The Forest

The forest slithers on 

Deep and dangerous 

Beyond me,

Filled, as always,

With darkened mystery, 

And crawling, as legend has it,

With legions of beasts unknown,

Hungry for a lonely soul. 

Dawn Ascendant

Another dawn,

Another day painted in glimmering pastels

Low-lying grass bowing under a string of pearly dew-drops, 

And the sun, ripe and heavy as the oranges

In the orchards Bartholomew used to own,

Tangled in the branches in its heaven-bound quest. 

Another sunrise,

Another morning glittering pink and gold with promise,

Leaves sprawled over the far-away horizon in lazy fractals,

And the moon, pale and sparkling,

Bidding the world a quiet farewell

As the sun at last ascends, victorious. 

(Inspired by.)

A World Reborn

When the world is asleep

And the fields are covered in winter’s downy white blanket,

When the air is still,

And the frost creeps across the windowpanes in the dead of night,

When morning’s pale light reveals paw prints in the snow,

And the darkest day of the year draws daily nearer, 

That is when the flowers in their beds begin to dream,

Of lavender dawns and pine-scented rains,

Of fresh-tilled soil and grass left to grow wild,

And a world reborn. 

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Today is St. Patty's Day, and the leprechauns were very generous this year. Here's what they (AKA my awesome MorMor and my super-cool mommy) brought me:

On this St. Patrick's Day, the leprechauns brought to me:

Twenty gold coins a-glittering

A bluebird a-chittering

A pot of gold charm a-shimmering,

And a little pear-colored dog a-barking.

The stuffed puppy is my favorite because he has a button in his tummy you can press to make him bark. So, thanks, mommy and Grandma, and a happy St. Patrick's day to all!

Song for Twilight

Sunset, and the death of another day,

Bleeding color across the sky,

And painting the fields in fire.

Dawn, and with it, a world reborn,

Pinkish hues to color my world,

And morning’s all-revealing light to cleanse us all.

Dusk leaves the world to burn,

Letting night fall like thunder all around,

And thus the battle to chase away the shadows begins.

Sundown arrives swift and silent,

Drenching the world in the dream-shades of night,

And revealing a star-speckled sky under which all wonder is born. 

Sunrise comes slow and languid,

Seeping into a sleepy sky like waves on a beach,

And dragging away the heavy veil of night to rouse the world from its slumber. 

The Gentleman - Kaija Marasðottir

A fair spring day bursting into bloom,
A week-tamed garden
And a manor house 
Standing tall and proud atop a hill.


"There's a gentleman here to see you,"
She says to me, eyes dark and wary. 
"A gentleman?" I ask.
"Gentler than you, madam."


A winter sky, dark and grey,
A storm blowing in on the East Wind,
An empty manor still echoing with the words,
"There's a gentleman here to see you."


An October sunset, fire and glory on steel,
A field overgrown with dying wildflowers,
And a mansion collapsing into oblivion, remembering,
"There's a gentleman here to see you."


An August rain, heavy and humid,
An oak tree where the flowers used to grow,
And a lone doorframe, falling to the tune of
A gentleman named Mortis. 

A Lyrical Poem: Try Two

When I saw you standing there,

It's a with a veil she gives her heart,

Wash away the thoughts inside,

When I come to the club, step aside,

It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside,

When I am down and oh my soul so weary,

When I was just a little girl,

My dove, you came to the window as a spark,

This kicks in got your tongue tied in knots,

As this day is concrete.

Again, I had to skip a song to keep it all in English. And again, it's pants. At least it's not as bad as last time.

Music Shuffle Game: Part 3: A Lyrical Poem

Never made it as a wise man

I'm bringing sexy back

Life's like this

If you're going to San Francisco,

Be sure to wear flowers in your hair

It's been a while since you last saw me

A hundred days have made me older

I walked across an empty land

When the day becomes the night,

Just know that I think of you

My friend's got a girlfriend and he hates that b****

You'll seen it all before.

*Facepalm*

Well, that was pants. I had to skip one song so everything could be in the same language. This is definitely the worst poem I've ever written.

October: A Snapshot

The perpetual sunset light, and the dandelions floating like marine snow, down the road, across the field, going places I'm not. 

A gradient of greens and golds and Earth tones, nature's last bounty smeared across the landscape like an artist's wayward stroke. 

Trees late turning, and the end of the world, isolation, and the putrid stench of burnt coffee slowly going cold. 

Too bright afternoons and late October, too-ripe wheat swaying in the too-warm breeze chasing the dandelion wishes away, and up, and towards greater things. 

And, of course, the state of eternity that exists there, there at the end of the world where time passes to a different beat, slow and languid, liquid and honey-golden as it swirls around us. 

(And I feel like dancing, like running, like jumping and riding and seizing the breeze while it's still here, while we're still young, while I'm still feeling too-alive and so-beautiful and all-right. But I don't dance; not anymore.) 

And that's the way I think, sometimes, little stunted phrases that need to be written down lest I forget the golden lap of soft-sweet, wine-like sunlight caressing me through the open window. 

(Spinning. Knee-high grass and a glowing smile, and the three o'clock sunlight streaming in her golden hair. Dancing. The white room. Snap-shot dream-mirages of a life that was never mine.) 

Jack-o-Lantern's glowing eyes and the sharp, pungent scent of ash (and fire, and burning, and the lakes of sulfur down where no one dares wander, and Paradise Lost) stray dogs running on their hammer-wheel paths like they don't realize there's anything but the road, sprinting along because they don't see that there's a way out. 

Rumbling motorcycles and squeaky-tired SUV's and dirt bikes throwing up gravel and eating up tar like doing 90 on I80. The long (straight and narrow), steady, empty road, and a forest of floating wishes. 

And me, watching it all like it's the most beautiful place I've ever seen.