Wonderings

I wonder what it would be like

to stretch out my arms

touch the sky, the stars.

Melt in the wind’s embrace.

Love harder than ever before.

To go on a journey,

a long journey,

and come back home

and sigh.

To refuse to sink.

To be like a hawk,

clear, brilliant eyes.

Watch my soul

walk beside me

in the moonlight.

To die every day with joy.

To be human.

To wonder.

Today

Today

I had my

first taste

And I flew

to China

And I caught

a snowflake

between my

eyelashes

Climbed a

willow tree

Sang a

sweet song

Ate the fruit

of a blossom

Let the sounds

flow into

my ears

Watched the

sights trickle

on past

Took off the mask

and watched

you gasp

Let it slip

from my vision

Channeled the flow

of hope

Carried a

deep love

Lived a

true life

The 26 bells

So sorry for not posting this story in so long. It seems that all my posts will have to suffer a delay due to schoolwork.

Sticks and rough leaves tore at Vora. The whispers and cracks of the bush around her made it hard to hear Roe urging her forward. Vora felt volatile and vulnerable crouched in this thicket, and shuddered at every sudden noise or movement. “Not much longer.” Assured Roe “soon we will come to the Edge, and then it will be up to the Grae as to how we are treated.”
“The Grae?” Inquired Vora. “Yes, yes a troop of fae that lives by the edge.” Answered Roe. Where Vora and Roe were now the light seemed brighter, more plentiful. They were nearer to the Edge and whatever lay beyond.

The Golden Compass book review

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I have read the Golden Compass, the Subtle Knife, and am almost done with the Amber Spyglass, so I decided to tell you about them.

Philip Pullman has a timeless and magical way of writing that enchanted me and delighted me with every chapter. His string of characters are charming and witty, making me wonder what my dæmon would be like and hoping that someone like Lyra would come along and make friends with me. The story line created emotions, and twisted me to loving and hating certain characters, which is a quality that I absolutely adore about books. There is just one thing I’d like to change about this series, but that’s just how short it is!

My recent obsession with Mary Oliver

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“The first fish / I ever caught / would not lie down / quiet in the pail / but flailed and sucked / at the burning / amazement of the air / and died / in the slow pouring off / of rainbows.” – The Fish by Mary Oliver

“- pathless, seamless, / peerless mud. My bones / knock together at the pale / joints, trying / for foothold, fingerhold, / mindhold over / such slick crossings, deep / hip holds, hummocks / that sink silently / in the black, slack / earthsoup. I feel / not wet so much as / painted and glittered / with the fat grassy / mires, the rich and succulent marrows of earth.” – Crossing the swamp by Mary Oliver

That is just a taste of the brilliance of Mary Oliver. As you can see, I have acquired two of her books recently, American Primitive and A Poetry Handbook. I simply love it and suggest that you try some of her works yourself.

Demons

They taunt me
They hold me back
It’s dark inside
They fight me
There’s nowhere I can hide
Help me
Look into my eyes
They hide there
They whisper of the graves
The graves in the past
They wail of broken dreams
Help me
They are my demons

Empty

A stain on the wall.
A dirty window.
Listless smoke rises.
An empty kiosk.
A battered clock chimes.
A soulful silence – a different kind of quiet.
Skimming breezes.
A box of knick knacks.
Drip-drop of a pipe.
A pile of pebbles.
Snap of a flag.
Empty, isn’t it?