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.

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.