Saturday, June 30, 2012

A Beech Dream/Category Random (wouldn't I love to go to Lake Huron right about now?)

A Beech Dream
                The gold fingers of her pretty green notebook knew no pen for a very long time. There was something beautiful and charming about the little book that hung upon her white knees. She was sitting within the furrows of sand where the threshes populated the area around Lake Huron. The wild sea life in this spot of the beech were so entrenched they had created dips in the sand which vaguely resembled the ocean.
                Her stomach growled. She dug her feet in the ground further, moving her arms around in it to create snow angels. It was pure white but had absorbed the heat overhead like a thick, black, fabric. She wiggled around happily up to her hips in the stuff. Her blue eyes sidled toward the ocean.
                She was gliding over the waves. She closed her eyes.

                The notebook lay open and blank upon her invisible knees. The sun in the sky was beginning to dip. An avid pink glow fell across the wide pages. It was time.

                For nothing.


Dreaming To Be a Cat- Random

Dreaming To Be a Cat

                I'll put a shame upon you anon, once, as we are sitting here in the cold, my arm tucked securely into yours, knowing that I shall live like the cats with their serene smiles, unnoticed as are these precious and shy creatures, who walk with a dainty prance, and sleep stretched out on a mat, any mat they choose without reference to us. If I were a cat such as this beautiful, lovely animal.

                                A beautiful lovely animal.
                                Lara likes crowded.

                A gold thimble.
                As I came out of this dream sitting here on his lap, I murmur in his ear while I caress his hair. For some reason I cannot understand a something small, which I can't even see so meager are its portions, tugs on my heartstrings so forcefully, that my eyes are starting to glisten. My hand falls back.
                "Dear, Maraca."
                It can never be. The excitement that had swelled within me has erupted, and now in lonely rivulets trickles back into what they were before, part of the earth, the volcano becoming nothing, after a time, but a mound of dirt underneath dissipated lava.
                "I love you." I lay my head against him. I will not stay a cat. I will be human.

Friday, June 29, 2012

While In Plymouth/Random

While In Plymouth
                The song again shifted through my mind. The silent dark creatures made a rabbit hole in my brain, and are burrowing themselves down in it. The sun has finally peeped out at me through the fairy doves in my head, while the oceans of rushing water in an invisible visit bring cars past me and people that carry these ridiculous poodles in little side purses. Well I suppose the poodles are not the ridiculous ones, but the purses. These funny orange and green war suits, hats with plumes in them, and eyes that shine with pride at these monstrosities . . .
                Shame upon these men and women, how dare they treat Plymouth with such a terrible distracting attitude of ignorance. An old historical town such as this.

                I like to give myself a secret smile which is not meant for anyone, save for the impressive whip of my pen. But I'll tuck it silently at my side, there's a good girl. No one must needs see what I have done, as I move my hand with mint pepper in its pinky grasp, along the page. Here, sucking on my mints in their delicate, refined beauty- and I must shake my head at the women who sit beside me, speaking about pregnancies and such happy tidings-

                Well this is the time, isn't it.
                Plymouth is altogether too crowded as I sit here sucking my mints, my tea thrumming through me like a smoothly warm music-

                Well, I was going to flick my pen up, impressively showing my skill in finding out the motives of these people touring the old city, priding myself on my secrets which although must peeve these-
                well, it's a moot point. They got the better of me and I'm leaving.

                                                I arise.
                                               "Come, Lara."



I wanted to give you,
the thrumming beckons,
of a symphony-

But when it stopped,
as it came to a halt I know,
that I didn't have it, now,
thrust into my being,
that I lost the tune.

I wanted to hand it,
to you my doll,
on a plate of gold,
like a chocolate cake,
of Beethoven, and Bach.

But, I lost it.
Will ever it come back to me?
The sound of music,
with pumping wild through me . . .

Like the sound of a scathing tiger,
or spitting tigeress,
our hands flow along the keys,

We were mad, and wild,
ecstatic with the heartfelt,
joy of it-
but we lost it, we lost it.

Will ever the songs come back to us?

Maybe on a melodious day in July,
when the sun melts everything,
and our hands itch,
with the familiar longing,
reached by the heat.

Then I will thank the sun,
for making us too tired to think,
because finally, you and I will play,
like we once did-

And lover ourselves with the music.

Thursday, June 28, 2012

The Weightless Sky/Random

The Weightless Sky ~

I will allow myself the gentle fold of waves which should creep into my life- knives turned to honey that perfectly mold into my skin's crevices as curved kitchen utensils, at first, but then they turn soft, and I am no longer aware of my surroundings, and can feel nothing save for the gentle bliss of an ocean, an ocean of honey. It does not present itself as a honey that I should eat, however, and the difference between me and the outer world. I cannot feel, as everything settles down at the bottom of my ocean- swimming throughout my bloodstream and settling at the heart of everything in my cells. We, the honey and I, are one. I am now a honey . . . I float in a deep dream, like ship of dreams along the sky . . . and I'm not flotsam as I became part of the clouds, was once Earth's nectar that evaporates as she reaches them, becomes them. The explosion of the first rapturous touch of the honey has ended, for I am unaware . . . I am vanishing. I've reached the Heavens. The pink dazzles me. It is sunset. One can never feel lonely in this place ~

My Lord's Prayer

My Lord's Prayer

Dear Heavenly Father,

Excuse me, Father. It seems like now is a good time to pray, so I hope that you are heeding . . . and, I don't mean to be disrespectful by that.
Much is on my mind at the present time. This may, of course, be partly due to being a fervent writer, but much is to be desired still, in the way of what I purpose in my heart, for my mind, Lord, can become wrought with thick clouds. Clouds creep across my mind with these groping fingers, reaching for, Lord, and taking a hold of me- well, I don't exactly understand this notion- why, Father, are there so many fingers? Well, perhaps I do know. The scene is from Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, when she runs into the wilderness and those trees nearly become ghosts, as some goblins or other reaching out with their skinny brambles, as arms and threatening somehow to overpower her, all at once. Lord, I cannot describe it. My clouds which creep into my mind threaten me, in- much the same fashion- I do sigh when I write this to you.
But, my Lord, I know that you can help me to overcome this enmity. You can help me to clear up these clouds, and create a blue sky, sunny and sheer. I know, Lord, that my faith in you will do me such- please, my dear Heavenly Lord, help your undeserving servant to make this possible. I have sin, but the amount of goodness, in my spirit- I can't measure it, so vast is it in its proportion. I know that Thou art with me. This knowledge will not be lost.

In your son's holy, and eternally precious name do I pray this,

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Storm Dancing- Category, Poetry

Storm Dancing

I don't know what,
I'd like to have,
what I would want,
to give you-

I cannot see, my pet,
what songs, deep,
and cuttingly, harshly fresh,
I'd give to you.

I don't- know.
help me to understand.

I wait, softly,
quietly begging the sky.
I wait,
and I wait,

For eternal rain to fall into a day,
a sunshiny bliss.
I can't speak now,

hear my song.
Listen to the rain-
you'll miss it.

The rain dance.

You shouldn't miss my love,
as the sky has many sounds of joy.

So listen-
and do not mind my absence.

Listen, listen.
Hear the sounds,
before the rain breaks.

With the sun will be peace,
quiet bliss.

Hear the storm,
my dearest-
if none visit our marriage,
our love wouldn't sweeten-
how I love our storms.
And then kiss me,
when the sun breaks out.

Do not miss my love,
for the storm,
                                                                                                    it will break.

Dedicated to my parents, Will and Ellie Fox

Chapter 11, All There Is Is Darkness

Chapter 11:
All There Is Is Darkness ~

                As gracefully as the fairy comes to a swoop on the mossy grass of a pearl white beneath us, her wings coming to the elegant, perfectly white, polish of wings, while they dazzle in their halt coming to rest, Seri stiffens. I feel her small body tense, a small finger slip into my large hand . . .
                "Please," she whispers. I don't know why exactly, but I begin to glare at the fairy, while simultaneously resting one winged arm over my aching eyelids. The force causes me to falter, however, moving me backward from the heat of light over me.
                "You're hurting him," Seri says, huddling closer to me. I pat her head.
                "It's alright, Seri." I try to rally up again with a brisk reminder to myself of my premise for standing before this fairy. Things around me dim as the light haze starts to mellow, reducing its meanness, and I no longer feel as though I am under attack. Slowly I lift my head in small wonderment.
                "What -"
                "I am sorry, Poiseda." I sharpen my eyesight now in the gloom about me, looking upon the fairy with a kind of eagle stare. I am trying to decipher her phenomenon, in addition to wondering, of course, why she did this. It will be a sorry day somewhere to determine that the fairies in this respective gallant circle of entities assumed to be pure in spirit, truly retain some supernatural powers. How could she have dimmed her inner light as a star fading into darkness, without having some knowledge about me . . . how could she know me?
                "I did not realize who stood before me in this manner." I stare at the tiny woman with my mouth half-drawn. In my breast, some powerful connection which I cannot describe has me pulled to the speaker, although very slight, very light, as though my bubbling well of some giant-sized spirit that I did not know I had in me has come to realize its full potential. All magic creatures have a tangible spirit, but not often do we come to know it. Something special about her. I feel it. I am silent, and I let her speak, paying her due reverence in the quiet stillness. Not even the winds breathe. Seri also has muted.
                "Had I known . . . " continues the small wisp of a lady, "I would not have made a journey through to the other side before meeting with you, in order that I might not have made minced rushes out of time that I spend with you, it's all now wasted," she sighed. I am unspeakably perplexed. I watch the fairy woman carefully. In spite of that she has dimmed her large green orbs, they are staring at me so frankly that I might have nearly shielded my own. I did not undertake to push against what I knew was a useless task. I always had to bear the pain.
                "No one in this land has had a lapse in memory, Poiseda . . . though we may actually feel desperately sometimes- you have a destiny, so, no matter your magical background," and here she emitted some strange kind of shrill laugh, "everyone must like you." I give my head a shake which portrays a nonsense, for hairy mops do not always make the most favorable impression- upon fairies. But I am, already dealing in the sordid- honest soul, how would I deign to be so sloppy!
                The graceful measure looks at me, her jeweled eyes sparkling in an odd way, as I make the nervous but highly improper gesture in the pure land, yet holds still to silence. Yes, I truly do wonder what she means . . . I push myself forcefully from my shell of thoughts, for Seri's grip on me has infused sweet scents of her sweat. Moving my arm away from the stick, I try to give her a quiet shake to reassure her in the most subtle way. I do not know why, but I feel unnerved as well by the fairy woman.
                The woman yawns widely though a minute later, shocking both of us. Seri tugs me.
                "I did not think they were so liberal," she whispers. I shake my head.
                "Neither did I." In another minute, she lays herself languorously upon her spread in the grasses, unfolding her delicate wings for comfort. My heart starts to beat, for this is unnatural. What have we come upon in our guileless quest? She reaches out a long arm.
                "Come. Lay beside me with quiet," she murmurs. And suddenly we do. Down, down, down we are pulled, with nothing between us except air, until Seri and I are pushed up against her- all of our motor function is vanquished. This beguiling creature knew something we could not- I could not, fathom. Now, all I can see are her green orbs through blackness, through the madness which is ours, and our world or all of everything that Seri and I know is being sucked away-
                and all there is, is darkness.

Tuesday, June 26, 2012

God's Honey/Poetry

God's Honey

Sorrow seeps from
my system to,
overcome my-
pardoning terror.

Pardon my terror,
I mean to say,
for wickendness,
crawls within my blood.

Song of melodious sad,
song of a rainy day,
songs in my car,
here in my ears,
songs of my heart.
Infinity will reach forever,
my throat will tear,
the animal in me,
wants to rip.

Baby dear, my
sweetest, honey sap I-
will love your song,
for all my life.
This hand of Heaven,
reached through tearless,
flawless blue,
seeped like honey into my veins.

I exalt, as I did do,
so often when feeling, 
the start of glaciers.

Always the rain, 
tipped off infinite,
cast away the endless,
and hardened my wet tear,
to glaciers.

My water is hard,
and the trick-trickling rain,
and as I drive against it,
I remember always,
my dearest darling . . . 
not knowing its name,
but remembering God's hand.

It reached out of the Heavens,
to pour-
honey into me.  

Sunday, June 24, 2012

Arrival After Midnight/Poetry

   Arrival After

Driving along the wind,
Spirals through smoke,
We’ve tipped the Smokeys.

All is black,
For the sun fell,
Behind brambles,
As our welcome.

Drawn into a dark home,
We settle into blackness.

Black panes drawn,
Black wraps, cups, T.V. sets-
And something else black.

Black welcomes,
In the form of life,
Showing us a true blue,

We go to retrieve,
Trunk preciousness.
The greedy trunk,
Has more protection though.

‘Hello friend,’ we say.
Greater than harum-scarum,
Our friend knows the game.
He’s worn all black,
To suit our welcome.

‘Please get out of our trunk,’
we admonish him.

This is truly the lark,
Of the scene.

In all the black,
I think the bear,
Has become too happy.

‘Dear bear,’ we quip.

Well, the trunk could
Not have better,
Law enforcement,
Than having nothing.

We return to the dark,

What a black welcome ’tis-
When we arrive after . . .

Thursday, June 21, 2012

The Wait/Poetry

~ The Wait ~

Scratching of long nails,
standing in a line of people,
staring, staring,
up in the rail,
to the hill's peak.

Waiting, waiting.
Sound of a man's talk.

More waiting,

A person yonder,
a look,
slight exchange,
him, standing alone,
my small pretense,
a shadowed feeling,
yearning, pining,
unidentifiable longing,
mixed up with regret.

Regret looms,
through my veins,
like pumping music,
of ingratiating nails,
nails upon a chalkboard,
course through me-
my blood is replaced with music.

I can hear my blood rushing,
and nails upon a chalkboard,
rushing through my system.

What an awful thought.

Yet, the sun comes,
emerging slowly,
through my darkness,
my shadowy thoughts,
my regretful exchanges.

The grating in my blood subsides.
What relief.
I no longer,
hear the scratching.

Now, a sweet melodious music rushes forth.
My blood is replaced.

Sweetness runs through me.
The sun comes out.

Joy so great,
that no one could ever,
claim it.

I swing my putter back,
and I hit the ball smoothly.

Wednesday, June 20, 2012



Floating, floating,
I feel as though,
I float.

High above the trees,
high above everything,
I swarm about,
float about, float about.

My, but I am light,
I am truly weightless.

I feel like a kite,
that's been loosed,
to fly by accident.

I am someone's lost,
toy that once gave,
a child pleasure.

Now I navigate,
the sky with the birds,
and now I belong,
to no one.

You see,
when I was loosed-

I had been ripped forever!

String no longer ties me,
to the sad child.

The child lost its toy.

I am a kite with no meaning,
I float about the sky aimlessly.

I float about the sky aimlessly.

Float about,
twirls, whip, and whip about.

I am weightless,
I am free . . .
 I am also meaningless.

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

Vacation Dream Trek/Category, Poetry

Vacation Dream Trek

We live in luxury,
in a chalet here,
climbing walls of ivy fall,
around by draping,
our cozy living.

I walk the stairwell,
in a trek amazing,
transported, at once,
by the cavern bears,
the amazing pictures,
fine decorations,
which make me-
cause me to see,
the spirit of old-fashioned.

The exquisite thought rolls from me,

I could be,
Mrs. March maybe,
stately traveling he,
stairs to tell,
my daughters I'm home.

I could be anyone,
my hair a pretty blond,
not wavy brown,
fainting upon meeting,
the  frightening decor,
but that I wouldn't.

I am not in a storybook,
one who requires salt,
no, see- I long,
for the older days but I'm-
in the present age so,
if I faint,
at the sight,
of what my Chalet brings me . . .
I'll get myself a motrin.
But I have dreams,
I have the mountains,
and dreaming,
so I shall not faint.

Monday, June 18, 2012

Chapter 9, Onward to the King of Fairies/All There Is Is Darkness

Chapter 10:
Onward to the King of Fairies ~

            When I wake, my wings are inhibited by the sliding movement of a rough wrenching across the grass as I try to stretch them after my luxurious nap. As I slowly crane my neck upward, my eyes seek towards my right side, falling thereafter on Seri. She is in a curled-up, sleeping bundle on that wing. For a minute, I stare at the strange scene. Her eyes closed, unmoving small arms hugging her body tightly beneath that angelic halo of brown decorative topping, she has the appearance of a cherub. I move carefully into a sitting position, revolving to encircle my left wing around the two of us so that I face Seraphina. A bit hesitant, I place my left hand on her shoulder to shake her.
            "Seri." I roll her body faintly, watching her as she reacts with a clutching reflex of her hands. As she raises them in a front of her face, however, the reflex admits to me a defensive state rather than moving into alertness.
            "Ma- maaaan." Her face scrunches up like a little ball. I put both of my hands on her, giving her a rough shake.
            "Seri," I say sharply. "Wake up, Seri. "
            "Wha- what- whaaat?" Slowly  rising to a sitting position, Seri comes to me out from the daze she's been in, her large eyes snapping open- then I receive a shock- her eyes are green.
            "Seri," I gasp.
            "Poi- Poiseda." After a moment, all the remnants of her sleep vanish, the lines clearing away as her tension leaves her- "I had a bad dream," she tells me. "It was awful. The people in the cave were there, I know because they gave me the cup with the stuff I had to drink. They gave it to me."
            "They gave you what? Nevermind. It's alright, you don't need to talk about it now." Her face falls into relaxation once again, give me cause to wonder about the meeting she'd had with those under the Lord Serpent's dictation. In spite of the ideas I already held based upon my own personal experiences, I was certain that more had occurred to Seraphina, than what I had the background knowledge to put into estimation.
            At the moment the little elfin rolls off the place on my leathery wing she'd pinned the rest of me down by sitting on, I unfold my long body, give Seraphina one of my thin hands to grab, and attempt to provide my muscles some relief by straightening to my full height. Some may imagine me to be rather taller than the average Geisha Bat. Such perspectives are not worth observing, though, after the curse of the Lord Serpent.
            While I peer around, catching for a moment mountains which rest stoically on the eastern slab of lands that have for centuries belonged to the fairies, which contain too many points to ever be able to count, their bluish tops pointing into the sky like the crowns of many kings.  I grasp the hand of the child, tugging her forward.
            "Come on." I scold her for not waking me. "Why didn't you wake me directly when it happened? You know that I can't keep you," I reiterated, stressing my words, "You should be placed under the Fairy King's protection as quickly as possible, Seri, especially if you are cursed. He may be able to purify your system of poison, since your curse might be one attentive to fairy magic. We need to find out." I look at her. Again, though, I receive a jolt, understanding that the change in her eye color merely coordinates to an evil spell cast upon the girl elf, and that frightening her would be moot. "Seri, did you know that your eye color changed during your sleep?"I trod carefully, serene in voicing it.
            "No," she says, only showing genuine surprise. "What color are they?"
            "Green." I watch her expression. She touches her eyelids softly, her mouth forcing into a muted, 'oh' of surprise.'
            "It does not matter, Seri, for you are a very beautiful elf. The pigment in your eyes would compliment you no matter what they were." Again, her mouth opens, but now she's giving me a sparkling smile. For a moment, the sun passes over us, so I am forced to throw up a hand in an attempt to block out its harmful rays from my vulnerable form. Falling asleep . . .
            "Poiseda, is the sun hurting you?"I force myself to breathe deep for a minute, shading my head from it by using my wide wings as a partial umbrella, not answering. After it disappears into some rolling green clouds, I reassure her.
            "I'm fine. Occasionally I am merely sensitive to its rays." I swallow. A soft white hand slips into my own.
            "Come on, Poiseda. We have wasted enough time. Let us go see the King."
            I chuckle.

            Green, white, pale-blue, a conglomeration of different pinks, hues of maroon, gray sheen, and even black speeds beneath us as we walk forth fairly deliberately in spite of the stipulation of unknowing. I have not visited before these lands, but without question the King will be in the middle, vortex so to speak. Magical lands of the various entities of special beings are set up circularly, so that the esteemed borders of each species are given the most profound designated dwellings- they are easy to find, and in an esteemed position in location rite alone, therefore in a better way in all our minds, to render sound judgment, to make good decisions, and to use their roles.
            Following my instincts by heeding this knowledge concerning the King's location, I therefore move in a straight line forward, not having changed my direction since coming through the enchanted water. We move relatively smooth for a cursed Geisha Bat and a tiny elfin like Seraphina. A faint smile graces me ironically as I watch Seri move. She glides as effortlessly as a bird flying, with such poise, and ease that I may even be a bit of a sloth I daresay, beside her. The admirable dignity of the synchrony of her efforts of her body mirror the efforts of a woman twenty, perhaps thirty years I might hazard to guess her senior, who has developed in affluent circles her whole life. The beauty of elfin magic surely could never be described.

            Winds spiral in swift twists, knitting together where the force causes their color to appear. Swimming about us in a melee of tropical, banana nut, Mediterranean, desert- sundry, in all shades- rather than staying with those which are part of their group, I must shield my eyes once again as bright yellow meets up with dark, oceanic green, grass, sassafras, reds- my head starts to spin. The fairies with their odd imagination undoubtedly let their creativity loose in a profound ecstasy, that in its brilliance also looks a bit like child's splashing of a frenzied paintbrush. How many times could you dip a brush in so many different colors? The winds come together, but are also blending like mixed paints, as though the strands cannot help the destruction of their potential spectrum by making muddled splashes. This slaphappy display of the fairies costs me already. Everything is brighter in the lands than those that would normally accost me, doubling my sensitivity.
            When we open up into the area of winding arches, where the colorful grassy patches forms several rings masking a great hidden passageway that I cannot see very well, made out of grass- that means we are near, the passageways to the kingdom draw nigh to us. I pull Seri by my side by drawing her tightly next to me. She's busy exclaiming with joyful, fresh, childish purity over the arches. Everything here has the unmistaken architectural power that the hand of fairies only could enact with their strange predilection for color. This talent they own up to, while increasing in passion and their fervor, also increases my blindness.     
             "Hush, Seri." Glancing at me, Seri's brow furrows, forming a face with lines that while soft, add maturity to her, the green eyes masking my lingering strands of the baby whom I found two days ago. Something crosses her startling green eyes that I cannot place. She subdues her exuberance for the bright colors immediately upon my prompt. But we are both stopped short. For, the moment that we each place our first foot in the lead into the kingdom underneath the initial hand-made archway, the first fairy that we have seen since we've been in the fairy lands swoops down and falls directly before us. She brushes herself off, huffing for a minute before straightening up. When she proudly rises from the ground to a flutter, she pins us with a piercing gaze of the most brilliant shade of jade that I have ever seen.

Mr. Bear, You Left Us Bare!

Mr. Bear, You Left Us Bare!

Oh dear black bear,
how you could you do this?

How could you come hither to us?
You've stolen our food,
and made it very difficult for us to like you.

Oh, black bear,
you've stolen our clothes,
coming in our trunk you crashed us like teenage jocks,
usurping with danger,
the life of party lust.

Mr. Bear you stole away,
to our middle,
as our family chatted,
Mr. Bear you drew your cracker-jacks,
by infusing in our midst.

In finding out our middle,
Mr. Bear you took, Mr. Bear you took,
our shoe-bag.

You upturned our ice-box,
and chewed up our back-seats,
you ransacked our vehicle . . .

Mr. Bear, you left us bare!

Don't ever crash through,
our midst,
don't ever meet us in the,
middle of our trip-

                                                           Dedicated to my father Will

Sunday, June 17, 2012

Black, Black, Black, Black Trust/Poetry/Friends Series

Black, Black, Black, Black Trust

I know trust,
like loving, spinning locks,
of a thundering horse's locks,
filled with curled hair,
which takes up the,
entire scene of
the ride of trust.

I know that trust can,
visit me in swirls,
of the hair of a,
dark beauty,
like a pounding animal.
Beautiful black steed
whose magic hair
portrays trust.

A fairy's queen perhaps,
hovers in a crevice,
somewhere casting,
her spell on its mane-

Oh what a grand, wondrous creature,
rests between my legs,
as he carries us onward,
onward, and to the,
land where I will,
lie down to rest,
to provide fodder,
for my chauffer.

Trust stares at me,
through his glinting,
marbles pouring out,
from his lovely mask.
Horse has a lovely
mask of black,
like a canvas,
thrown all the way down
from the vast sky.

God has made,
a pact with me,
with this trust creature.
Black, black, black surrounds me,
my face is brushed with it,
marvelous, shining coat,
mane that shields everything with fire-strength,
animal of strength, and wonder.

His mane must be enchanted,
and his eyes-
to stare at me
with such trust,
must be made
with the fine hand,
of God.

This is a trust creature which I ride.

All of this black beauty . . .
                                                                         he- trusts me.

                                                                      Dedicated to Lily