A Summer Love Song

Composed 6/23/16
Description: For the romantics. For me. Inspired by an awesome summer night.

I long to write a song for you
Some silhouette out in the mist
I can feel your hand and see your smile
Sense my stomach turn and twist
I know your touch deep in my mind
Comfort, sweetness, teasing grins
Conversations in the night
Simple longings to be with
Yet I’ve never met you
I live inside a shadow of love
Could hollowness consume me?
Could desperation trap me in?
I walk out into darkness

But find not emptiness

A dew drenched woods filled with life
A thousand flickering fireflies
Send my senses sparking
My skin strangely alive
Adventure calls me with the sound
Of howling beasts and hooting owls
I walk within the universe
Black with stars I touch and search
Some days I may long for you
But some days now I feel disgust
For what can possibly compare
To a cool night and firefly fairy dust?

To a Second Story Window

Composed 5/13/16
Description: Day 9, several days late, but I have had an extremely busy weekend filled with work and orientation for my practicum, which was the thing that inspired this poem. The theme was “landscape,” the suggested device apostrophe.

Thank you, second story window
For the change in perspective
I was trapped within a cityscape
Crammed with meetings, responsibility
But you changed reality
Instead of sidewalks
I see treetops
The barest glimpse of a concrete wall overtaken
Like the city went to ruin
And nature bloomed overnight
Ivy, green, everything
Overrun by inevitable apocalypse
Now adventure awaits out there
Just outside your view

Lunch Break

Composed 4/14/16
Description: For Day 13 of NaPoWriMo. A snapshot from today.

I walk out
And there is sun!
Blanketing the streets in a rare warmth
Crowds mill in smiles and sunglasses
Flirting with their shorts and sandals

I can barely see them
They radiate
But the aura is infectious
Even music plays
Relaxing and summery
From an open car door

You can’t help it
You walk down the street and feel
Alive
With the magic of a thousand summers gone by

Origin Story

Composed 12/22/15
Description: My dream last night.

A skinny tree
His branches stick out like a mushroom hairdo
He stands in line
Orders a coffee
Vanilla latte with my vanilla beans
He shakes his hair and they rain down
Falling seeds
The kiosk owner hesitates
Shakes her head in ignorance
But I pop up with some how-to knowledge
And a potion book

It takes an hour or so
To gather needed supplies
I explore the lush green valleys
And with pestle and pot
The tree’s latte arrives

Unknown, am I
Until that moment
Impressed, my fellow magic folk

Word spreads throughout the inn
My prestige grows as
Power is gained
As discover, I, my place here
A wild white wolf
Is suddenly tamed

A friend, a familiar
Bonds with me
Witch, potion maker

Magic in the Night

Composed 12/17/15
Description: For today’s Daily Prompt, which asked us when we do our best work.

When the moon hovers near
And the silence grows thick
When the dust is settled and the clock tick
Tick ticks you hear
Your own heart beating
Peace descends on the mind
Stretching out before you an endless time
Of ghosts and fairies, sweet and fleeting
It is the time of magic and honest thoughts
You are one with yourself and the earth
The heavens soothe, and stories are birthed
In the night, such beauty is wrought

Magic

Composed 1/20/15
Description: This came from a discussion I had with a friend.

He was talking about how some people believe Dungeons & Dragons (which I’ve recently started playing) is anti-religious/Christian. It made me think of several years ago when people were saying the same thing about Harry Potter. In both cases, these thoughts are not only untrue but completely backwards. You can create very holy/religious characters in D&D (which could symbolically represent Christians), and Harry Potter has wonderful moral and spiritual themes.

People just need to stop treating “magic” like a bad word. Isn’t the Narnia series, the most beloved Christian-allegorical series, chock full of magic? Isn’t the whole idea of God alone… well, magical?

You say I’m playing Satan’s games
But I see golden stags through the trees
Distant realms between their borders
I see magic in the stars
And that seems like heaven to me

Introduction

Composed  ‎2 /13/13
Description: Another lit art’s mag hopeful. It’s strange; I wrote this almost exactly a year ago, and here I am looking at it again! When I wrote this, it was originally part of a “100 Themes” challenge. The theme was “Introduction.”

She remembered Frank’s words.

You know, they say people make first impressions in as little as half a second.

Half a second. That is how long it would take to decide her fate.

The sequins on her red, fitted jacket burst forth in sparkle as the strobes flashed. She barely had time to catch a glimpse of the man in the long-tailed suit coat throw his hands up and jump into an exuberant stance of victory before the fog machines released another cloud of red and purple smoke. Confetti in colors of the rainbow rained down from the balcony. The audience’s roars were deafening.

He was good. He had tigers. How was she supposed to compete with that?

Thalia tugged on her stark white, elbow length gloves, the only object visible backstage. She gulped and glanced down, focusing on every crease and imagining doves spilling out of her fingertips.

Her heart was beating faster than it ever had. It all culminated here. If she failed, it was over. She had been lucky to get this five minute slot; so many other venues had refused her. Frank, the owner’s son, had only given her this chance – one chance he said – because he’d wanted to take her out to dinner. If she failed, there would be no way he could convince his father to let her have another try. She’d have to drag her feet back to Romano and meekly accept his offer.

Thalia shuttered as she imagined joining Romano’s league of sleazy showgirls. That’s not what she wanted. That wasn’t her dream. Her dream was to make her own way in the world, to do what she loved – magic.

Her guardian had been a lover of magic, and that kindly old man with the wrinkled hands and pale blue eyes had her entranced the first time he pulled a flower out of her ear.

All at once she was in a small, cozy apartment, spread out on the ugly blue and green rug with the tattered edges. She squealed in glee as she picked out a two of hearts and the man nodded.

“I’m going to be a famous magician one day!” Thalia announced with the kind of happy arrogance only three year olds are capable of.

“You certainly are,” said that man in his warm, wispy voice. He was smiling. “And you are going to make me very proud.”

The ferocious roar of a giant cat, and then the audience, broke Thalia from her daze. Her black eyes narrowed, and her slender hands clenched. No, magic was not just a way to make a living, not just a passion to her; it was also her sole connection to the only person she had ever loved.

She would do this. She would live her dream.

The slender man in black took a bow. Only seconds now. Seconds until her name was called.

And then half a second. Half a second in which the audience decided her fate. Half a second would determine her future, her survival, her pride. The loudspeaker squeaked; an announcer called her name.

In a half a second, her whole life would change.

She stepped onto the stage. They cheered.

The Magic of Summer

Composed 6/22/13
Description: This evening I went out on what is becoming my traditional evening walk. When I was about half way back to my house fireflies appeared — suddenly, as if they all turned on their lights at the same time. I watched in interest as little flicks of light burst all around me — some shockingly close. Oh, yes, I thought. It
IS summer isn’t it?

With this romantic image of summer in my head I looked in front of me, saw a speck of light flash, and, in what I consider a move of impressive athletic skill, I snatched a lightning bug out of mid air. It rested comfortably in my palm for about a second before I opened my hand, allowing it to fly away. However, strangely enough, it did not fly away. Not instantly, not after a few seconds…

No, the lightning bug, apparently thinking I was some kind of cozy, mobile tree, got comfortable on my pinky and accompanied me for the rest of my walk. I could almost hear him saying “Hey girl! Thanks for the lift! How’d you know all the best girl fireflies live on the other end of the street?”

And, indeed, like my driveway was some kind of designated bus stop, as soon as I approached it, the firefly shuddered and leapt into the air to show off his lovely lights to some female friends.

This lovely little event inspired this lovely little poem.

A small wisp of light
Caught gently in the palm
Goes for a ride
As I walk along

The Price of Power

Composed 5/25/13
Description: This poem came from a very strange place. After I came home from lunch this afternoon I got enwrapped in the last part of that show where they fix/cover up really terrible tattoos. This got me thinking about tattoos, and suddenly I had this idea. What if certain tattoos could give you magical abilities? The tattoos would be very intricate, and, I imagined, the ink used would not be typical tattoo ink, but magical ink that was, indeed, very painful once injected into the skin. Therefore, only the strongest individuals would be able to tolerate it and therefore be blessed with these powers. I even have the main character of this poem/universe created. I can picture her perfectly — she’s apart of a tribe with dark skin and pitch black, short, crazy curly hair… And totally badass. Haha, anyway. Hope you enjoy! More stuff may be stemming from this idea…

The ink in her skin
You can’t imagine the pain
It left her screaming
Mad, deranged
Each color a poison
Every stroke a slice
The reward would be great
But was it worth the price?
Her resolve was strong
Sixteen hours she whimpered
And when she had stopped
Fire shot from her fingers