesdays: Dear...


I have never met you. I admit to that. But I know that someday I will see you, across the room or across the street, and the sun will be shining. Someday I will stare out at the angry ocean, and the bottle from you will wash up onto the shore. We will bump into each other on the street, apologize and introduce ourselves. A flash of smile, a friendship forms.

Perhaps we will meet at the top of a mountain, with the wind blowing in our hair and the whole world spread below us. Your dog will run up to greet me, or I will spill something all over your nicest shirt. Maybe we will meet on a boat, sailing into the sunset, with the water shining as brightly as our eyes.

Perhaps this is my dream, my fantasy of fairies and white horses, and I can never hope of a knight to sweep me off my feet. For now, I sit on the rocky shore with this letter and let a little bird called Hope flutter around in my chest, waiting for someone that may or may not come. Soon, I will put down the pen and shove this letter into a bottle, then toss it out to sea. I know you will read it, and when you do, you will understand why I wait.