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
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
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.
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?
(I wrote this poem when I was 13 years old and in the 7th grade. All punctuation and capitalization is as-written.)
Dancing in the wind.
In the bright sun,