Monday, February 28, 2011

The Declaration


If you were given the chance to live forever, would you take it?

In the year 2140, immortality has become the norm. All it takes is a little pill called Longevity. But it comes with a terrible price.
You must sign the Declaration... a promise that keeps you from ever having legal children.
 Anna is a Surplus. According to the Declaration, she is a criminal- for being born.
Her parents tried to keep her hidden, but she was discovered and taken away to cold Grange Hall.
Its cruel headmistress brainwashes her into believing that she owes society for her very existence... and that she's fit only for a short life of slave labor.
Anna has one secret- a diary, into which she writes down all her hopes and dreams.
Then a boy named Peter arrives, disrupting the rigid order of the school.
He won't obey the headmistress, says that Longevity is wrong... and that Surpluses are not worthless. He tells Anna that she has parents who love her, and want her back, if she could only escape.
Should Anna trust this rebellious newcomer, or the headmistress who has shaped her thinking since she was two years old?


The Declaration is a chilling, exquisite tale. It's a tale full of suppressed longing for freedom. The beginning hooked me, and kept me hanging until I'd read the last word.

Sunday, February 27, 2011

A fire

image from Wikipedia

Years ago
there was a fire
the walls are charred
the ceiling has long caved in
all the brickwork has faded
from a blood red
to a pale tan
from one day on the beach
with a thin layer of sunscreen.
A bird has made
her home in the remnants
of the eaves
ants have made a nest
in the tatters
of the moldy linoleum
and foxglove is pushing itself up
beside the sink.
The house is almost abandoned...
but not completely.

Friday, February 25, 2011

I've succumbed to the bug

Recently, I've been bit by a bug. (No, not the flu.)
The knitting bug!
I've known how to knit for quite some time, but never quite found my project, if you know what I mean.
Then I chanced upon this picture in a knitting book.

photo from Ravelry


They called it a tam. I call it a beret.
Anyhow, I proclaimed that I would make said beret.
We-ll, it turned out that this beret has a cable, and several hard bits in the pattern.
So I tried some easier hats first.
did this one in blue...


I did this 20's style cloche in an underwater colored yarn.

Along the way, I decided that I wanted to make a head band like the one below.

And after that, I want to knit these half-gloves (thus nourishing the Dr Who addict part of me).
DW Doomsday


A closer shot of the half-gloves

Of course, a scarf would be nice...
Tom Baker as the Fourth Doctor


And a Dalek or two as well.

And maybe figure out a pattern for this little dude.

Mokona
I'll have to wait on the beret.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

a bowl of gumbo


It's dinner
A bowl of gumbo
I slip in my spoon
and taste its warm tangy broth
the sausages
plump and rosy
perk up my caving backbone
the green beans
faintly crisp
make me open my eyes a bit more
and the green bell peppers
are spicy and sweetness mixed
they exhilarate my tastebuds
the mozzarella cheese
melting into the broth
couldn't be more subtle
yet it weaves the whole thing together
it's dinner
a bowl of gumbo.

Monday, February 14, 2011

Tis Valentine's Day!

Hope you all have a happy one!
Right now, I am snacking on jammie dodgers and chocolate.



If you don't know what a jammie dodger is - that is a crime. They're a biscuit (read: cookie) from the UK, composed of two shortbread wafers with raspberry jam in between.
Make some this Valentine's day...or any day you want something both sweet and tangy.
Here's the link: enjoy!
They're very good with tea.

Sunday, February 13, 2011

A thousand years


When the sculptor finished me
the last scalloping of my gown
chiseled into place
he smiled
wept a little
for having to sell me
to a rich patron.

Then
when the rich man
died
I was taken
to the port of Caesarea
They stood me
on the pier
to watch the ships coming in.

I could feel the salty wind 
and the sea spray
as Phoenician traders
sailed into port
haggling from the marketplace
was my constant companion
and the cry of the gulls
my lullaby.

It was not for long
for a colossal wave
swept down on the harbor
burying the wharf
the ships
and me
in its impersonal ferocity.

I don't remember much after that
I slept
anchored in the cliff
beneath a slab of granite
I slumbered
through many long lives of men
a thousand years
or maybe a thousand years more.

I heard
the battles of the Crusades
the fearful clash
of Saladin and Lionheart
as in a dream
and thought the fishes below
were fighting
history marched on
and I slept.

Then
a terrible grinding
a wet crash
and the gritty noise of rocks sliding
I fell
from the earth's warm embrace
into the chilly seawater
and awoke.

Humans hauled me from the wreckage
of the shattered cliff
and exclaimed over my age
They call me
'the lady from the sea.'
maybe they should call me
'the lady who slept'
for this is a strange new world
much different from the one I left.

Expert humans
examine me
My head and hands
are gone now
the price of my thousand years
They try to figure out
what they once looked like
and wonder what my story is...
but that will be
forever
my secret.

Note: This poem is based on a true story- that of a Roman statue discovered off the coast of Israel last December when a cliff collapsed. Here's the original article.


Sunday, February 6, 2011

Euphoria

(photo courtesy Wikicommons)

Snow wafts to the earth
like swan feathers
from heaven
the road is obscured
by eggwhite-peak drifts
as if it never existed

My terrier darts
leaps
frolicks
Flakes lodge in tufts of
his shaggy hair
as he licks up
ice crystals like candy
and something of his enthusiasm
passes to me.

I listen to the quiet
I'm cold
but instead of shivering
I dance
hold out my tongue to catch a few
of the drifting snowflakes
A few cloud my glasses' lenses
but that is a small price
to pay
for euphoria.

Friday, February 4, 2011

Snowman

The garden of Ambras castle (photo courtesy Wikicommons)

My garden
is heaped high with snow
the pure white marble
of an ancient obelisk
worn smooth by time
gusts of wind
and sand

If a sculptor
chanced by
a  modern Michelangelo
he could carve
the most
miraculous
snowman
in the world