LOL. Check out my April Rant before you read this. I was just scanning old posts and saw it.
I mention two poems that I submitted to the poetry contest, "My lover's eyes" that I hoped would place, and "psychologists are the janitor's of our minds" that I didn't think would do anything. Well, "My lover's eyes" did NOT place, and my other poem won the contest! How crazy is that?
Meanwhile, I've almost finished two more Jedi cloaks, I finished one Jedi cross stitch, gave it away as a birthday present, and am making one for myself. And I'm wondering what I'd do if a boy asked me out.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Medicine
The Word is like medicine
Sometimes sweet and syrupy- you feel like you could eat it forever.
Other times it is bitter and hard to swallow- and it sits in your stomach like a rock.
Either way it keeps you healthy and safe, insuring long life.
The only wrong thing you can do is to avoid it for its bitterness,
For that way leads to sickness and death.
Sometimes sweet and syrupy- you feel like you could eat it forever.
Other times it is bitter and hard to swallow- and it sits in your stomach like a rock.
Either way it keeps you healthy and safe, insuring long life.
The only wrong thing you can do is to avoid it for its bitterness,
For that way leads to sickness and death.
A Choice
Up a jagged hillside to an uncertain future,
Or down the even, paved road toward comfort and security.
The map's key shows a thin line zigzagging up the mountains, barely a trail,
And a wide highway, well worn with travel.
At the end of one, rumor tells of a vast treasure.
The other, a kingdom of full stomachs and soft beds.
A lifetime of scars, calluses, and happiness,
Or of salty pillows and unfulfilled dreams?
Or down the even, paved road toward comfort and security.
The map's key shows a thin line zigzagging up the mountains, barely a trail,
And a wide highway, well worn with travel.
At the end of one, rumor tells of a vast treasure.
The other, a kingdom of full stomachs and soft beds.
A lifetime of scars, calluses, and happiness,
Or of salty pillows and unfulfilled dreams?
Dancing Trees
The trees love the wind.
It is their one true dance partner.
They shiver in delight as it rustles their leaves and twirls their branches.
Sometimes the dance is too much
And the trees, in an effort to dance as hard as the wind
Break
And Fall
Never to Dance Again.
But still the trees love the wind,
And raise their branches to it as it passes.
For it is better to dance and die than to never dance at all.
It is their one true dance partner.
They shiver in delight as it rustles their leaves and twirls their branches.
Sometimes the dance is too much
And the trees, in an effort to dance as hard as the wind
Break
And Fall
Never to Dance Again.
But still the trees love the wind,
And raise their branches to it as it passes.
For it is better to dance and die than to never dance at all.
The Courtyard
It is a rainy day in a courtyard.
Every surface is covered with jugs to catch the water.
A woman walks among them, pouring colorful acid into certain jugs, ignoring others.
The acid is very toxic, and if there isn't enough water,
The acid will eat away at any imperfections until the jug cracks and dies.
To protect some jugs, lids cover them, but then water doesn't enter either.
Be warned, once a lid is put on, it is difficult to remove it completely and the woman is more likely to pass it by.
However, the more water in the jug, the less colorful the acid.
The jugs of water tsk and sigh each time one breaks and spills its brightly colored contents onto the courtyard.
But those of us with the acid inside cheer and applaud, regretful only that the jug will no longer experience the acid.
It burns, it cleans, it brightens and polishes.
The water soothes and heals, but we pay the price with diluted acid.
Every surface is covered with jugs to catch the water.
A woman walks among them, pouring colorful acid into certain jugs, ignoring others.
The acid is very toxic, and if there isn't enough water,
The acid will eat away at any imperfections until the jug cracks and dies.
To protect some jugs, lids cover them, but then water doesn't enter either.
Be warned, once a lid is put on, it is difficult to remove it completely and the woman is more likely to pass it by.
However, the more water in the jug, the less colorful the acid.
The jugs of water tsk and sigh each time one breaks and spills its brightly colored contents onto the courtyard.
But those of us with the acid inside cheer and applaud, regretful only that the jug will no longer experience the acid.
It burns, it cleans, it brightens and polishes.
The water soothes and heals, but we pay the price with diluted acid.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
My muse has left me
My muse has left me.
What else do I have to say?
He gave me my words, my reason for speaking.
The world is a little less bright without him.
The little things in life have stopped whispering their secrets and truths to me.
I feel deaf without him.
I thought he would always be there.
I don’t think I took him for granted.
I was always so grateful for the gifts he gave me, without asking.
I loved his sense of humor, I didn’t even mind his ADD.
How he loved to start projects and yet never finished them.
How could he leave me?
Was I a one- night stand on his business trip to inspire someone else?
Is he with her, right now, making her words sing while mine clink like muted cymbals?
Are her stories running away from her, in different and wonderful directions?
Does she appreciate every moment she has with him?
I should be grateful for the time he spent with me, all the art that flowed from between us.
I should be happy for her, and hope that she makes the most of her time with him.
I should move on, and do the best I can with what he left behind.
Life doesn’t stop just because my muse has left me.
What else do I have to say?
He gave me my words, my reason for speaking.
The world is a little less bright without him.
The little things in life have stopped whispering their secrets and truths to me.
I feel deaf without him.
I thought he would always be there.
I don’t think I took him for granted.
I was always so grateful for the gifts he gave me, without asking.
I loved his sense of humor, I didn’t even mind his ADD.
How he loved to start projects and yet never finished them.
How could he leave me?
Was I a one- night stand on his business trip to inspire someone else?
Is he with her, right now, making her words sing while mine clink like muted cymbals?
Are her stories running away from her, in different and wonderful directions?
Does she appreciate every moment she has with him?
I should be grateful for the time he spent with me, all the art that flowed from between us.
I should be happy for her, and hope that she makes the most of her time with him.
I should move on, and do the best I can with what he left behind.
Life doesn’t stop just because my muse has left me.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
La Belle Dame Sans Merci by John Keats
O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.
O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is full,
And the harvest's done.
I see a lily on thy brow,
With anguish moist and fever dew,
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
Fast withereth too.
I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful--a faery's child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.
I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She looked at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.
I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
A faery's song.
She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew,
And sure in language strange she said,
"I love thee true."
She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she wept, and sighed fill sore,
And there I shut her wild wild eyes
With kisses four.
And there she lullèd me asleep,
And there I dreamed--Ah! woe betide!
The latest dream I ever dreamed
On the cold hill’s side.
I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried--"La Belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!"
I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
With horrid warning gapèd wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
On the cold hill's side.
And this is why I sojourn here,
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.
O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is full,
And the harvest's done.
I see a lily on thy brow,
With anguish moist and fever dew,
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
Fast withereth too.
I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful--a faery's child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.
I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She looked at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.
I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
A faery's song.
She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew,
And sure in language strange she said,
"I love thee true."
She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she wept, and sighed fill sore,
And there I shut her wild wild eyes
With kisses four.
And there she lullèd me asleep,
And there I dreamed--Ah! woe betide!
The latest dream I ever dreamed
On the cold hill’s side.
I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried--"La Belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!"
I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
With horrid warning gapèd wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
On the cold hill's side.
And this is why I sojourn here,
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.
I really wanted to post something...
So you get a rant. I finished my replacement Jedi cloak, I began my Jedi cross stitch, and I need to practice my lines for a Jedi skit. Sense a theme? I may post a pic of my costume, if I get the nerve... I'll scan the opening layout for the skit sometime soon. That should be fun for some to look at. Unless you've already seen it. Then it would be boring.
I have submitted "My lover's eyes" and "psychologists are the janitors of our minds" to the poetry contest. It would be cool if I place or get an honorable mention for the former, I don't expect the latter to go anywhere.
The ants have discovered my room. But they've shown themselves in all corners, so I don't know where their entrance is. I found one crawling on my bra today. I don't need this.
I wish I had time to write. I wish my muse would come back, ADD and all. That's it! My muse has left me! I was wondering why I was depressed lately. All semester I've been in a funk. It's because my muse is gone. Wow. I need to find that poem about the lady by the lake that sucks the life out of men. That was a metapoem if there ever was one. I'll find it and post it for you guys so that you'll know how I feel.
I have submitted "My lover's eyes" and "psychologists are the janitors of our minds" to the poetry contest. It would be cool if I place or get an honorable mention for the former, I don't expect the latter to go anywhere.
The ants have discovered my room. But they've shown themselves in all corners, so I don't know where their entrance is. I found one crawling on my bra today. I don't need this.
I wish I had time to write. I wish my muse would come back, ADD and all. That's it! My muse has left me! I was wondering why I was depressed lately. All semester I've been in a funk. It's because my muse is gone. Wow. I need to find that poem about the lady by the lake that sucks the life out of men. That was a metapoem if there ever was one. I'll find it and post it for you guys so that you'll know how I feel.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
My Lover's Eyes
My lover’s eyes are nothing like the sea,
His lips, poutier than mine, appear brass
He isn’t stacked, my man is more like a tree.
His hair sticks up like a field full of grass.
Some men have skin like dark wood, but not he.
Truly, paler than snow is his cheek’s hue.
His mouth has the taste of sour coffee,
Thinly disguised by an Altoid or two.
Not rich and deep is his voice, but if loud,
He goes high, like a mosquito whining.
He doesn’t walk regally, tall and proud,
Rather, his gait is hunched, from hours typing.
I may laugh at him when he struts his stuff,
But his love for me is sexy enough.
His lips, poutier than mine, appear brass
He isn’t stacked, my man is more like a tree.
His hair sticks up like a field full of grass.
Some men have skin like dark wood, but not he.
Truly, paler than snow is his cheek’s hue.
His mouth has the taste of sour coffee,
Thinly disguised by an Altoid or two.
Not rich and deep is his voice, but if loud,
He goes high, like a mosquito whining.
He doesn’t walk regally, tall and proud,
Rather, his gait is hunched, from hours typing.
I may laugh at him when he struts his stuff,
But his love for me is sexy enough.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Conversation with my Main Character
I'm sorry, my darling. It's been four chapters and I've yet to name you. To be frank, your name wouldn't change your behavior thus far, but it will determine your choices in the future. But this is why you don't have a name. I know how important it is. If I didn't care about it, I'd just call you "Sarah" like all the other authors who wanted a special character with a bland name. You are special, but you have been overlooked throughout your life. People overlook bland names. But I do want you to be unique, so I can't choose a worn-out, bland name. I've tried several, but none fit you. You are just as picky as I am. You have horrible spelling, by the way.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Wind in the Trees
So, quick exercise. Wave your hand at your face, like you're fanning yourself on a hot day. Question: is your hand moving the air, or is the air flowing past your hand and making it wave? You've answered the question, whether aloud or to yourself, and you've given the text a weird look because you think the answer's obvious. Question 2: When you see the wind moving through the trees, is the wind flowing past the trees and making them wave, or are the trees pushing the air? And you stubbornly give the opposite answer because you KNOW that the wind is made by hot air moving up and cold air moving down. Let me ask you another question: When was the last time you felt wind moving either up or down? I mean, down near the ground, not miles up in the air, wind seems to go in a side to side motion, right? Just, allow for the fact that air can circulate up and down in the atmosphere, AND there may be another reason why wind moves side to side down on the ground. Forget what you KNOW and answer this question: is your hand moving the air, or is the air moving your hand?
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Oim A Faerie!
 | You scored as Faerie. Faerie: Aren't you a cute little flying person? Faeries are earth spirits. They live among each element completely hidden. They have cousins called Pixies. Pixies however, are very mischevious. They enjoy tormenting other creatures for fun. Little pranksters.. I hope you never meet one. Pixies have a bad reputation for finding a creature and clinging to them until death. Faeries can be somewhat close to a Pixie, but mostly they are loving, playful, and carry with them a child-like enthusiasm for life. Hide among the pedals of a Daisy, you are a Faerie.
What Mythological Creature are you? (Cool Pics!) created with QuizFarm.com |
Monday, January 22, 2007
Daddy
Daddy? Are you there? Daddy?
Daddy, remember how I asked to go abroad for a semester,
But I needed you to help me with my homework?
Well, my GPA’s still too low. I can’t go.
It’s okay, Daddy, maybe it’d be too hard for me.
Maybe something would happen overseas and I’d get hurt.
I know you’re looking out for me, but, Daddy, are you?
I cussed at my sister the other day, did you know?
Mom heard me and told me to stop.
She said that what was worse than hearing those words
Was hearing them come out of my mouth.
My angel’s mouth. But I haven’t had an angel’s mouth
Since I learned how to talk. Remember?
Daddy, I’ve seen you spank others when they sin,
And then they give you a hug. They know you care.
I can’t remember the last time you punished me.
I lust after boys, have you noticed?
I’m angry on the inside, do you care?
I speed, I’m impatient with people, I hate, I’m selfish and lazy.
Thank you for this beautiful day, but, Daddy,
You make the sun shine on the good and the wicked.
What will it take for you to pay attention to me?
What do I need to do?
Daddy, remember how I asked to go abroad for a semester,
But I needed you to help me with my homework?
Well, my GPA’s still too low. I can’t go.
It’s okay, Daddy, maybe it’d be too hard for me.
Maybe something would happen overseas and I’d get hurt.
I know you’re looking out for me, but, Daddy, are you?
I cussed at my sister the other day, did you know?
Mom heard me and told me to stop.
She said that what was worse than hearing those words
Was hearing them come out of my mouth.
My angel’s mouth. But I haven’t had an angel’s mouth
Since I learned how to talk. Remember?
Daddy, I’ve seen you spank others when they sin,
And then they give you a hug. They know you care.
I can’t remember the last time you punished me.
I lust after boys, have you noticed?
I’m angry on the inside, do you care?
I speed, I’m impatient with people, I hate, I’m selfish and lazy.
Thank you for this beautiful day, but, Daddy,
You make the sun shine on the good and the wicked.
What will it take for you to pay attention to me?
What do I need to do?
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