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, 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.


Monday, February 20, 2012

Spilling Guts

Sometimes, I spill my guts
Writing with no reservations
Pouring my voice, my song onto paper
Typing it onto screen.
Do I regret it?
but it helps me to unload
A host of terrors flies away
When my fingers find the pen
A deep sigh
A sigh from inside rises up
So sorry
For my melodramatic words
and sorry for the times I have snapped
A thin string stretched a little too far
But I needed it
So whatever form my therapy takes
Wherever peace finds me
I will grab it.

Sunday, February 19, 2012

A Brief Description of My Passion

poetry is a song
a melody, a tear, a first kiss, a sunrise, a
Bomb, killing, a cherry tomato on a summer day
poetry is a moment in time-suspended.

A second of silence. a hug and a smile. A nervous breakdown, a mug of cocoa. poetry
is all the little things we take pride in.
homework and sunshine and walking in puddles
in the rain. it is a yearning for something better
a journey of self discovery
a slice of apple pie. a brushing of teeth in the morning and waving
to friends you will never see again.
poetry is agony. the suffering of a world on your shoulders
dripping through your pen or maybe
just your contemplations
from your corner of the universe...poetry is
an awakening from a
deep sleep
a dream of things to come and things

poetry is sitting at your computer and typing
or staring into the distance when the words won't come. it is rude and obnoxious
as a teenager and wise
as an elder. it is nothing
a flirting desire to be
and everything in the world at the same time
jostling for position
it is the thought on paper
word unto word
song on page
letter by letter
a piece of your soul.

Friday, February 17, 2012

Killing Books

I do not read books.
I kill them. Stab my knife into the pages with
A savage joy. Twist until the words jumble and a stream
Of ink rushes down onto the table
The life's blood of a book.
I let it slide through my fingers, feel
Strange joy as the book's soul
Joins with mine. A horrible deed done
I erase the evidence, place the book back on the shelf
Wipe my hands of the ink, the stray words
Clinging to my shirt.
And walk away
Simply a passerby.

Thursday, February 16, 2012


Painted glass,
a tinted world of skewed reality
voices sing, a guitar
He is the peacemaker
music man
a face of time gone away,
Lost era
Newspaper taxis
Kaleidoscope eyes
a poet too
Round glasses hiding
tortured eyes
forgiven for everything
on that day the world cried
and the music
Came alive again
All that was left
empty chords
I cried
remember him
with every note
A man
who hated
and loved
The world.

Tuesday, February 14, 2012


Love is a
fickle friend
Sometimes hiding in the trees
On the edge of your vision
Other times it sings and
dances for you
a symphony
a star

Monday, February 13, 2012

V Day

Tomorrow is Valentine's Day
A day of pink and hearts
Some rejoice
Some retch
Romance blossoms
Or does it?

Roses are red
Some gross things too
I don't know what to think
Do you?

Write on Wednesdays: The Monsters Under Your Bed

Warm and dry after bath and toothbrushing, tucked into bed with Curly and Teddy and Hoot, Little One sank into the blankets and sighed. The pillow was soft and cool to the touch, and Daddy remembered to turn on the night light, which was shaped like a lighthouse. After a kiss from Mommy and a kiss from Daddy, Little One was ready to fall asleep. Mommy and Daddy left him in his room, and walked downstairs to the living room.

Little One wanted to go to bed, he really did, but there was something bothering him that night. Something big and dark and most definitely not friends with Curly and Teddy and Hoot. Little One peeked above his covers, saw a terrifying Shadow, and dived back under, curling his toes and scrunching up his face to forget it all. When he was so curious he couldn't stand it another moment, he slowly moved up, then quick as a flash, he peeked out of his blankets again. And there it was! It seemed to be a very bad, and very magical Shadow, for it could sense when Little One was going to pop up.

Again and again, Little One slowly peered above his covers, then quickly peeked at the wall. Again and again, the Shadow arched up against the wall, with a terrifying head and jaws wide open, ready to swallow Little One and Curly and Teddy and Hoot all in one bite.

Finally, Little One could not do it one more time. He shrank back under his blankets, the scrunched up his face and screamed with all the might in his tiny body, "MOMMY! DADDY!"

And there they were, tired faces reassuring and hands outstretched to comfort him.

"Why, Little One, what is the matter?"

Little One explained about the mysterious and smart Shadow that wouldn't let him sleep, and was very calm until the Shadow appeared again, dancing on the wall. Little One shrieked, but Daddy let out a laugh.

"Oh Little One, that was your mysterious and smart Shadow, reflecting from the nightlight. Everything is fine."

Little One realized he had been silly, and accepted Mommy and Daddy's kisses before curling back under his warm blankets with Curly and Teddy and Hoot. It had been a long night, and Little One's eyes closed softly before he saw his Shadow on the wall, standing guard so other Night Things couldn't harm him. Maybe if he had been awake, he would have seen the Shadow wink, the stand back at attention.

Sunday, February 12, 2012

John Lennon

Round glasses
Tinted and a smile
He sees the world
With colored eyes
And the music
Tells his story
A Chapter in
Each chord

Versatile Blogger Award!

First off, I would like to thank Daphne from for nominating me for the Versatile Blogger Award. I was nominated for this award several months ago, but kind of cheated, so this time I am going to play by the rules!

I only recently found Daphne's blog when she joined our Write on Wednesday group, and since then I have read every one of her WoW posts, and loved each one. I really enjoy her writing style, and I am so glad that she has thought of me for this award. I am very grateful.

Here we go:

7 Things About Me Are

1. I have a not so secret love of reading biographies
2. I love photography even though I am not particularly good at it.
3. I have two blogs and write for two others.
4. I love oceans, mountains, and sunshine.
5. I am a bit of a neat freak and I love to organize things.
6. I strongly dislike pencils and have taken to writing everything in colored Sharpie pen.
7. Ich lerne jetzt Deutsch.

7 People I Would Like To Nominate

1. Sam
2. Flute
3. Stephanie
4. Melinda
5. Sif
7. Katie

Thanks again Daphne!


Saturday, February 11, 2012

Wolves and Trees

Blue sky turns to black
Trees shift in the wind and howl
The wolves of the night

Friday, February 10, 2012


your mind feels weighted down
knowledge is heavy
you know
last minute
now a thousand
tidbits float around
in your thoughts
the test is handed
and suddenly
you feel light as a feather
left to sit and scratch your head
wondering where it
all went

Thursday, February 9, 2012


Stomach and soul full
Hearty chuckles giggles chirps
Laughing all around

Wednesday, February 8, 2012


This is actually a poem I wrote a while ago for a contest. Sadly, I did not win, but I still love the poem and wanted to share it.

cinnamon and spice
ginger, cumin.
black pepper and cardamon
on their own, flakes of flavor
combined, they are powerful mixtures.
Haitian, Japanese, and Swedish
long hair, short hair
eyes of coal or eyes of emerald.
each brings their own flavor
passionate, powerful
delicate and heady
explosive mixtures
intoxicating, exciting
the more we bring together, the more intricate
is the dish of our lives
white flour, brown sugar
spicy curry and savory bread
individuality sprinkled on top
a fine powder
of who we are and who we strive to be
together we can create
what alone we cannot find

Tuesday, February 7, 2012

Write on Wednesdays: Possessing Beauty

The Write on Wednesday Spark:  Possessing Beauty
Write about a collection. Write about something you or someone you know, collects. Think about the "why" behind the collection - why is it important to collect this particular thing? How does it make the person feel to add another piece to their collection? Is the group of objects there to be seen, to be studied or simply kept together? Write a real life story or a piece of fiction.

My nutcrackers sit on the bookcase, watching me with kind eyes and wooden smiles. In this house, they are not a tacky Christmas touch, but old friends that stay up all year, seeing me through good times and bad. They are not extensive, and I do not live in a crowded world of painted eyes, but they are a part of me that has grown through the years, and are as important to me as my favorite book or my special bear. 

It all started when I was a young child and was in a ballet Nutcracker three times. The first time, I was the youngest member of the cast, a smiling Chinese Tea girl with a bright red costume and a twirler full of energy. The Nutcracker was my fairy tale, complete with dazzling snow flakes, flurries of whiteness, and the queen of fantasy: the Sugar Plum Fairy. I was entranced, and of course I yearned for my own wooden prince to come, so I could rock him in my arms and he could save me from the mice and take me on a tour of the World of Sweets. 

Much to my delight, I received my first real nutcracker that Christmas, and I pirouetted around the living room, holding him up for the world to see much like Clara holds her doll up to the audience. I remember the joy of that moment, a child's joy at being invited to live the fairy tale, and it was wonderful. My collection grew as the years flew by, and each brought new Christmas memories, and unearthed the old memories of the stage and the first Nutcracker. 

Even today I cannot look at them without humming the magical music, without realizing how lucky I am to have them as tokens of my childhood. Their stiff grins and unwavering stares contain the conversations of old friends, and I look at them as some of my dearest companions. Perhaps my prince has been with me the whole time. 

Five Sentence Fiction: Shiver

The air is boiling. It is one of those days where you can feel the sunburned skin peel off your back and the sweat bead on your neck and face. One of those days where the tarmac is what you think the center of the earth would feel like, and ladies sit on their porches and fan themselves with steaming, arid, air. People drink lemonade and lie still, hoping to ward it off. Yes, the air outside is dreadful, but today you are shivering.


flowers drawn on the window
black and white drawings
nonsense and shapes

the sky broods and sits in wait
grey and intense
sunlight from one corner
one chink of brightness
on a dark afternoon

alone in the house
belt it out

i can hear
the heater whistling
with the sound
of a punctured heart


Today is Charles Dickens' 200th birthday!!! Here's to all his works of genius, and to remembering an astounding writer whose writing is full of the human spirit.


Monday, February 6, 2012

Broken Charger

Computer light on
A star in the inkiness of
The carpet
Light off
A dark night of despair
Where are you
current of energy?
Charge my machine
Make it well again.

Sunday, February 5, 2012

I Promise

Promise poetry
Tomorrow when I have time
No more excuses

Saturday, February 4, 2012



Midnight snack run
Bolting down cheesecake, gluttony re-imagined
The fridge swings open she eats with abandon
Harsh white light illuminates her face


White dawn approaches on stealthy feet
Mist enshrouds the house as specters walk
With heavy tread upon the roof


Alarm clock sings to call
In the new day
She is awakened by the red numbers
By her bed and up to the bathroom
The empty plate stares from the sink during


The wind sounds strange
As it rushes under her car on the highway
She feels small
Against the truckers and tourists and commuters
Suddenly minuscule against
The charcoal sky

Thursday, February 2, 2012

Groundhog Day

Punxatawny Phil
Hiding away
Sleeping in warmth
He must stay
Sprung from his den
He heard a great noise
It sprouted from thousands
Of girls and boys
He was grabbed and brought up
For the crowd to see
And those poor, large, brown eyes
Said, "Pity me!"
He never saw shadow
On that cloudy day
But the people they said
Winter's here to stay
Poor 'ole Phil he was scared
As they lifted him up
They may think he is magic
He is just a pup
Who wants warmth and springtime
Like any of us
And he looks at you bravely, says
What's all the fuss?

Wednesday, February 1, 2012


A rare day of warmth
Is it spring?

Or just another day of taunting?