other bits of blog

Monday, June 21, 2010


**WARNING** I'm having writer's block at the moment, so this post won't be great...but at least watch the video and read the poem. Thanks. Now to the post!
I like the color blue. It's not my favorite, but I like the color. Today, I'm wearing blue. I'm feeling blue. And my music is blue. Literally. I play the blues, or as I like to call it, the bluez.
I improvise, and when I play the bluez, something happens. I guess I just really like it. I feel like I'm breaking rules. But at the same time I'm "little-goody-two-shoes", and perfect. The bluez gives me something. I feel powerful and creative and proud. I guess I can't really explain it. Or maybe I can tell you in a poem...
My Blue
Laying my fingers over the white keys
I slither to the black notes
And let gravity take over
Pulling my fingers down
To punch out music
Weaving pattern of blue silk into the air
I play
And let myself go
Getting a sense of flying
Yes, flying
My fingers tingle and I have wings
Lifting me into the air
Dancing in the blue sky
Pulsing through clouds and swerving past birds
My other self
Sitting at the piano
Grows still
Except for my fingers
My flying fingers
And as my wings carry me to the ground
These fingers grow still
The last note played
They finally come to a stop
And my wings disappear
It’s over
But it can’t be
Not yet
So I close my eyes and remember the blue sky
Remember the rush of air
And I smile
A wide open smile
Thinking of only the blue
My blue
And this is my blue, in action.


Sunday, June 6, 2010


Today, I have a challenge for you. This one isn't from the book. It's just a little...me.
I wrote this poem.
Bidding Farewell
Follow the sun
Stop the coming of the night
And as the moon fights for a place on stage
Your world falls silent
The moon soothes them
Lulls them to sleep like a mother
Rocking her child
But my friend is the sun
The rising, bright, sweet sun
That tells the world that day has come again
There is no need to sleep anymore
But I don’t, anyway
I stay awake
Alert for the trace when I can embrace her once more
And old friend
So I sit at my window
Lost and lonely
The moon is a lovely thing
But sometimes all I want
Is for the sun to rise up over the hills
To greet my cheerful, smiling face
I jump up and leap outside
Bidding farewell to the moon
And saying, “Hello,” to the sun
And my challenge for you is to write a poem about the night. Not just, 'the night', but how you feel as you drift off to sleep. If you have trouble sleeping, if you sleep as your head hits the pillow, if you wander outside in the warm summer air with the stars above you. What do you do? How do you feel? Pay attention tonight. If you want to, maybe even take pictures of the sunset, or the stars.
Then write a poem.

No, you don't have to be a writer to write a poem. Just type, scribble, six or seven lines. It's a poem. And they don't have to make sense, poetry is something that doesn't. It's a metaphor, and that's what's beautiful about it.
I only have a couple...regulations...for you. The poem must:
• be about night.
• be at least seven lines long.
• include the words silent, mother, window, and cheerful.
Otherwise, make this yours!

As you can see, this isn't one of my long posts, but I'm counting on you to make it longer. Seriously...this post isn't just me, it's you. Email me at
with your poems. I want this to really work, so please email me within a week. When I get a poem, I'll post it up here, and the world can read your work!
Come on, do it. Don't be afraid.
The shining full moon
above my window
bids me good night
a mother
to the stars
glistening in the pitch-colored sky
above my window

My silent bedroom
lets me think
of cheerful things
of sad things
of the day gone by
I drift off to sleep.


Tuesday, June 1, 2010


Lately, there have been funny times and sad times. Times to run through the sprinkler and scream, and times to lie down in bed and go over thoughts. Every day has been a choice and a resolution. A problem with an ending. But it is all getting mixed up into something else. And I feel like I'm playing some kind of stream-of-consciousness game. I say random words that mean nothing.
And lately, people have come up to me and said, "Hey, are you fifteen?" I'm not. Lately people have been thinking that I'm so much older and more mature than I was. I'm more mature than I used to be, but I'm still me, still a kid. And there, I'm burdening you with my troubles. But since I started, I might as well finish.
So on Sunday, Sadie and Rosie were here. And somehow, a little farmer girl found her way to the house,
along with her granny.
And somehow, a princess got into all the mess.
Then on Monday, I went to a friend's for Memorial Day. And we screamed and laughed and danced and teased. There were boys and dances and growing up. But there was dancing, and laughing, and hosing each other. There was cartwheels and spins and singing and swinging. So we grew up, but we stayed young. And that was the part I liked.
I guess my point here is that...maybe I'm not ready to grow up. I may feel twelve and say I'm twelve, but really, I'm only eleven. And I'll be twelve on Thursday. I think that's what's bringing this around. But whether I turn 20, or 12, or 82, I don't think I'm ready. Not for that responsibility.
So will you help me through this? Will you give me feedback on my stories and poems? Will you tell others about me? Will you just...help me? That's all I need.

And today is a pause. But I have to give you a poem and photos, because they are just so beautiful, that they take my mind off everything.
The flowers blow me away.
I feel as if I’m falling
Abyss below me
Sky above me
Nothing to grab, to see
Just the endless blue
But maybe that is enough
For like a flower
It blooms
The sky twists and reflects
And so do I
I may be falling
But I am growing
Finding a ledge
And I think that I’m slipping
The rock is crumbling beneath my feet
So I save myself
I think of the times I will have
But then I fall again
And remember the young
The constant laughs
Budding blossoms
As we were
But as we will never be again
So I turn to the flowers
With an endless cycle
They are never young
Nor old
And yet they are always in my heart
They will always be that ledge that I climb on as I fall
And they will always, always bloom
And grow
And change
While staying innocent and young
As I will
Help me with this. And bloom.