Thank you, Mr. Keats.
The Giving Tree. (Blogtober #26)
Let us treat our doomed love like the vivid orange and greens of autumn, like the majestic trees in our midst that offer their dying leaves with opened, giving hands, uncaring of the stark emptiness to come but falling ever so gracefully and beautifully onto the cold, hard ground-- The death of our love is …
Emerald City (Blogtober #16)
And so you chose Emerald City. Who wouldn’t, really? With its charming vistas and valleys and standalone Starbucks? Lattés everywhere you turn like a giant, dizzying field of poppies? Here in Kansas, what can I give you but barbecues in Auntie Em’s backyard and lemonade stands and endless, utter devotion? No contest, really. I offer …
The Fall. (Blogtober #3)
The Fall There’s a crack in your sweet autumn heart. Gone are the crisp nights and burgundy leaves that filtered through– now your heart bears dust, ashes, and the hard soil of the ground. I wanted to kiss that heart; now I must bury it. But I will kiss it anyway, along with the very …
Roads.
I took the long way home. We met at Infatuation Highway and I should have left you there when you held my heart merely on the surface of your hand and not in your shirt pocket, where it deserved to be, right next to your beating heart. I took the long way home. I waited …
The Poetess Who Sings: Random Memory #2
It just came to mind. And so I will share. In my junior year of college, I took a pretty memorable Poetry course. It was memorable for various other reasons, in addition to what this post is about: I was reuniting with my beloved, favorite professor, Jennifer Atkinson, after having taking a creative writing class with …
Balaenoptera (i’m speechless)
“i was reborn when i was broken…”
As promised. Yesterday, when I heard the opening lyric of my boyfriend's masterful song, "Lifetime," I was immediately reminded of a conversation I had with Laura. Essentially, we discussed how pathos inspires our fiction. Creation comes from chaos. And to be honest, to paraphrase my boyfriend, some of my best work has come from being/feeling broken. Don't …
dancing.
you don’t want my charleston, my waltz or my shimmy, but you keep drowning me with your jive.
About a Boy.
As I stood in line at the café at work and watched one of the employees step over to the espresso machine to whip up a latte for a customer, I thought of him. It was such an interesting time in my life, really, all of it, and he was, by far, the most significant …
This Square Peg. 