Little White Lie

Haven’t heard the words ‘White lie’ in a long time


“I haven’t seen your cupcake”

My heart stammers at my first mistake

“Really? Because I couldn’t find my last one

And it took me forever to bake!”


A guilty look proceeds me

I look for others to set me free

But no one comes to my rescue

And she won’t leave and let me be.


“Okay, okay, I admit it! I’m a disgrace!

I won’t do it again, you put me in my place!”

She looks at me with a smirk and says

“I just wanted you to admit it. You still have frosting on your face.”


NaPoWriMo 2013


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The words speak volumes


One road leading outwards
One road left untraveled
The only road leading outwards
Into the dawn.
Of course it will be taken
The only road,
The last chance, the only chance
To see the dawn.

If it ends
The only remaining road
Into the dawn
Keep walking.
Close your eyes
Breathe deeply
And cry
At the beauty of the dawn.

Don’t let them persuade you
To turn back.

Surrender is your freedom.

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powerful poem


I’m stripped soul-naked standing bare
To a universe made of blank paper
Its mocking nakedness haunts me
Seductively taunts me with its vapor

I see words as pieces of my deepest soul
Shattered apart in my passions throes
Then brought together in a multi-hued mosaic
A stained glass window, if you will, of prose

Words reaching through time with voices of one from long ago
Words reaching for the vernacular of the street griot, ya kno’

Words lose me in the folds of its scripts
And lets me discover myself yet again
Words listen to me when no one else wants to
Words speaks to me in a way no one else can

Sometimes my words scroll across my monitor
To let me say what I want to say
Sometimes I resort to pen and paper,
To express myself in some other way

It sometimes scares me to the core…

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The Maiden Voyage of the Amalthea

interesting read

Embrangle Root

(and the curious events that followed)

They called it the Amalthea. It was the first unmanned aircraft to successfully navigate the skies above the curdled woods that have consumed the ruined city of Nolenthee.

Contains interview and testimony by Byrom and Arista Kenley, the father-daughter team who invented and controlled the remarkable contraption. Ribbons guides us through the experiences of the Amalthea’s inventors, and several key eye-witnesses to the events that transpired on its return. What could have happened to the Amalthea to drive it back into the sky, not only unmanned, but untamed?! How is it that the Amalthea is still so often spotted hovering low over the tree-tops, overgrown with tree-roots and moss?!

This book is a somewhat overblown examination of what is an otherwise overlooked historic event. The author is extremely excitable. Neil has a theory or two of his own.

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simply delightful

A Small Price To Pay For Sanity

Every time I sit down,
and decide that it is time to write,
I cannot think up but two words that
might sound satisfying,
and as for writing a poem full
with meaning,
I have yet to find one
when the time is intentional.

It is always while I am walking,
or pacing with no pen that I remember
a time when my Grandfather was still alive,
or the homeless man I stopped and talked
with for an hour just before I dropped five
dollars in the guitar case of a rugged street
performer, and sitting down to recollect these
memories, I realize that I am sitting on the very
bench in the park where I sat in silence
next to a women that I loved, and was never
able to tell her exactly how I felt.
And suddenly a pen seems no substitute
for her smile that night, and…

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Beautiful poem, well written

I Spy the Beautiful

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

– Wendell Berry, The Peace of Wild Things

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She walks in beauty like the night
Passing backs like.door steps
ever so mighty , ever so great
She roams under darkness cloak
tell morning strikes , magic desolves.
fear comes back in full forces
A shaky figure slumps on walls.
Or even crawls .
She hates the light
It steals her powers
She hates the light it burns her mask
She hates the night
It covers her naked feeble soul
she can’t get out of this hole.
neither night nor day had served her justice
Torn like a strand between two bulls
can’t go on any longer
No more magical crowns,or majestic walks.
Just curl hear embrace this cocon
Maybe shell break through in one after noon .

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