I knew I named my blog that for a reason.

I'm hitting a dead wall of no title inspiration here.

So Friday is supposed to be original content but on the suggestion of a couple good friends, I'm doing something else.

Ama suggested I do some of my recipes as a day content and Jaya suggested I do something from my childhood. So I am doing both.

Its kind of funny that we take some memories for granted, like cooking in the kitchen with our parents. I don't remember helping my mother cook too much, or even at all. I can't imagine she didn't let us help, and I do remember she always tried to make our favorite dishes. With twins who delighted in trying to be different, this wasn't easy. I remember loving Mom's cube steaks. Not to mention our long standing favorite, hot dogs and macaroni and cheese. Mom would also make us a special kind of cake for our birthdays. I'll have to get the recipe to post here one day. Its called mayonnaise cake.

I also have nightmares about my dad coming after me with a jumbo shrimp, head and all, singing Little Glowworm. That was allfired creepy but a true story. Most of my kitchen memories include Dad. There was one game we loved to play when my sister and I were very small. I remember begging to play this game more than once.

Dad would sit us down at the kitchen table and carefully blind fold us. We had to promise not to peek or cheat. Sitting beside us was a glass of milk and a couple pieces of bread. He would then put the entire spice cabinet onto the kitchen table and give us a sample of random spices. The point of the game was to see if we could accurately guess which spice was which. Garlic was always easy enough, along with oregano. I remember he would mess with us a little bit and give us spicy chili flakes or cayenne pepper. I was never bothered by the salt in the slightest, but that shouldn't come as much of a surprise to anyone who knows me. It was all in good fun, and we loved it.

There was one dish, in addition to the mayonnaise cake Mom would make us, that was served at every birthday. Dad would get out his crock pot, buy a whole mess of canned tomatoes, noodles, spices, ground beef, sweet Italian sausage, ricotta cheese, onions, and mushrooms. He'd start 2 days in advance, slowly cooking the tomatoes and spices together in the old crock pot until they became a tantalizing, tangy sauce. Then he'd carefully boil the long flat noodles until they were almost done, while he sautéed the ground beef and sausage with the onions and tons of mushrooms. When the onions were just see through, he'd get out his big pan and start to layer the ingredients together into the best lasagna I've ever had. Maybe it was just the memories and nostalgia seasoning it to perfection in hindsight, but I'll stand by my initial verdict. The best ever.

After this glorious meal, there would always be leftovers. Leftover Lasagna is easy to deal with, but what about those extra noodles cooked? Those scrapings of sauce and meat left in the pans? Dad had a cute and tidy way of dealing with this. He'd take the leftover noodles and lay them out flat. Then he'd spread sauce and filling along the singular noodle, before taking one end and rolling it up. These would then be refrigerated and put into lunches, as snacks, or just a quick treat. All the comfort of home cooking, without the need for full sized plates, I guess.

This recipe is based off that little fix he  used to do. I personally love lasagna but I hate to cut it and fight with it at times, so I expanded on Dad's leftover trick and made it my own.


Lasagna Rolls

ingredients:
1 box lasagna noodles (preferably with the ruffle-y sides, looks cuter)
1 large bottle, or two small, of your favorite spaghetti sauce (these taste amazing with homemade alfredo)
1 package of ground beef, pork, or Italian sausage that's not in casings. (you can cut it out of the casings but its a pain)
1 red onion, a little bigger than a baseball
1 package of mushrooms
1 16 oz package of ricotta cheese, (use part skim if you're doing alfredo)
1 package mixed mozzarella and provolone shredded cheese
1 package shredded parmesan cheese
2 big cloves of garlic, or a small jar of pre-minced garlic, not dried
1 container grated parmesan Romano
rosemary
oregano
thyme
olive oil
salt
black pepper

tip: Put the onion in the fridge for a day before you cook this, if you can, or the freezer for 15 to 20 mins. Those pesky juices are less likely to irritate you if they have to come up to room temperature to become fumes.

Start by boiling the water for your noodles, with a good teaspoon of salt in the water, and a bit of olive oil. Do up a couple extra for testing and possible breakages during cooking. The noodles will be almost cooked when you remove them. Best way to judge is bite a piece and if it feel close but not quite done, they're ready. They should give a good resistance to your teeth without being crunchy. Get your veggies ready for cooking by dicing them into smallish pieces, but not so tiny they turn to mush when cooked. I'd suggest about half the size of a dime for the upper limit on size. If you are using fresh garlic, place the garlic flat on the cutting board and smash it with something. Anything really. Then discard the now easy to remove outer shell papers and dice very fine.

Cook your meats first, adding the spices to suit your own tasted. I personally love rosemary and garlic, so I try to use a lot of those. Don't forget you need to use salt and pepper on meats to enhance the flavor, so try to buy salt free spices to keep this in mind. This way, nothing gets over salted. When the meat is done cooking, remove the meat and save a portion of the dripping in the pan for flavor with the veggies. Discard the rest of the dripping. Mix a bit of the grated parmesan Romano, about two tablespoons, into the meat and let it rest.

In a pan, cook the mushrooms and onions in olive oil and 1 diced clove of garlic. If you're using the pre minced, one teaspoon if you really like garlic, or have no plans on kissing anyone soon. Cook until the onions are just translucent.

If you forgot to pay attention to your noodles at this point, you've got mushy icky noodles on your hands. If you didn't forget, great. Drain and run cold water over them to stop the cooking process quickly. Then lay them out onto a baking sheet or wax paper if you have it.

Now comes assembly. Take your ricotta and stir it up, so its easy to spread. Lay out your noodle onto your workspace, I suggest that wax paper trick again. Prep your pan by pouring sauce along the bottom of the pan and smoothing it out.

Spoon a bit of ricotta onto each noodle, enough to give a thin layer. Then comes a layer of sauce. Sprinkle meat, then veggies onto the noodle. Sprinkle a bit of the mozz/prov cheese along it.

Now comes the rolling. Its messy. Clean hands are a must, must, must. Take one end of the noodle and fold up by one inch. Then begin to roll it until you can roll no more. Place in the prepped pan. Repeat until there are no more noodles.

Sprinkle liberal amounts of Parm, Mozz/prov, and grated parm romano over the entire pan. Toss it in the oven for about 15 minutes on 350, or until the tops are golden and the cheese is melty.

I suggest serving with a couple slices of good Italian bread, toasted in the oven, or with a small salad.

~~~~~~

I can't see straight, I'm so tired. I'm going to hit the wonderful invention of spring, padding, softness and sleep times.

Give me a heads up if you try the recipe, or if you even like the concept of me posting about my cooking.

Sleep well and Sweet Dreams, Lovelies.

I couldn't come up with a witty title today.

Just couldn't.

Honestly, I spent too much time trying to edit a story to make it presentable that I got past 3 am with nothing to show for it. I got about half of the completed portion of the story done but its also not done. I kind of put off editing two of my stories until now because I don't really like editing my own stuff and neither do I have anyone who'd help with that. I have friends who'd be happy to proof read it but I need someone to be tough on my writing so I can improve.

Anyone willing to be mean to be to help me get better at my art?

I'm still floundering on my ideas for NaNoWriMo. 50,000 is quite a lot of words. I won't lie and say I got this in the bag. Not in the slightest. The site has already proved useful though.

There is a Literary Group here in Ocala called The Dragon's Sandbox. I emailed them for information about the group. Here's hoping I don't chicken out and hide from people who might be awesome.

Enough with my silliness. Onto the story.

Children of the Dragon

"Hey, Drishti, your daughter Jareia's almost of age, isn't she?" Neesa asked as she folded up her clothing.

 

Drishti froze for a moment before continuing her mending. "Couldn't be. It can't have been so long." She cleared her throat, hoping to hide the note of high panic. "Was it really that long?"

 

"Yes, I think it has. Your Jarek passed just after we finished bringing in the harvest the year before and Jareia showed up not long after that." Neesa rolled her other laundry into a bundle on the floor and sat beside it. "Your mourning days ended just a week ago. So that means Jareia is three next week."

 

Drishti plucked out the stitches in her mending and began pacing around the small common area of her home. She glanced over at the crib sitting in the corner of the hut. Inside, still sleeping, was the only thing that had kept Drishti in this world after Jarek's unexpected death. She leaned over to the child and set her hand on the child's chest, feeling her body rise and fall in sleep. Jareia squirmed and turned onto her stomach, whimpering in her dreams. Drishti turned back to her companion with a worried look.

 

"Neesa, you've sent five children to the ceremony. What happens? How many children does the Dragon take?" She pleaded, looking back down at her baby.

 

Neesa's eyes softened as she watched the young mother. "All children from three to thirteen in the village must go through the ceremony. First, you take her to be cleansed as according to the rituals. The high priests of the Dragon temple will take Jareia from you and perform several rites, purifying her and teaching her what to say and to keep quiet. Then you and Jareia will spend three days in the chambers of the temple, learning and testing your resolve to follow the Dragon. After the three days, you will be brought to the center of the fields, where the Dragon himself will review the children and choose the ones he will take." Neesa reached for the discarded mending as she spoke. "Jareia will stand in the field with the other children, waiting for the Dragon's verdict. You will stand a distance behind, with the other parents. You are not permitted to address the Dragon when he comes."

 

Neesa looked into Drishti's wide eyes. "Now this part will be the hardest for an outsider like you to understand. The Dragon will descend on the field and look at the children. He will assess them as they walk past. For the most part he will be silent, but in the past, some children have been singled out when the Dragon speaks to them. Then he will either leave or choose one of the children." Neesa smiled and patted Drishti's hand to reassure her. "The Dragon hasn't chosen a child from this village for almost four generations. And when it does choose a child, they're never as young as Jareia. Three is just the starting age I think. So the children can get used to the sight of the Dragon."

 

Drishti smiled uncertainly. "If you're sure, Neesa."

 

~~~~~

 

Just after sunrise, Drishti led her daughter to the temple of the Dragon. Built directly into the side of a mountain, the massive building was home to the Priest and Priestesses of the Dragon, all of whom had taken a vow of silence. They were greeted by a young alycote in her pale grey robes. With a wave of her hand, she led them further into the temple, down a spiraling path. The young woman pointed at a large black door before disappearing down a concealed hall to the side.

 

Four priests of the Scale Order stood on the other side of the door. Swathed in their deep green robes, they stood immovable and looming in the torchlight. One glided up and held out his hand for Jareia to follow.

 

Forcing a smile, Drishti nudged her daughter to follow the man. "Be good for me, sweetling." Her voice bounced back off the walls and startled her with the sound.

 

From another side corridor an older woman in robes took Drishti's hand and led her away. The woman led Drishti through a large passage, into a large garden filled with flowers of every color and size. Here the woman bowed and departed, leaving Drishti to her own devices.

 

Drishti stayed in the gardens of the temple until the sun was well past its zenith. Two times during her wait, young priests delivered her a plate of food. The fruit and fresh bread went untasted as Drishti wandered the garden, waiting for the priests to bring her daughter back. Just as the sun was setting, two Scale priests came in with Jareia. She sat on the shoulders of the younger priest, chattering about her kitten.

 

"And she's so soft and white with a brown spot between her eyes, just like Mommy has." Jareia's face lit up when she saw her mother and started wiggling to get down. "Mommy, the priests gave me honey bread!"

 

With a smile, the younger priest set her down and pushed her towards her mother. He waved a hand, gesturing for Drishti to come closer. He pulled out a pad of parchment and a charcoal stick, holding it out to her.

 

"I'm sorry, I don't know how to read." Drishti replied, her face growing warm, as he pantomimed reading the paper.

 

He frowned, then scribbled something down on the pad. He held it out to older priest beside him. The older priest considered what was on the paper before slowly nodding.

 

The younger priest cleared his throat. "I wished to talk to you about your daughter. It appeared to me, and the other Dragon priests, that your daughter is very bright for her age. Not only can she count, but she knows most of her shapes and colors. I was amazed to find she also knew several prayers for the older children, her letters and to read some small sentences. That's why I assumed you'd be able to read." He spoke quickly, words tripping over each other on the way out. Drishti hid her smile behind her hand, to avoid offending the talkative priest. "All of that for her age is remarkable. I was wondering how you taught her the letters if you do not know how to read?"

 

"My relative, Neesa taught her. Neesa was the school mistress before Bellar came." Drishti chuckled as the older priest glared at his protégé. Jareia tugged at Drishti's skirt and she bent down to pick her daughter up, smoothing her thick brown hair.

 

"One more question, if I may. Who is Jareia's father? We keep all of the lineage records in the town here." The younger man asked.

 

Drishti's smile died and she cleared her throat. "Jarek. Her father was Jarek. He died just before Jareia was born, in a hunting accident." Jareia heard the change in her mother's voice and placed a small hand on her cheek.

 

Jareia looked at the Scale. "Mommy tolded me Daddy loved me, even if he never met me." Drishti buried her face in her daughter's hair as the tears threatened to flow.

 

The man frowned slightly. "I am sorry to hear that. I remember Jarek from when I was an alycote. He was a good man."

 

The older priest stepped in. "That is enough, Scale Ashod. Don't you think it might be time to return to your duties?" Ashod's face colored and he hurried out of the room. His footsteps died before the priest spoke again. "Forgive him. His scholar's nature doesn't leave much room for common sense. Anyone else would have seen you are wearing the mourning colors. I am Scale Rennor."

 

"It's quite fine." Drishti gave her eyes a hasty swipe with her sleeve. "After three years, I should be a little better by now. But we lost him so suddenly."

 

"There was one more thing I wished to speak to you about." Scale Rennor began. "Your daughter has a very strong aptitude for many things. I think it might be best if, after the ceremony, she came to live here. To be taught. There are many things she can learn here." He paused to look at her. "You don't have to give me an answer now. After the ceremony, if you wish."

 

When he finished, he gestured for a priestess to take them to a chamber. They were led down many more corridors, taking them all the way back to the main hall. There the priestess led them to a small room, furnished with two beds and a small table.

 

Jareia scrambled onto the bed. "Mommy, is we gonna stay here a while? It's big here and it has lots of books to look at." She stopped. "Do they have a lot of picture books? Or paper to draw on?"

 

Drishti laughed softly. "Yes, dear, but I think you might want to calm down a little. The priests will get annoyed if you're too loud."

 

"Oh, okies. Be really, really quiet now." Jareia curled up on the bed and pretended to sleep.

 

~~~~

 

The next three days passed quickly for Drishti. She spent many of her hours in prayer, seeking the courage to place her only child into the field. She meditated on her life as a mother and tried to think of anything she might have done wrong, so she could repent. In her heart she made hundreds of bargains, saying if the Dragon would pass over Jareia, she would become a better mother, would place Jareia in the priesthood, anything to keep her daughter with her. Whenever she returned to the present though, the fear of losing her daughter still shadowed her mind.

 

While her mother prayed, Jareia played with everything she could get her hands on. When a priest or priestess would deliver meals, she would talk to them. Often she asked them for books or something to draw on. On the third morning, she ran up to Drishti and shoved a drawing in her face.

 

"Mommy, lookit what I drew!" Jareia pushed the paper towards her mother, her smile wide and bright.

 

Drishti smoothed the paper on the table in front of her. With a three year old's sense of colors, Jareia had drawn the field outside the villiage. In the center, standing on purple grass, the two of them stood facing each other. Drawing Jareia stood at the same height as her mother and her skin was a dark caramel, closer to her mother's color than the father she favored now. In the sky above them, hung a large green shadow with large wings and big yellow claws. A red ball stood near the mouth of the green shadow and Drishti assumed it was the sun. Beside her, Jareia squirmed and wriggled.

 

Drishti smiled at her small child. "This is good, Sweets. Did the priests say this is what happens later today?" She glanced down at the picture, running her thumb over the large green shadow.

 

"Uh-uh. That's my dream last night." Jareia hopped up and grabbed another picture. "Lookit this one, Mommy." She held out the other picture. It showed the same field, with the same purple grass, but Jareia was much smaller and her skin was paler. The green shadow wasn't in the sky either; it sat on the ground, wings standing up.

 

"And what's this?" Drishti asked, frowning.

 

"It's today!" Jareia huffed. "See? That's the dragon, that's you and that's me!"

 

"Why are you bigger in the first picture though? Shouldn't you be the same size?" Drishti pointed to the first picture. "You're good at size, Sweets."

 

"No! I can't be the same size if I'm bigger, can I?" Jareia scoffed.

 

Before Drishti could respond, an elderly priestess walked in and beckoned for them to join her. Drishti scrambled to gather her belongings as Jareia scampered out with the woman.

~~~~~~

 

 

The field was filled with nervous parents hovering near their children, fussing with their clothes and hair, making sure they looked presentable. The elderly priestess led Drishti and Jareia to stand near one end of the group. She caught the terrified look in Drishti's eyes and smiled at her. Reaching out, she patted Drishti's shoulder and smoothed Jareia's hair. Without another sound, she slipped into the crowd, tapping people on the shoulder and forming them into a line across the field.

 

"My children." The high priest of the order, known as the Wing, raised his hands for attention at the center of the clearing. When all was silent, he tucked his hands back into his robe and spoke in an ancient, whispery voice. "My children, it is not yet time for The Dragon to appear. We have a little time, so I propose we fill this time by a recitation of the old lore."

 

 A groan rose among the older candidates and the Wing silenced it with a glare. "And I know it will please many of you that I will not be reciting it. Our brother, Scale Demetrius, will do the recitation." He stepped back to allow the younger priest to take the center. Scale Demetrius lifted his hand for silence. His clear rose above and was heard by all.

 

"Long, long ago, when the great gods of old battled across the sky and humans were nothing more than mute beast on the earth, the dragons ruled the sky and earth. Hand created by the high god Dakir himself, the dragons were a sight to behold. Over the land they soared, answering to no creature and doing as they saw fit. This lasted for hundreds of years, until the great gods brought their war down to the earth. Almost the entire earth was cleared of life as the gods battled on, destroying everything around. The dragons saw this waste and banded together to fight the old gods. The gods were affronted by this act of treachery and swore to be even with the dragons. To have revenge on the dragons, the old gods gave intelligence to man, making him think himself smarter than the dragons. Then the gods flew over the land, spreading hatred all around, to every living thing they found. They also granted man new weapons to fight the dragons; weapons of dark magic and horrible power. Man began to hunt and kill the dragons, taking their bones and fire sacs as trophies for their homes. The gods were pleased by the destruction they wrought on the great serpents.

 

"Only one place on the earth was spared the killing madness. High in the mountains a small country, surrounded on all sides by the mountain range, was passed over by the gods as insignificant. It was here our ancestors stayed, away from the killing and death. Here the dragons hid, gathering power and waiting for the proper time. It was also here that the dragons launched their greatest attack on the old gods. From the top of the highest mountain, the dragons flew to the heavens, to battle the gods themselves. Many dragons died that day, littering the earth with their bones. The  battle raged on for an eternity, neither group gaining on the other. Finally, one young dragon succeeded in engaging the most powerful god, Dakir. In the horrible battle around them, Dakir and the green studied each other. The both rose at attack at the same time, clashing with the force of a thousand thunderclaps. Dakir's sword cleaved through the armored scales covering the dragon and the green screamed with rage, He lashed around and caught the great god's head in his jaws. With one swift movement, he bit the head of Dakir off." Totally engrossed with his storytelling, Scale Demetrius failed to realize the next parts weren't acceptable for young children. Mothers covered young ones ears as older boys cheered.

 

"The green, covered in the god's blood, raised his gory snout, trumpeting to the sky and the rest of the world his triumph. He then bent down and devoured the heart of the great god, gaining immortality from the blood. The rest of the great gods gave a loud wail, shaking earth with their lamentations for the loss of their leader. The dragons regrouped and called for the surrender of the old gods. The gods refused to step down from their deity but consented to never war with each other on earth again. They gave the earth to the green, claiming it was his to rule. He declined, not wanting to rule a land where he would be hated and despised because of the god's curse. The only thing the green wanted, he told the gods, was a place where he could live in peace. The green retreated back to the mountains, claiming these lands as his domain. To this day, these lands are protected by Juleck Riftscale, Bane of Dakir. Also to this day, any child born with the old blood in their veins will never fear a dragon, having seen one or not." He glanced at his audience. Most of them were backed up a little, with their eyes fixed behind him. Slowly he turned, only to stare into a pair of massive gold eyes and a large green scaled snout. The priest fought the urge to run from the massive creature behind him.

 

"A story well told, human." The Dragon rumbled, showing his many teeth in a intimidating grin. The man nearly passed out on the spot. "It made even me relive that battle, as if I were there again. Well told indeed."

~~~~

It's really long and incomplete. Not to mention boring. Very boring.


I'm just gonna head to bed, lovelies. I hope I get some form of reply from that literary group. I think it'd be nice and maybe good for me to hang out with other writers again.

Sleep well and sweet dreams.

When what you need and where you are...

is separated by a flight of stairs and two demanding cats.

I have some stories on my flash drive but that is upstairs. And I am beat down exhausted right now. So I have decided not to go upstairs.

What I do have on my laptop is another set of poems, this time actually considered a set.

There's this old story in my family about an uncle somewhere back a generation or two on my father's side who lived in the New England states. I was never told his name. He was married to a woman who was marvelous at baking and making donuts, and had four children with her. All seemed well until one day, he up and left, heading south to Florida to hunt pumas with a woman named Jenny. There used to be a newspaper article about him somewhere but its long, long gone now.

These two poems are written in the voice of these two individuals.

Puma Hunting

Slow down, slow. Can't move too
fast here, else you'll make noise.
Once that cat hears you, it'll see you,
sure enough. Not your simple
house cat. Big, so big, it'll take
your dog for dinner. Devil's own
pet, a puma is. Stop.
Quiet now.
Hear that? Its nearby.
In that clearing, up in the tree,
look just under the top branch.
See that tail? She's waiting
for some doe to come by. Jump
right out on top of 'em, she will.
Come right around here. Raise
your gun, slowly.
Aim for those big green eyes.
Got it? Now, stop.
Stop.
Wait, breathe.
Have to be calm to shoot.
Wait, breathe.


~~~~~~

I was highly intrigued by this story when my dad told me about it one day. Who was this man who abandoned his family at the turn of the century to hunt gigantic angry felines in the bug capital of the south? Was he crazy? Bored? Did he feel it was worth it later? What happened to Jenny? I'd assume children were born from them but who knows? A whole other sect of my family could exist unknown, linked by this strange uncle and his choice to leave.

But there's another side to this story.
The second poem is in the voice of the wife he left behind. The story goes after he left her with their children to take care of, she opened a bakery. There she made donuts, cookies, cakes, and treats to sell all day. Each day, she made just enough for the day so there would be no left overs.

Just Enough

My husband left me in the spring of
'09, for a life of adventure and passion.
Left me to care for four children and
myself. No time for tears though. Just
enough time to live. My little boy
took his daddy's place as man, stood tall
for me and his sisters. I opened shop,
sold pastries and doughnuts, just enough
for each order. Times got hard, we got by.
My girls helped around the house, learned
how to make it with just enough.
His leaving didn't make me alone, couldn't
make me fold. My children were enough
for my life, enough to watch, enough to see,
enough love, just enough to get by.

~~~~

 

This woman had to have been stronger than anyone could imagine. A single woman during turn of the century America was better off than most places but by no means was it easy. If ever a phrase defined how I think of someone, I'd have to say "Enough is enough" is for this woman.

 

It'll be said I talk about my Dad a lot. I can't help it, due to the fact he inspired me and my twin sister to read and use our imaginations to the fullest. But as the poems have a second story to tell, so does my life.

She may or may not ever read this but I adore my mother. Since she and my father got divorced, she's been a RNA at nursing homes in the Ocala area and more recently a home health care aid. I could never do what she does. My mother tirelessly takes care of others all day, sits with them, cleans them up, spends time with people who's family need some help to get by. She's a saint. If I ever get asked who should be canonized next, every time, I'll say my mother.

Now that I've rambled in the most sentimental and disjointed manner about my far flung family and those closer to me, its rather late.

I think I'm off to bed, lovelies and I think I'll text my mom to tell her I love her tomorrow. I'm no good at mushy phone calls so I do what I can.

 

Sleep well and Sweet dreams.

The Owl and Pussycat Went to Sea...

In a beautiful pea green boat.

When I was a very little, every night before bed, my dad would pull out a small green book. Coverless, dog-eared, the gilded lettering worn off the binding, he would carefully open it to a page and start to read. Inside, great men and women lived centuries past the limits of mortal breath, their hearts stamped in slightly faded ink onto yellowed sheets. Cramped and tiny, the print swelled the imaginations of me and my sister as Dad would read to us Walt Whitman, Johnne Donne, Alfred Lord Tennyson, Lewis Carrol and so so many more.

Some kids grew up on Goodnight Moon. I grew up to the Owl and the Pussycat. Not to forget O Captain my Captain, or Tyger, Tyger.

Its from these beginnings I developed a profound respect for poetry. Any way I try to describe why I admire and adore poetry comes out disjointed and bungling.

I'll just skip to the part where I post my own poems and hope they aren't terrible.

Crimsonosity

Life blood, bottled, brewed dark
to crimson, a striking shade of life.
Thrumming, humming, sounding, pounding,
beating an echoless lasting metronome
to existence. Rhythm of the ages;
one to two, two to three, three to four,
Pattern stronger than the stars above
yet silenced as a flame is snuffed.
A river of energy; sluicing through
narrow lanes to the outermost,
fading to lifeless blue, turning throughout
the endless circuit, starting at one again.

~~~~~

With poetry, one of the biggest statements you can make is that last line. If you can create a line that sticks in the mind of the reader, you've accomplished something. That moment when the reader takes in a breath that's maybe a fraction deeper than before, that instant of realization. You can never expect what effect your poems will have on someone, mostly because poetry is a form of writing very open to interpretation. Sometimes, I'd love to have a chat with Walt Whitman or Johnne Donne, to poets my dad used to read to me and my sister before we went to sleep.  I'd ask them what they were thinking of when they jotted down the notes and tidbits that led to the flowing lyrical delights of my childhood.

Now almost everyone has attempted at poetry when they are in that state of eternal suffering call being a teenager. No one understands you, no one will ever know what pain you are feeling. The darkness in your soul, the loveless state of existence. A lot of people have some poems floating around in that box or folder that they never open. Pretend it doesn't exist and play it off.

I wrote some of that stuff. Pardon me while I shudder at the thought of that dreck. After I got over myself and got into my college classes, I started taking a creative writing class. I had no interest in writing poetry. To me, it was just a stupid pastime when you were depressed or lovesick. I can wholeheartedly thank Dr. Robison for disillusioning me of that falsehood. From her encouragement, I learned that poetry is observation. If used properly, it can be used to present an reflection of the world to a reader, to think about something in a whole new way.

This is one of the first poems I wrote for the class that semester. It was eventually chosen and printed in the award winning student staffed literary and art magazine, Imprints. I've edited it bit since then to make it flow a bit better and take into account when I have learned but in effect, it is still that first moment when I realized what poetry can be for me.

Bits of Waking Moments

The mirror lay broken early lay on the floor, bouncing spots of life
across the room, glimmer piercing as they fly though the darkness.
Multitudes shuffle by, moving and shifting the pieces below,
Never seeing the artistry of the beautiful happenstance.
Down nor up, neither does the collective gaze, seeing not a shard
of the shimmering glamour.  Ever so rarely, a stray step shifts
sharp splinters into the eyes of one and wake them to the swirling
motes of living light. The moment of life reflected in that brightness,
a shattered bit of thought. Brought to wake in the light, the new
awareness rolls on as the new soul hungers, greedy for all sights to see.
Grasping for more until others would see the growing glow,
in all bits of waking moments.

~~~~~~~

Its almost 4 am and my eyelids are doing their level best to get together with my cheeks.

Thanks for listening to me rant about poetry and what it means to me, Lovelies.

Sleep well and Sweet dreams.

 

Any less concentration and I'll be chasing lint.

I cannot seem to keep my attention focused on one thing today. My brain is a million miles away, pretending to be a floating chunk of seaweed on the vast waves of Not Caring About Writing Today.

Not to mention, Punk is trying his level best to make my hands stop typing and pet his silly orange butt.

So last night, I buggered my schedule by forgetting Saturday is my new content night. I'm going to use this as a chance to skip a day. I tend to post well after midnight, so I hope to get calibrated some and post content on the day I say I will, even if its 2 or 3 am that day.

Even if I change up the schedule, I think I'd like to keep Sunday for Character Bios.

I said earlier that I'd be doing a bio on Valkyrie, so here goes,


Name: Valkyrie
Age: Unknown exactly, early to mid twenties
Species: Gryphon
Colorations: White with brown patches, barred wings and beige tips

Valkyrie lives in a world where the air is explored the way the sea is sailed. Massive Airships skim the clouds, ferrying people and goods to ports all over the world. Instead of a few large continents, most of the landmass is comprised of islands, the largest being 3/4 the size of Australia.

Valkyrie was born on a small island on an archipelago off the largest island. She has no clue about who her parents were. She was found asleep, bundled carefully on the top of a laundry bin in a circus caravan. Custody was shuffled around the various families and members of the caravan so many times her age became fuzzy.

At around 8, she was apprenticed to the tight rope walkers. The secondary and more secret objective of these members was to pickpocket in larger crowds. From a trained skill, she escalated into, what she called, an expert in covert acquisitions. She left the circus after 10 years as an rope walker to rely on her own skills.

For a year she hitched rides around the smaller islands before hitting a large port. From there, she picked up more lucrative jobs.

She is cautious when on the job and reclusive when not. She remains armed at all time, with a wide range of weapons. She prefer to attack in ways that immobilize and or silence her targets. A garrote is her weapon of choice, with one kept wound around her wrist, made of a brilliant red wire with a set of three large beads in the center for crushing the windpipe. On her person, she keeps two knives in each boot, a musket in a holster under her shoulder, and a black jack strapped between her wings. Also hidden in various spots are other items of use to her profession. She has no home that she returns to or even recalls. She feels uneasy when she stays in once place longer than it takes to get a job done. All of her possessions fit into a military duffle bag. This she leaves in the care of a trusted associate when going shipboard or on a job. If for some reason, she cannot pick it up, she telegraphs the holder to send the bag to her location via the soonest cargo vessel.

As of the start of the Fall of Valkyrie, she has not killed anyone. She has left lasting damage on some and made enemies of others. She picks her marks and targets carefully but is not above mistakes. Her most regretted mistake to date is taking the job that led her to Blood Basgut's airship.


~~~~~

My train of thought has completely derailed. Its past 4 am and I am beat. I'm going to call it and say I'm bound for bed.

I know I plead for comments and feedback every time, but lovelies, I really do want to hear from all of you.

Maybe if I get enough, I'll eventually explain why I keep calling you all lovelies. Because its not a random endearment, I promise.

Sleep well and sweet dreams.

Its really late/early in the morning and I've been watching Mythbusters.

I watched around 5 episodes of Mythbusters while trying to write for today's post.

Not that this is particularly relevant to the post. I just really like Mythbusters.

I know the more I post this on my social media sites, the likelihood of people reading it rises, but that knowledge doesn't change the fact I am quite self conscious. So when my boss asked just what the blog is about, my first thought was to hide and never show up to work again. I guess it all comes down to what I said before. I put a lot of myself into every piece I write. Each piece, once I get done with it, becomes precious to me. So I fear being teased about it.

That being said, my friends can and do tease me. Just not about my writing. Also, if you chose today to click on the blog, Hi Bosslady. Don't judge.

As Friday is my day to post original or completely new pieces, I decided to continue with the character I introduced with the Fall of Valkyrie.

Fall of Valkyrie
Part Two

Even from the other side of the ship, I could feel the hum of the airship’s engines. My ankles and good wrist were lashed to the sides of a hammock with tough cable, while my free hand was covered in a plaster cast. Deep inside the cast, an itch was making my efforts to focus on escape almost impossible. A thick musky mat lay under my stomach, padding the rope frame of my bed prison. I twisted a bit to the side to look out a small porthole, cloudy from the night fogs.

It had been a week and a half since I had been thrown off Blood’s ship into the wild blue yonder, with many of my flight feathers ripped out. The bolas that snared me and saved me from falling to death had done considerable damage. I pulled in a breath, slow and gentle, the cracked ribs screaming pain down my side as I wiggled to see out the window better. Splinted and held open with a crude frame, my healing wings stopped me from laying on my back or side. The fractures there and my hand were minor but I could still feel the gaps where my feathers used to be. I wouldn’t be flying my way out of here any time soon.

The door rattled for a moment before swinging open for a giant bear to enter. The covered tray he carried looked tiny, compared to his paws. On his belt dangled the stone bolas, the wide rounded weights clicking against each other as he stomped into the infirmary. He set the tray on the table in the center of the small room and squinted at me. The goggles over his eyes made them look large and watery as he sniffed loudly.

            “Stop wriggling or you’ll twist the braces for your wings and they’ll set wrong.” I felt a pinch as he ran his paws over the frames holding my wings open, tightening the cords. “I don’t think I’m good enough to rebreak and set a gryphon’s wing more than once. Now, do you want to feed yourself or are you going to make a run for it again?” He slid his paw to the bolas, sliding the grip stone out of his belt.

I nodded, eyeing him as he stood planted near my hammock, unaffected by the shifting of the airship. “I’ll eat civil this time. Word of honor. “ He loosened the knot around my wrist. After he untied my ankles, I swung my legs over the edge to drop to the floor. I fell to the wooden planks as my calves cramped and buckled under me.

The bear grabbed my good arm with his massive paw and plopped me into the chair at the table. With no further speaking, he watched me demolish the meal in front of me. From the dried fish to the mushy, too salty boiled potatoes, all washed down with a canteen of recycled cloud water, cold and clear. I probed the chipped edge of my beak again, already smoothed by a steady hand and file.

            “Thank the sky I was asleep when you filed my beak. I’d have bitten your hand off.” I picked at a couple pieces of preserved fruit, thick with a layer of honey and cream. “And thank you, for stopping those doses of laudanum. I’m of no mind to be hooked on it.”

            “It did the trick while you were shrieking when I was trying to set that damn hand, birdie. But you’re welcome.” He adjusted his goggles and stared down at me. He had to be at least two feet taller than me. “And you can thank the ballisteer, Prajan, for the beak. He’s a feather, like you, so it t’were his idea. Said you’d be better off with a groove than a sharp chip.”

I nodded, cleaning the honey and cream off my talons. “Why am I being held as a prisoner after being saved, Gabriel?”

            “No one gets thrown off a ship for being a great old pal.” His shaggy shoulders heaved as he burst into laughter. I cringed as he thumped his massive paw onto the table. “If that were the case, old Rule would have been chucked long ago.”

            “Granted. But I told you what happened. I was taken captive at the Futansi port, from my troupe’s caravan.” I looked him straight in the eye. “When I was apparently too dangerous to have their way with, they threw me overboard.”

Gabriel shrugged, a feat I had thought impossible by those huge shoulders. “Aye, Ms. Valkyrie. But I’m sure Cap didn’t get to own this ship by being a sucker for a pair of big eyes and a convincing story. And this.” He picked up a long thin metal tube, battered and dented. “The fact this was strapped to your leg, with papers inside, don’t really make me believe you too much.”

I fought the urge to look at the tube. “I run messages as a side job from the caravan.” I shoved the empty plate away from me. I glanced up at Gabriel to see him staring down at me,  heavy brows close over his eyes. I was getting nowhere with this one. “Will I be freed at port at least?”

            “That’ll depend on the Captain’s decision. Since you ate civil this time, I’m supposed to offer you a place at the officer’s table for tomorrow’s supper."

Before I could respond, he held up one of his plate sized paws. "To be sure you're not up to anything funny, you're not to be wearing your own things." He glanced at my tightly wrapped bandages, covering me from my neck clear to the bottom of my ribs. "You'll be wearing what I can give ya. Do you accept?"

I tugged at the bottom layer of the bandages. I really wanted my own clothes. Even though Blood had stripped me of almost every weapon I had hidden, they were mine. "There's no chance of me convincing you that I'm no more harm with my own duds than not?" I whinced as Gabriel shook his head in stern reply. "If I'm to ever have my case heard and believed, I'll have to accept."

Gabriel nodded as he collected the dishes back onto the tray. "Then I'll be back before the first galley call. Captain takes his meal usually around the third call. Now up you get, birdie." With one solid heft, he grabbed me by my good arm and plopped me back onto the hammock. He easily looped my unbroken wrist against the side of the swinging structure, moving to my feet next. Once I was firmly tied to my bed prison again, Gabriel picked up the tray and plodded to the door.

~~~~~~

 

I decided that this was a fair enough stopping point for the adventures today. I am seriously considering turning Valkyrie into my NaNoWriMo project, if I can get enough ideas for her. But I'm also considering using an older story I am quite fond of. I'll be posting Valkyrie's character bio this Sunday, if anyone cares to know.

Its been a blast, lovelies, but now I am exhausted and have ensured the high chance I won't be waking til well after noon.

Put your opinion in the comments! I want to know what you think! Its free to comment!

 

Sleep well and sweet dreams.