Blog Archives

Hurt and Harm

Hurt and harm are different
though they often arrive together.
The first is immediate, temporary;
trees losing branches still grow,
even though it is painful.
The other a changed world,
whether by quake or erosion.
I cannot wipe it away,
only adapt to new landscapes,
choosing to climb, not die.


Poem: Delicious

Smooth, silky, dark
Plump, cupped in my hand
Brushing with my lips, sinking teeth in
Tangy, slick, cool
Melting, and sweet
Licking the last traces from the center.

Summer plums are truely delicious.
Bounty of the mother.


Written in my Livejournal on 06/09/2009

Poem: Monday Morning

Written on 01-30-2012

It’s Thursday afternoon, I am leaving work,
I busily make my lists
I’m writing down all I need to pack
Because soon I’ll be going to the
filk con!

It’s Friday evening, I’m at the hotel,
Convention’s about to start
I’m hugging those that I’ve been missing
And then I find my fav’rite seat in

the ballroom at the filk con!

It’s Saturday late afternoon, I’m at Interfilk
I’ve come armed with a budget
I’m not resisting the wenches’ charms
Easy to persuade while seated in

the chair in the ballroom at the filk con.

It’s Sunday after dinner, I’m at the Dead Dog
Convention’s nearly over
I’d pour my heart out but my heart’s here
Somewhere that I belong, singing in

the circle with the chair in the ballroom at the filk con.

It’s Monday morning and I’m at work,
I blearily blink and yawn
Searching for the wrong set of faces,
I’m at the office, yet I’m still in

with my friends in the circle with the chair in the ballroom at the filk con.

And I promise I’ll be back next year.

Poem: Do I But Dream

As the world fern droops its fronds and
the red musk wax tree gently burns,
three clouden oak grow thick and strong;
old woodstide rolls and seasons turn.
White skyfish soft and sweetly sing,
a seacrow croaks his wat’ry call,
last sandwhale moans and stirs her wings,
swampleopard lurks, baleful, sees all.
Steadfast and seeking (sought) to no avail,
teaching and taught how to deceive, disguise.
Do I but dream this land fragile, pale,
or, rock solid awaking, lift my eyes?

Poem: The Ocean

(I wrote this poem when I was 13 years old and in the 7th grade. All punctuation and capitalization is as-written.)

The Ocean

Rippling, singing
Dancing in the wind.
The water.
Smooth, silky
Whispering softly
The sea.
Shimmering, sparkling
In the bright sun,
The ocean.

Poem Seed: Inspired by the Jane Eyre musical

From the musical: ‎”My heart moves through his unquiet sea…”

My poem seed: Hearts have no limbs with which to swim, but they are awfully good at drowning.