Tuesday, June 22, 2010

A little passing...

Found a bird just sitting on my lawn today; it didn't move when I got close. Seems it was hurt somehow, so I put it in a padded box on my porch since we expect big storms tonight. I let him alone for an hour to two so he could calm down after being handled. I went back out and Curran thought we should sing him a song. We sang Twinkle Twinkle, and the bird started moving a lot and opening his beak. Curran ran off, and I picked up the bird, hoping it wouldn't have to stuffer too much longer. I sang a lullaby and oh-so-poetically, in the last line of the song, it stopped breathing. Talk about a bittersweet moment.

Thursday, June 17, 2010

For your amusement...

My first attempt at poetry in quite a while, and written while sick and trying to fall asleep. So don't be too harsh :P

Why I Love The Night

The silent dark of evening
Is like being surrounded by subtle mirrors
Where you see reflections too dim to perceive in the day

When we look in these night mirrors
We start to remember the right questions
We don’t ask “Do I look pretty?” we ask “Am I happy?”

In the quiet hours of our day and of our minds
We find ourselves - like adored stuffed animals
Temporarily lost under a pile of dirty clothes, schoolbooks, and the day’s dishes

As we find ourselves again
And contemplate these hidden reflections
We start to remember priorities and passions

In the dark the possibilities
Are only limited by creativity and imagination
Instead of time and money

The midnight hour blessedly conceals complications
So our spirit can soar over chasms of “How”
And speed past deserts of “When”
To any place at all

(copyright Stacia A.C.)

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

Copyright Stephen Vincent Benet


For these my thanks, not that I eat or sleep,
Sweat or survive, but that at seventeen
I could so blind myself in writing verse
That the wall shuddered and the cry came forth
And the numb hand that wrote was not my hand
But a wise animal's.
Then the exhaustion and the utter sleep.

O flagrant and unnecessary body,
So hard beset, so clumsy in your skill!
For these my thanks, not that I breathe and ache,
Talk with my kind, swim in the naked sea,
But that the tired monster keeps the road
And even now, even at thirty-eight,
The metal heats, the flesh grows numb again
And I can still go muttering down the street
Not seeing the interminable world
Nor the ape-faces, only the live coal.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Some doodles

So here are some sketches that I did (without touch-ups) from "how to draw" books. If you actually want to see them you can click for the larger image :)