Pumpkin Patch

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I am not a princess
I don't do sparkling eyes
My hair ties into knots
My clothes well... they're not always the right size

I have a prince charming
He's called Teddy and he sits on my bed
My pumpkin coach is a rumbling train
My ball gown... well lets not go there.

I dont like the sound of squealing
I'm... kind of, afraid of mice
My guardian angel is my pillow
My fairy mother is my bed.
My real mother, shes not evil
Just frazzled from her job.


I'm not ravishingly beautiful
I dont do tooth-aching sweet
I'm not always kind or nice or supportive
Sometimes I'm even mean


I went to my graduating formal
The dress was hard to afford
It didnt look that great anyway,
It was a bit bigger than it looked.
My date nearly lost my stuff
I thought I'd go in jeans.
Cinderella story? I think not.
I even spilled my drink.

Long summer days at the beach then?
The thermometer never hit 30
And the rain, oh the rain, it rained
Every day of the week.
Walks in the rain then? One umbrella?
Dont be daft.
We were both too busy,
Way too busy to ask.

What about the new start, the new beginning?
The one you'd said would come?
I dont know, it remains foretold
A glimmer of flames in the dark...

But lets face it, Billions of people
Amassed, to the music, sways
All lost in their wave of despair and desire
To think, that a few must be lost
And very few ever found
And who am I to have such luck?

Cicada's Song

(http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3198/3007460569_1b3973a02a.jpg)

It's towards the end of April, the leaves are starting to fall 

The browns and red and yellows, woolly scarves, brick walls

And rain, gentle and thundering, churn the dark topsoil

The last of the roses droop, petals shining with pearls

The vines that wind round the braided arch whither 

Apple trees hung heavy with swollen fruit

And the chill that mists your breath in the morning 

The beech with its golden carpet and chocolate roots

Not this year. 

The crickets sing of summer in the evening 

When the sky still glows orange from the setting sun

A full symphony of bullfrogs still choir, though the midnight bell's been rung

There's still that hum of warmth about the mornings

Still that nostalgic sweetness, the giddiness, the taste of December in the air

As if somehow summer had never come before, 

Now returning to us, and it has stayed there

Lulling time into forgetfulness

I sit by the window, listening to the cicada's songs

Half-dreaming half awakened, half filled with sorrow

The cold mug sits forgotten on a nearby chair

The potted plants still budding on the window sill

Remembering a summer never been

Wishing to return to times gone by 

At the eve of autumn's satire of a summer's day. 

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There are things that never could be.

There are things that never should be.

The things we wish for are both above.

Mermaid

http://photos.onetreedesign.com/images/cannonBeach.jpg

Wash up against the barren shores, a sea-maiden, wreathed in green

With midnight hair and sea-blue eyes and lips of coral sheen.

Weary limbs pull towards weary tides that pushed her up to land

A longing call she directed to the waves lapping at the sand. 

Friday Morning, without coffee

Eight o'clock in the morning, and even the sun is barely awake.
Not to mention me.
I'm sleepy.
The tute guys enters the room, and I think
what a fob =_=
but i look like a fob today too.
Its been awhile since I've made a post in prose.
If you can call this jumble prose.
Sigh, a shout out to my bed, I miss you T_____T
so so much right now...
Oh well, gotta get on in the day.
My tutor's at the front pacing away. Poor man, he thinks I'm studying, no doubt.
LOL
should I tell him I cheated for homework and just put all the data into excel?
Is that cheating?
Or being efficient?
I better stop before my brain juice runs out.
Bye bye.
zZZ

Season's greetings.

There is something surreal with a sea of unknown faces.
Do you know? Like those moments in movies, those fast forward scenes, with one person motionless, standing upon a platform and life washed by.
And standing there, stranded upon a rock amongst the tide.
If I were to catch you all within a net, squiriming quicksilver, how many strangers, how many friends, how many enemies or lovers would I get?
It is all so strange...

There is a castle amongst the forest, with emerald lawn. A bell tower that chimes upon the hour, carved sandstone. I circle 'bout its outskirts, sweeping by, for a moment of magic within its walls.
There is urgency, unbounded terror and dread. Drowning in people, drowning in words, drowning in the cacophany of unfamiliarity.

There is light for a new start, as cliche as it may sound.

A garden of quiet amongst the buzz. The shade of a single tree upon the grass. The shifting veil of shadows upon the ground. The chill of autumn's waking breath, and the golden sun. The carpet of flaming leaves. Crunch. The fragrance of soft, fresh morning, and dew on the underside of downy leaves. Walled garden.

Fun. Loneliness. The terrible contrast. To feel lost and found. To pick up the pebble upon the sidewalk, to find the shell that another forgot. And the hope of the glimpse of a familiar face admist the crowd, and an epiphany of joy.

The morning peeps from the horizon, hesitant, timid. I hope it will cast out its beams and, with a flourish, dance into tomorrow in its bright new dress of gold.

La Luna

There were too many things to say at the same time.
So accustomed am I to the open heart, that I could not even keep its blackest blood from you.
Too bad, the bad potion floods into your veins and poisons the joy of day and night.
Debt, deeply buried in so many seams within the ground, fissures in great geysers spouting brimstone into the Heavens.
The anger that burns like simmering embers erupts into flame, flinging caution into the winds.
The mushroom cloud of consequence smother's the morrow's moon.
I've heard the first splash of summer rains against tin eves, and the rumbles of rolling thunder-fed clouds.
The comfort, the warmth but no desire in the sun.
A pink blanket. A stolen hug.
Yet I remain immobile, stuck in the ground, with only visions to guide my roaming heart.

The Youth and the Statue

'O! Marble statue, a stone for your heart,
Upon your shoulder I weep for my love-
Long departed into the winding dunes
The fumes, the screens, of dreams
Long departed.

Sweet alabastor, with skin so fair
Do you not sometimes too, despair
in this world so harsh?

O, but perfection has bound you in her chains
the pains, that you will never know
a show, I must be to you.'

A young man leans upon a maiden,
and stares up to her gentle face
that Beauty and Virtue had laden
With all their gifted grace
He sighs, he moans and he cries
His suffering and his hurt
he unburdens to this stranger
marble and stone had girt.

The afternoon so passes
and evening quiets to night
and so does the weeping stranger
contemplating his plight.
The evening star sweeps in, her entrance
dragging her starry gown
and pinned night's cloak to his shoulders
to whom lady Luna's bound.

Fast asleep, under her feet,
the youth is peaceful in rest.
Unknown to him, those eyes above
were full with  tears unshed

Magic glitters, those cold lips speak!
And tragic words she utter:
'Dear, dear youth, I wish you'd see
The loves that live beyond hers.'

A cold white finger, bends
stiffly down, to carress that warm flushed cheek.
The magic fades, and dawn arrives
to disturb the fair youth's sleep.

He awakes slowly, feeling still
the dampness of the dew
And in his palmed, cupped the most curious thing
A tear shaped, stone made jewel

And the stone maiden ever,
In her stiff repose.