Whitecaps roiling
Water boiling
Waves pitching
Whirlpools spinning
Pull out the spoon,
Sit down, drink up
the storm you’re stirring
in your cup.
Whitecaps roiling
Water boiling
Waves pitching
Whirlpools spinning
Pull out the spoon,
Sit down, drink up
the storm you’re stirring
in your cup.
Today
I know what is right
Today
I have seen weakness
Today
I have seen strength
Today
I have seen courage
Today
I have seen tenderness.
Today
I have seen evil
Today
I have seen good
Today
I have seen you
Today
You have seen me
Today
you know who I am
Today
I know who you are
Today
Amid your warlike screeches
I am nestled in peace.
You never know
it a small town
just where things lie.
That silly one might
be the daughter of the
richest man in town.
That sweet quiet one
might be carving up the
neighbour to feed to the cat.
The kid you bully
might be the teacher’s pet
or the principal’s kid.
Or both.
The athletic one you praise
might be a wash out tomorrow.
The artsy one
might become the town’s
favourite son.
The know-it-all nerd
may buy out your business.
You might decide
how people in town
should behave,
and spread gossip far and wide
but be warned.
In a small town,
you never know
who is connected
to whom,
you might be the one
who burns in the inferno
of your words.
.
.
When we moved to a small town, I learned quickly that almost everyone is related to everyone else or has known them forever. The world of social media is turning the entire planet into a small town, and this becomes truer than ever! There is no anonymity on the internet. But the interconnectedness is like the yarn basket after the cats have been playing. You just never know where the strings lead.
It took a whole lot longer than I expected, but I managed to record a video, despite the objections of the dogs, the fact that apparently there is not enough light in my house to film a video at midnight for some reason, and the fact that YouTube no longer believes I am who I am, so I had to make a new channel!
I’ve been meaning to do this for ages, so I’m feeling quite accomplished! Today we were at a wedding, and I’m still a gilded lily, so what better time, right?
Since the most popular poem on my blog (by a LONG shot) is Dear Sam Heughan that is where I began. (If you haven’t read it you may want to. The Twitter debate at the end is entertaining). Anyway, here I am, in all my animated splendour!
Oh- sorry about the hair flipping. I didn’t realise I do that quite so much! 😉 I’ll try to tone that down next time.
Also- YouTube offered me three options of mutated zombie type versions of myself for the thumbnail you see below. I apologize that you have to see this. Rest assured, the other two were worse.
Addendum: Diana Gabaldon made me feel like the most honoured person on the planet when amid a fire storm of the bizarre she dedicated her Daily Lines to me on August 5th. I read those hashtags and positively GLOW!
.
Topic #137: What invention, as in something not yet invented (jetpack, teleportation ring, time machine) do you most need right now?
The fall that I started Grace Awakening, I also started a high interest low vocab novel I called #8. When Grace took over my life for six months as she told me her 150,000 word story, #8 languished as an outline and one chapter. When Grace was finished, I set to work on #8. I’m aiming for it to be completed at 15,000 words, so it’s a tenth of Grace’s size. You’d think it would have taken a tenth of the time- say eighteen days instead of 180, but no. For all its brevity, #8 has sat with ‘something’ not quite right for almost two years. Every once and awhile I pull it out and add a paragraph here, a chapter there, fine tune a paragraph…
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Each day she enters the library
trailing behind her friends to sign out a book-
one they suggest or something near that’s fat
and impressive.
“I could never read a book that thick!”
“I heard that author is great!”
She settles into her seat, and
during silent reading
she opens to the middle and flips pages
occasionally looking at the cryptic shapes
arranged on the page to find words she knows,
but mostly her eyes are elsewhere as she turns
the page, stealthily,
wondering what others see when they read
wondering if they are pretending,
wondering if anyone notices.
At the end of each class,
its mysteries too deep to decipher
she drops the book into the library bin.
“Are you done already?”
“Yes. It was really good.”
I dive into a dream
through sloughs of doubtful inheritance
with sure strokes I slice the pool
of the possibility.
Doubts ride the boat beside me
but I swim in imagination
toward the shore of a tomorrow
where anything
can be
No
Why imagine that?
You can’t do that!
That’s not for the likes of you.
No
That’s all they ever said.
I had to stay in this rut
and be what they had settled for
But
my wishes had wings
My dreams dredged deeper
and where I am
is a place of possibility
too great for them to see
Michaelangelo could look
into a rock and see the face of angels
like me