Tag Archives: Poetry

Fairies

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I got into my journals and copied down a few of my old poems. This is one of my oldest “keepers.” I wrote it for my friend who loved fairies. I must have been… thirteenish? …at the time, so excuse any clumsiness.

This was back when my brain was on 24/7 Lord of the Rings marathon setting. Can you tell? 😀

 

 

For Ellen

 

They flit through field and fen

They wantonly roll and rollick

Wings that are gossamer thin

They employ in their carefree frolick

A delicate build they bear

With faces exceedingly fair

They’re strong but lighter than air

With flowers in their hair.

They have an aire of peace,

Gaiety, innocence, love,

They do what their hearts please

Worrying they’re above.

They drink dewdrops in the morn

They suck sweet nectar from flowers

For laughter they were born

And to play away the hours.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Inktober – Happy Dog (6) and Echo (7)

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Here’s a twofer.

Day 6:  This is a dog, in case you couldn’t tell. Dogs are hilarious. I’m not sure if these fancy ink pens always look like cheap markers when used, or if it’s just my special artistic touch that’s transformed them.

 

IMG_20181007_165919404

 

 

Day 7: I was reading about Echo and Narcissus, looking at depictions of them, and got a little annoyed. So I wrote this.

 

Everyone remembers Narcissus
But what of Echo?
She didn’t matter to herself
So she doesn’t matter to others
Always a footnote in someone’s painting
A wan satellite
A visual element
Used to balance out and set off
Narcissus’s self-importance.

 

And I drew Echo (alone so Narcissus with his lesser problems and greater charisma can’t steal the limelight), in the process of dwindling away into the cliffs. Soon only her voice will be left.

 

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Black Widow

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Black widow

Goddess of her kind

Delicately explores her space

Eight times over.

Obsidian body

Sharp temper

Sharper touch

Meddle in her schemes

And risk her wrath.

When she is still

She is a pebble.

When she moves

She phases.

Gravity is her plaything.

A small jewel

Lethal.

Tread lightly ye mortals

Pray you do not draw her focus

Seeing the arachnid queen is an honor

You may survive her beauty

Only if she favors you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Proud

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Dad said he’s proud of me.

I well up inside at the words.

What the hell is he proud of me for.

And why should it matter?

I’m fucking thirty.

Part of me thinks, oh Dad, I don’t need that anymore.

Part of me thinks, what have I done that’s any good?

Part of me thinks, I really am something, aren’t I.

And part of me deep down

A very early, primal part

Starts jumping up and down and clapping her hands.

 

I have no success in work

I have no success in art

I have no success in home making

I have no successful mate

I have no success in health or beauty.

I do moderately well in most things.

Proud?

Of me?

Just… generally?

How does a parent think?

Why does he feel proud?

Maybe he’s just happy I turned out okay

Maybe that’s all a good parent really hopes for.

And he was a good parent.

He still is.

A really wonderful parent.

I’m proud of him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Imagining Losing You

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To lose you

Unimaginable

You are half of me.

You are always there.

When I need a laugh,

When I need a cry.

You know me best

You read my heart

You see my soul.

To lose you

Is to lose myself.

A vital organ

Roughly excised

By uncaring reality.

I have confidence in my ability to face anything

Only because you support me.

Nothing scares me

Except

The prospect of life without you

Makes me dizzy with fear.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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