Lake II

Please let me go to London

I'm not sure what I'll do, but - well,
I want to go places and see people.
I want my mind to grow.
I want to live where things happen on a big scale.

-F. Scott Fitzgerald

Sunday

“Pour out your soils to God in your closets, and your secret places, and in your wilderness.”  Your Heavenly Father wants you to pray about your hopes and fears, your friends and family, your school and work, and the needs of those around you. Most of all, you should pray to be filled with the love of Christ. 

“Remember,

you were a writer 

before

you ever 

put 

pen to paper.

just because you were not writing 

externally. 

does not mean you were not writing

internally.” 

― Nayyirah Waheed

David Bowie - Heroes

I listened to this on repeat while I drove next to the lake.
John Green is right.
It makes you feel infinite.
And this music video is infinitely awesome.

Lake

A lake of rolling diamonds

birds soaring slow against the current

The season pulls up new colors

in the brush surrounding

Here I can feel the silence

nature allows

The silence of static wind,

low soft waves and bird songs

JAM

I am learning about Sonnets in my creative writing class. My teacher showed a piece she wrote years ago and one line enchanted me.

When I insisted I was in love
again, you smiled-- or rather, your eyes did.

Isn't that lovely?

Pluviophile

A lover of rain;

Someone who finds joy

and peace of mind

during rainy days.

Hangry

 Heated, huffy

Gnashing of teeth

All because I need something to eat

Moody, annoyed

Eyes glare so enraged

Feels like I’ve been empty for days upon days

Vexed, raging

Stomach hollow

I inhale the meal, chew and swallow

Relief, cured

Smile with ease

I’m happy, content and all over pleased

Improved, repaired

Every changing  mood

Now I feel silly getting mad over food.

JAM

Moira part 1

          I love faerie stories, especially the ones Grandmother Wendy would tell me as a child. I would sit on her lap as she whispered tales of mermaids, glass slippers and flying boys.  Cuddled together late into the evening, my eyes open wide, imagining the fantastical tales Grandmother created for me. My mother, Jane would eventually come in to my nursery and rush me off to bed. She pretended as if she didn't approve of Grandmother filling my head but I know she was grateful since she didn't have the knack for story telling like Grandmother.
          I sit in my small room, the heat from the furnace barley touching me. I push away my book on geography and take out a piece of paper from the drawer.  It is now, in my first year at University, that these stories have become somewhat of a burden for me. My boyfriend Frederick is always saying, "Moira, you must stop obsessing over these childish fantasies and join the real world you are actually living in!" Why must I live in my dull and basic life, when I believe there is a better one so close by? I start the letter with "Dear Mr. Pan," no that won't do. I crumple up the paper and stack in on my geography book. Soon the book is covered with more papers on the outside than it contains. I can't figure out the right wording to a young boy, who may or may not even be real, asking him to please correspond with me as to determine his factualness. Finally I settle for this reasonable draft:

Neverland

Second Star on the right

and straight on till morning

Dear Peter Pan and/or Recipient,


My name is Moira Robinson, the Grand-daughter of your childhood friend Wendy Darling. I have grown up believing in you and loving you like a dear friend. But it is time for me to grow into my phase of practicality and move on from my naive acceptance, that is unless you really are real.
Please respond letting me know if you are as real as my Grandmother told or if this letter is received by someone other than Mr. Pan please feel free to disregard.

Always,

Moira W. Robinson


       Not knowing how else to address it, wishing for luck I put the letter in an envelope and placed it outside my window with a small rock on top, as so the new winter air wouldn't blow it away. Though I felt ridiculous, I also felt my heart yearning that the answer I wanted would come. "Hello darling, almost ready then?", Frederick asked from the open doorway. "Oh, um...yes. One moment let me just brush out my hair," I reply blushing at my forgetfulness. "Well, please hurry we are going to be late as it is. I was down in the common room all this time you know and please bring a scarf. It's getting chilly outside." Frederick has always been a stickler on promptness. It is one of the things I like about him though, he keeps me from staring at my daydreams all day long, and on time for my courses. 
       Later, as we walk back from dinner, down the bump, cobblestone street lit dimly from the street lamps. "Do you ever think about what it would be like to live on a star?", I ask Frederick, though looking up to the clear night sky. "Come now Moira, are we really going into an argument like this again. I feel as if I'm seeing some schoolgirl and not a fully grown woman!", Frederick barked. "I don't think anyone is ever fully grown up. Your ears and nose grow your whole life, you know." But of course Frederick knew, he was studying to become a Medical Doctor after all. He was a practical man and I knew I shouldn't have said anything. Sometime I just can't help the thoughts that ramble out of my mind. As we reach my apartment I notice my bedroom window is open, the shutters hitting the exterior in the soft breeze. Frederick follows my stare "You really shouldn't leave your window open like that it is not safe." "Yes, yes I know. I must of forgotten to lock it. I better close it and get the furnace going so I don't freeze tonight.", I say in a hurry. I am not as worried about a cold room as I am about the location of my letter. As I turn to open the gate to the small courtyard Fredrick pulls me into him. I can see his breath as he says his goodbyes and kisses my cheek. I do the same as I'm released from his hug. Rushing through the gate, the front door and up the stairs to my room I go to my open window. The letter is gone, replaced by some strange dust sparkling in the moons light. 


JAM

Kolitar - Icelandic

Meaning those who lounge so close to the fire in winter that they "bite the coal".

"Travel never played a large part in his life - simply because his imagination did not need to be stimulated by unfamiliar landscapes and cultures."

On Tolkien from JRR Tolkien a Biography

Journal

I shared the pain when your heart was broken
My pages caught your hot escaping tears
It was the first time I have felt sadness like that
It felt worse than when we went through that depression last year
Or when we were betrayed
Or when we were so lonely and thought bad things
This is worse
I feel your hand shaking against my spine
I feel you trying to grasp the pen tight
I'm covered in illegable tattoos
I hope I help heal you
I hope that when you come back to me
someday it is a sweet reunion
That I won't be destroyed in a bitter rage like your last confidant


JAM

She

She absorbed the question
She wanted her answer to be true
For once in her life she didn't want to speak to please
She wanted to express herself
She wanted to be known
And felt
And freed


JAM