The Merry Folk

Note: This may put a damper on your night. It’s after a rough Sociology chapter. This is one of my first attempts at a poem. There’s a book of poems coming, and I hope to learn from it. It was enjoyable to write.

merry folk


Play, Play, Play
It’s what the merry folk say
It’s good to listen to what they say
What the merry folk say

Made for a dark night
reading, those readings
Readings plagued with fright
to be with those readings
always, always a dark night

It put a damper,
damper on the night

Learned about Hussein
it went against the grain
if a joke you’d had sung
he’d cut out your tongue

Another’s first born son
Never learned to run
Rather, became an explosive

Play, Play, Play
It’s what the merry folk say
It’s good to listen to what they say
What the merry folk say

What the merry folk say
It’s what the merry folk say
Listen, they say


Smooth, calm pond


Smooth was how I would chance glances at you in ninth grade Biology, hoping not to make eye contact, but melting – really, just freezing – when we locked eyes. It was smooth how a mutual friend of ours worked on convincing me to talk to you, pointing out how you were really something. I couldn’t resist imagining you when our Biology teacher mentioned he would not be surprised if two people in the class ended up married, even though I wanted to resist that image so much. It felt wrong.

A blush would always smooth over my face when I met your eyes – I don’t think I would have been cold in the dead of winter it warmed my body so much. Was it smooth that I held out for you in the face of my shyness? I remember an opinionated, disliked classmate confessing to me in what seemed to be a statement: “I like you the most, but I know you would say no.” I didn’t know what to say, and so I didn’t say anything. They were right, I would have said no.

It felt like a smooth transition throughout the years, my infatuation that is. It went from a wishful longing to a calm acceptance of the status quo: I wasn’t going to make the first move. There were others who pulled out my sweet gaze, but none paralyzed the way you did. You were a siren pulling me away from any other. Ultimately, I know if was my choice, but why did it have to be. I remember 11th grade, your friend saying, “This is you in the picture, and that is changefulseasons. You like it, don’t you?” They knew I was in ear shot, and is it the romantic in me that imagines that drawing as naughty? Perhaps it was the tone, but I always felt there was something there. Long gazes and coy smiles.

At years end, our final year, I did get asked about you by a few. It seems those observant few could tell, or perhaps they had heard it through the grapevine – that’s what the confessor had said. That one had been aggressively mean about it, but most were sweet and I liked that. There were a lot more hugs that year, I was more open. Somebody said the blushing was hormones, and I liked that. It felt like a stepping stone. I do hope your well, and there is no bitterness in my heart. I smile sweetly, and it was a smooth path to this smile. To those others, it would have been nice for things to not have been smooth, for a bit of entanglement. My heart was a smooth, calm pond. It would have been nice for another to swim here. That’s how it goes though, and I can only look forward, forward to what is to come and to what is.



I was short. Well, I suppose I was always shorter than I am now. A memory that stands out to me is my 1st or 2nd grade teacher telling me she would pray for me when I told her I was going home sick. It’s funny, the things that really stand out to me are the things that took me by surprise. I had never heard anything like that before. This one student’s cheesy grin caught my eye while we were talking, his front tooth was gold. You know, he told me it was made out of gold, and that the silver in his mouth was actual silver. The way I stared into his eyes… He pointed up at the sun and told me that the Earth is rotating around it. Was I stunned? I don’t know, really. I remember being silent. Perhaps we played after that, kickball probably. I wonder if he remembers that. Oh, another memory of a toy that sends a little helicopter up into the sky when you pull the string really fast. It was special.

It’s funny, I seem to forget that stunned wonder I felt so naturally. That could be one of the reasons I picked up fantasy. It was a love, that feeling of exploration. I did cherish good times. In class today, we talked about how many parent’s don’t take their children to funerals, or talk about death. In the moment, I felt that it should be okay to do that… It came to me later, I was deathly afraid of my parents passing away when I was young. How many times did they comfort me about that? Oh, and I always asked “Am I” before going to sleep. It’s short for am I going to have a bad dream. Mom would croon back, “No, no, no.” Sometimes I can play with her nowadays, asking her. She doesn’t like that.



P – Pleasant
U – Understanding
R – Relaxing
O – Open
S – Sanguine
E – Energy

These upcoming weeks of relaxation and little personal goals are going to work towards this purpose 🙂 A little hunky-dory attitude shouldn’t hurt anybody! Purrrpose… I can see this one purring at me. This kind of grounding will be a nice jumping-off point for the adventure that is sure to follow at the tail-end of this year!

Tango – Grab the passion



Angry is a festive emotion. Angry is cheerfully yelling at those rambunctious, rowdy children to get off your lawn. Angry is crooning “Oh yoouuu” when things don’t work out according to plan, like when the drink you ordered just didn’t come out right. Anger is natural, it springs up when those little challenges come and visit. In my experience, anger is tinder that can be used in many, many ways. Crooning, attempting some wit, or just embracing the comments cheerfully can make for a nice dance, where you swing your lovely dance partner out a few steps and then they come right back. Gaze fiercely into the eyes.

Now, I know Mr. Angry can be a persistent bugger, following the orders of his Queen Bee, Mrs. Nag-a-lot. Well, here’s what I have to say. Treat him charmingly, and, and tango! No, no, no, not tango as in mano y mano, but tango – that seductive, fierce dance. Tango for the show of it, for the love of it, for the entertainment of it. Tango to fight the good fight, for the good life. There’s always some kind of love in a dance, and they all learn how to dance through practice. Get out there and tango for us. I want to applaud your tango!

Pronouncing angry as “Ahnnn Gree” and throwing your head up to the sky with a debonair gaze does dance as the tango does.

Circus, Circus, Circus!!



It’s a circus. Hey everybody, it’s a circus! What will we see? Dancing elephants, I suppose, under a big, blue tent. Hopefully a ring of fire, dangerous and hot, ready for the little guy in the cannonball, smiling with his thumbs up. I’m sure it will smell dirty, with sweaty bodies and maybe some people who haven’t bathed for days. The more the merrier is what I’ll say, at least to the performances. Will there be ice skating? I don’t think so, but tight rope walking just has to be there. An elephant should walk it, a sight for these twinkling eyes. Dance elephants, dance. Oh, how I want to see them fall and float, float all the way down, landing softly, softly just the way an elephant can. Dreamy, dreamy night, smile sweetly for me.

Blankness: Embracing wax and wane


It was sad day when the east sky went blank, with no golden chariot to call my sun. Here were dark days where passion did not pursue me, and I sat patiently under the moon, cross-legged and down-trodden. Lost to me were those days easily seen, where I would follow the paths so clear to sight. Those days were so safe. Now I feel alone, having lost that innocent comfort nourished by light of day.

Now I sat under the moon, learning how blank my mind, body, and spirit were. When I did look up at the moon, I grew calm watching her, noticing the subtle changes in her form as she danced across the sky, effortlessly weaving tapestry upon tapestry with the clouds and stars. Her silvery grace I grew fond of over the course of many moons. I’ve learned of her luminous nature, and now even the darkest sky with just a sliver of the moon feels less blank than that old eastern sky. She adorns my heart’s sky.

It was fearful embracing the night sky, but it is beauty that the moon causes the tides ebb and flow and that walking by her light allows me to stumble on the most mesmerizing thickets. Watching her dance has taught me an adventurousness and vulnerability I now hold close.