Beginnings, Chapter FourHauling mountains of luggage, plus the sleeping child, Arthur plodded up the path to the log cabin. He knocked at the door. And waited. And waited. Arthur looked back over his shoulder. The driver had already left, meaning Arthur was alone. At least, he felt alone. The sleeping child was more a responsibility than a companion, and Arthur felt more weighed down and tired than he had felt in ages. At long last, the door creaked open.There he was, just as Arthur remembered. Tall, long haired, and with something of a miniature beard. Francis’ eyes sparkled just as they had on the day he and Arthur had met. All at once, Arthur felt the bittersweetness of lost love and the angry rush of bloody battle. There were a million words he wanted to say. He started with one.“Hello.”Francis nodded. “Welcome to my home,” Francis replied. “Please, come in.”Without aski
Ask The Romance ExpertDear Romance Expert,Even though I am AWESOME, I could use some help. There’s this guy. He’s quiet and shy, but sweet as maple syrup. I’d do anything to get his attention, but, as the old trope goes, he doesn’t even know I exist. The weird thing is, I think I might be the only person who knows he exists. It’s kind of a weird situation. What should I do?-- The Awesome Me*****Dear Awesome,Your confidence is a wonderful asset. However, if this fellow you’ve got your eye on is really as shy as you say, it is important that you do not overwhelm him. Like a rose, love must blossom slowly. Make your move, but do so carefully.Honhonhonhonhon,The Romance Expert------------------------------Dear Romance Expert,I have a problem. I have a crush on my neighbour. He’s a really nice guy, if not a little awkward, but he’s fun and we get along well together. I think he likes
BlindfoldSuch a pretty blindfoldOn such a pretty youthA lust for revolutionBut no taste for the truthAnother manifestoA plant that’s gone to seedMore poison in the waterToo many words to readSuch a pretty sloganAnd such a slick saluteSo many ideasAnd every word acuteThey call themselves the heroesI called them too far goneBut then you went and joined themAnd tied your blindfold onI miss the friends I used to knowThe people I’d admiredI’d held a blindfold in my handsBut threw mine in a fireI’ll never shy away from factsAnd thus I’m called uncouthBecause it’s a such a pretty blindfoldAnd such an ugly truth
Beginnings, Chapter ThreeFlecks of grass caught in the carriage wheels as they spun along the fledgling nation’s excuse for a road. It wasn’t that no one cared enough to build a proper road. It was just hard to decide where best to put one, seeing as Canada had relatively few visitors spread out over a lot of space.Inside the carriage, little Alfred bounced up and down on the seat cushion. The momentum of the carriage urged him onward while every bump they rolled over sent him popping out of his seat. He had passed time on the long journey by making a game of it, purposefully jumping and letting the carriage’s shifting balance fling him along.Under normal circumstances, Arthur would have insisted he sit still, but after spending so long in close quarters with the youngster, he was simply glad that he was entertained. Relishing these relatively peaceful moments, Arthur caught up on some sleep. He had no way of knowing when he’d be interrupted once ag
Beginnings, Chapter TwoArthur may have been wrong about a lot of things, but he was right that Matthew needed companionship his own age. As bad as the fighting between Arthur and himself had been, Francis had to admit it was unfair to keep Matthew and Alfred separated. There were no other children in the area, so Matthew’s only friends were the squirrels and raccoons and ring-necked geese that populated the area. And, of course, his best friend was his papa - a papa who (however begrudgingly) knew the right thing to do. Grumbling, Francis pulled a new sheet of paper from the stack on his desk. He looked out the window to see little Matthew playing outside, and he silently cursed Arthur once more. With a freshly dipped quill in his hand, he began to write.Cher Arthur,J’accepte ton idéeHe scratched it out. He had forgotten to whom he was writing, apparently. Taking another piece of blank paper, Francis reminded himself that switching la
Beginnings, Chapter OneDay dawned early, brimming with the promise of summer. The scent of morning flowers perfumed the late June air, so Francis propped the door open wide. He crossed the cabin’s slightly uneven wooden floor and pulled the curtains away from the window as well. Soon, the quaint log cabin was filled with warmth and sweetness and sunlight.Stoking the banked embers in the tiny cast iron stove, Francis hummed to himself. He loved this time of year. It was a time of fond memories and new beginnings. He cracked a few eggs into a pan and set them over the flames to cook. That’s when he heard a squeak and a thud behind him.Francis turned around to see a pair of short, chubby legs sticking out from under a tangle of cloth. A single blond curl protruded from what appeared to be a sleeve.“M’aidez...” the bundle whimpered. “M’aidez, s’il vous plait.”Chuckling to himself, Francis approached th
Prisonerher dreams all broken loose.Memories, unconfined,escaped her past,they roost now in the tanglesof her disordered present.
ObservationYou just need focus,the tree is the simpler task.From humanityOne must expect blurred edges,truth inferred rather than seen.
my masksometimes my mask breaksmy mask that always smilesthrough the cracks... tears flow
PoemsSitting in a corner,As I always do,Lost in the nothing,Surrounded by it too,I turn to you,Then you turn away,A scamper here,And a tumble there,Is that all the effort that you got?Laying on my bed,The ceiling above,Blank as always,Boring as always,Just like you,Lying as always,Denying as always,Is it really that hard for you to see?Turning the knob,You invite yourself in,Go away I tell you,But you ignore me,You scream and yell,You beat my insides,Making life a hell,It brings you pleasure,I know it does,You like seeing me this way,How many days I wonder,Until I fade away?Staring at me,You glare,Into insides beyond the mere,I'm only a child,A poor defenseless child,How you love watching me crumble,Being blown away by little things,You love this more than anything,And all you do is deny what I say,My soul will burn,And the insides split,While you remain unswayed....How little you see,Understanding little,Seeing little,Nothing new for me,Staying
KissThere's nothing sweeterthan a kiss, except for themoment right before
Inner-scopea single poemI'll never stop revising -myselfOctober '11
Tanka Series1.dry leaves-I rememberthe perfect spiralof my wornpigskin2.asking her outby emailI proofread every wordthen-delete3.flippingto the free spacein my journal-but how can five lineshold autumn dusk?4.sorority bake salethe girl I dumpedlast yearserves mea cold brownie5.Thanksgiving-above thedinner prayerthe howlof a stray dog6.fall carnivalthe tarot woman's handwarmagainst my own7.even in the coolof night airthe roseclimbingher ankle
PioneerThe power of flightbegins with a child's fantasy,the world left behind.
Smooth PebblesEvery swooning blade of grass vindicated.The deep blue silence of a turning wheel.A precise number of fireflies in the apples.The coiled jealousy of all reptiles.The palsy of a prisoner's first sob.A tranquil sorrow in a dog's ribcage.All faces obliterated from the moon.Nirvana observed among smooth pebbles.The slough of mountain summits in decline.Every planet reprieved of its orbit.The ecstasy within a mandala.The space between spaces.Honing the blade....And this.
Aquarius HaikuCosmic OasisSeek the Aquarian AgeThis is the dawning