June 27, 2013 at 2:39 am (Day to Day, Flowers, My Stuff, Wasting Study Time Posts) (, , , , , , , )


Parlezvous français? No. But I love the internet because it lets me speak any language I want. Three flowers. And I think I will wrap it up with the French thing. It just sounds so much cooler then plain old English. I like the way the words are spelled too. After high school I took one of those tests that tell you what career or field of study you would excel at, and language was one of the highest. Another one, actually the first thing on the list, was web design. I didn’t even know what that was at the time. But I guess they were right. I really do love both of those things. My super power would be the ability to understand all languages if I could. To be able to communicate with every person (or animal) on the planet. Trippy stuff so late at night. If I could somehow bring my web career (ahem) together with some kind of language study (maybe writing? learning another language? or 10?) maybe I could make my fortune, one tiny keystroke at a time. At 2am. With all the other dreamers. Time to go to bed. Au revoir. Fin.

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Poetry For People / My Stuff

May 3, 2009 at 12:11 am (My Stuff, Poetry for People) (, , , , )

I have a diary!

In fact, I have several. As I was going through my drawers, (still cleaning out–getting  those pictures organized), I found all these notebooks that I had been writing in. Actually, one, looks like an official diary. It has a rich, brown, leather cover with a strap and snap button on top, with thick, vanilla, lined paper inside. It’s nice and I don’t remember getting it, but my daughter wants to have it badly.

At any rate, I must have used it for something because there were some things written, and one thing that I thought was pretty good.

So here it is, posted just as I wrosted (That was a deliberate misspell)  No title, as usual:


And now I must go to bed

and dream of wild men.

And in the morning I am going to

put curls in my hair.

I didn’t know how the story ended.

Middle of the bed

Middle of the balcony

In a huge apartment

On the floor;

I will bet that you can’t remember

even half of it.

If you would dance with me

If you would lay with me

There was rain and we had rain

There was a jungle that you ran through

You were always chasing me

in the dark.

I could never get away.

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Poetry For People / Mine and Stevie’s

April 27, 2009 at 11:40 pm (My Stuff, Poetry for People, Stevie's Stuff) (, , )

Have a few things; working on; like everyone. No titles. I just never got into the habit. Maybe it will come to me after it’s out. Remember, be kind.

Cotton gray in a humid yellow room.

Denim blue crumpled in a brown corner.

Green eyes flashing, staring into the smoke of my own.

Tan against peach; skin slick with exertion; fine hairs bristling.

Pink scar that traces down the side of your body.

Loved you.

The colors we made stay much clearer than anything else;

All I recall, thinking of you now:

Silver and red, serene and raging.

Your black fury and my wishy-washy white.

Gold, gold, gold.

Bright and shining, gleaming chrome.

Individual hues that never bled into each other.

Started missing you.

Hazy and flat;

Metal days and copper veins, spilled onto the floor.

I hate to remember now since no box is big enough to hold all that we created.

Except there is no creation.

No crayon is colored deep enough

to survive in the heat of the sun.

After reading some of the things I wrote, my daughter gave it a go. I think it’s pretty good. She’s 10. No title. Here it is:

As well as you know me

Like the sky is blue

The air is fresh

And death is right around the corner

You and I will always be connected.

—Stevie F.

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My Stuff

April 9, 2009 at 2:37 pm (My Stuff, Poetry for People) (, , , , , )

First post is always the hardest. Let’s do one serious and one silly. Free style and rhyming. Don’t judge too harshly….here goes…no titles…

And my castle fell to the ground today;

my knights have fallen to dust.

So where does that leave me?

In a smoky, concrete field,

surrounded by the ancient waters of my people.

Before me lay the blade that cut my heart,

and the hand that took my life.

And you can tell it was he,

for the blood is still there on his soul,

and his spirit cannot leave the ground

with the weight of my love in his heart.

He is my last knight and my last love.

Since I cannot cry, he will have to,

and his armor will rust blood-black.

Finally, he will ride again,

stained, but living.

In his lifetime, there will be a grave he visits.

Never hard to find;

Warm, where it should be cold,

and marked with the crimson stain of love.

Dramatic a bit…kind of along the warrior theme there…but we can be silly too. And that’s what’s fun about poetry!

Oh my little animals!

I love each and every one.

They sit so quiet, peaceful

as they lie there in the sun.

Every night I say good-bye

and wish them restfully,

turn off the light and close the door,

I miss them already!

A smile and sigh, they curl up tight

and sleep and wait for me.

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