Wednesday, May 17, 2017


All the poems I've written for the class. Yeah... I'm not a poet but I tried. I apologize for the bad ones but hey I'll stick to writing fiction.


Isolde's Song

Blessรจd are the few that know youth's toils

Can'st thou see the fair pilgrim's pride?
The melancholy green in a maiden's eyes
That's sun-kissed upon summer's golden bride.
A heart that beats wild on a tempest tide,
An ocean deep where that heart doth lies.
Sailed for a fate of which stars defied.

Can'st thou hear the west wind straining?
Between gales lost echoes banshee's cry
Bid thee farewell, the old moon is waning,
The old world laid behind with renewed spirits shaming.
Zephyr's golden lyre bellows a traitorous sigh, 
The fair maiden travels, herself betraying.


To a Craft That I Cannot Craft

Poetry is freaking hard.
How can I compete?
When Shakespeare
When Keats
When Tennyson
Are the masters of their craft.
I am the master of faking,
Of aching,
Of contemplating,
Of procrastinating,
Of annihilating
Any poetry that comes to mind.
I try to craft a craft that cannot be crafted by me.
With that I must raise a glass in praise
To those who can phrase a phrase.
I swear upon it by the lords of the sonnet
That I raise a glass in cheers to the masters of their craft!
So I’ve crafted this craft that cannot be crafted by me.


An Ode to the Royal Felines

I feel like I am being watched and judged.
Eyes that never leave my side
Eyes that stare both blankly and with contempt.
It is then that I remember that there are at least three cats living in my home.

Call me crazy cat lady; it’ll never phase me.
I have my lord defenders and kingly felines at my side.
Lord Willoughby, First of his name Esquire; also known as Sir. Willard the Conqueror.
Sir Oliver, King of Boo and Keeper of the Fluff.
Lady Oreo, Queen of Nag and Mother of Hairballs.

My home is their castle and they rule with royal might.
I am but a peasant in their eyes and they my superior.
I am a slave to their purrs, their tufts of fur between their toes, and their magnificent bellies presented to be rubbed.

I am the crazy cat lady who endures and adores their looks of judgment.
I am a servant in my own home but what does that matter
When a castle is a castle and those who rule, rule with unconditional love


To the Girl with the Headphones: A Letter to my Autistic Sister

I wonder what’s inside that head.
My sister, the quiet reclusive ray of sunshine.
What is it like in there?
Are you locked in a pleasant world?
Is it one that I can enter?
If so send directions because I am quite lost.
Are you happy?
Do you suffer?
I know it’s hard to articulate, I know it’s hard to express,
But I want to know…
Who are you talking to?
Is it only to yourself?
Or do you have your other friends all jammed in there as well?
Talk to me please so I can to get in.
I want to get in.
Do you want me in?
Or are you trying to get out?
What is this limbo we are trapped in?
I know I must enter your world instead of drawing you out.
But let me know you are happy instead of drowning me out…
Tell me you are happy, please.
Silence is a hard pill to swallow but it is all you can give
My sister, the quiet reclusive ray of sunshine.
I wonder what’s inside that head.


Enemy, Thy Name is Writer’s Block.

We meet again my long time foe… writer’s block
Brain, why do you hate me so?
Netflix calling me to finish season 4 of a show nearly a decade old.
The cliffhanger from chapter 26 you just have to finish.
Laziness, no you are never lazy… just reluctant to write.
Gosh darn it, write something!
Anything! Make it garbage just write!
I’ve got it!
Nope, nope it’s gone.
Darn that was a good one; at least I think it was…
It’s been four hours.
Do I give up now?
Never give up.

I’ve got it!

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