Kikuyu_Black_Paws

Wings beat and blink with eyes of rust

Flying hair curls round warthog's tusk

Flowers falling, skin of bark

Tiny hooves that leave no mark

Staring, wild: a sorcerer's gaze

Armor covered with silver maze

Catching wind and groaning trees

Listen, listen to their pleas--

Step not on a mushroom ring

Shout out not while branches sing

Leave alone the fox's den

Bring no instruments of men

Chop no ancients to the ground

In the silence, make no sound

Obey those and you will see

Watching eyes will not harm thee

For the guardians of the wood

Live where giants' feet once stood

Those merciless Lesidhe, strong and cruel

Will not suffer one more fool.

Actually, yes, I did write it to a song called "The Tarara Women's Work Song" from Princess Mononoke. That's kind of the tune I imagine it going to-- you may be able to find it on a music website called Imeem.com or if not I found it on Gendou.com

 

I'm so glad you guys liked it

Drums beat the sound of morning,

Red sun rises over bird-cry warning,

Black arms silhouetted against the sky,

Feet stamp on earth rich and dry.

 

Dance the dance of growth and summoning,

Forth the sun with songs we bring,

Cries of love and life from parted lips,

Not a head nods, not a foot trips.

 

Another day begins, another life is born,

The sun rises high and forlorn,

No tears shed, raise chin high,

Show your life with each joyful cry.

 

Up she comes, awake, awake!

Live along for life's dear sake,

Sister Sun and Brother Moon,

Drift along at opposite scorn.

 

Down goes Moon, and Up comes Sun,

Give us strength to work and run,

As the elk and tiger play,

Come and light this brand new day.

I gaze at you from inside a tree

The bark and branches hinder me

You are so close I could reach and touch

But you are worlds away.

 

In the wind my branches sway

I scream and beg that you would stay

But hear me not, you wander on

I'm not human enough for you to know.

 

To see you not, it hurts me so

But seeing you my heart aches grow

You are not mine to hold and keep

Lord knows I wish you were.

 

A golden eye and fox's fur

Acorn cap and wood allure

Any fey would captured be

But you alone do not see me.

Winter is coming

Its breath stings

The stars seem to shiver

With the cold that it brings

 

The wind rattles

Bare branches of my tree

The red of the fire

Doesn't warm me

 

Outside the window

The wind cries

And darkness creeps

Into my eyes

 

The rose is dead

Its petals brown

And again the storm howls

Like the wail of a hound

 

The forest sleeps

Silent in frost

All around me is dead

And I feel lost

 

No warm grass

No bare feet

The heady scent of flowers

Is just a memory

 

I wish to sleep

To pass time by

Someone wake me again

When there is warmth in the sky

 

When flowers bloom

And green trees smile

Until that time of living

Please let me sleep awhile.

Moonlight spilling on the snow

Where no forest creatures go:

Tell me where and tell me quick,

And chide me with no changeling's trick~

How find I the demon's nest

Under which the faeries rest?

In what stream do sirens sing?

And where is last night's faerie ring?

Is an acorn just a cap?

Or is it this: a Lesidhe's hat?

And are the shadows really stirring,

Or are the nightmares softly luring?

Do they have stars on their heads

That glisten gold and blue and red?

Or is it moondrop, soft and white,

With which they capture faerie light?

Tell me swiftly ere you fade

And your silver turn to jade

Where do lullabies shift the snow?

For it is thither I must go.

I see a rose

And want to stroke its petals

I see a leaf

And want to feel its spine

I see a horse

And want to rub its nose

I see cold metal

And want to touch its sheen

I see fluffy hair

And want to run my fingers through it

I see a yellowed book

And want to finger its pages

I see what's mine

And want to clutch it tight

I see what's not

And want to make it so

By touch

By look

By sigh

By memory

By an unspoken resonance that claims it for my own.

Thanks Wyv! I'll take note of those changes right away.

Lonely

Imagination

I saw her once before

At a funeral

Her coat was lined with fur

And her face was half hidden

In the down of it.

He was my friend

The one who died

Died quite suddenly, in sickness

I do not know who she was to him

Or he to her

But I saw her then.

She shed no tears

She spoke no words

She stared at the casket

Her mouth a thin line of agony and loss.

What she was looking at

Was not the coffin,

She looked beyond that.

Into another world?

Into a dream?

It does not matter

What does matter is that I never suspected

Never suspected her at all.

 

Now I see her again

She still wears that furred coat

Slender and dark against her

The fur frames her face and hands,

And buttons dot the front.

She still wears that agony line on her face

But now her eyes are clear

And she is looking at me

Not beyond me, but at me

As behind her the world burns.

Nor do I know why I am the last one

The last one she should turn her gaze upon

Perhaps at the funeral she saw me as I saw her

Through the haze of her dream

Through her pain.

I never suspected it would come to this.

And the world burns,

It dies under her pain

Even now it scalds at her feet

And all has crumbled in her gaze.

 

I lie with a rose on my chest

But I feel no pain,

The thorns are buried in ice

Or fire? I cannot feel them.

Above me her mouth moves

And finally a tear slides down her cheek

And the fires grow closer

She is lost

Lost with no way of finding her way again

Or him again, I imagine

And she knows it

She knows it.

She sighs something,

I crane my head to hear

"I'm alive,

I'm alive."

I cannot make it out

She is the only one left

I am now looking at her from everywhere

From every angle

I can even see myself

Why am I so far away?

I cannot reach myself.

 

She turns away

And turns her back

On the world again

On the fire that has burned her

So many times

That now it has started in her

And consumed the earth

She walks into nothing

Into her other world

Her world free of pain

And leaves what remains

The rose growing in a white shirt

The fire dancing in the grasses

A discarded furred jacket

The laughter chained in tightened lips.

She dissolves into starlight

And blackness

While all around us dances

The ever weeping song of change

The crying out of voices

That never dies

Never grows silent

The voices that are eternal

Singing that final chorus

"I'm alive,

I'm alive."

Ahh, how the brain works at midnight! Ok, so this is a mirror drawing from Degorram's Angry all that time ago. Didn't turn out as well, but maybe that's because it was at midnight *shrug* And also I think I have a voodoo against drawing myself...never been able to get it just right. Oh well.

 

 

 

 

On the other hand, here is a picture Degorram requested revealing our slightly more unhinged sides. You can purchase KikuDego™ straight jackets for only 99 geld apiece.

 

 

Everywhere

The Predator

Global Warming

Fruit-icide

Well, the reason I'm writing this is because I don't officially keep a diary, and here I know it will be kept eternally until...pray this day never comes...the Mighty Pen finally lays down its quill and sighs a goodbye. Perhaps I will be able to write this event, and my feelings, with any sort of accuracy.

 

I have often wondered who my true love will be-- will I ever find him? has been a question I've considered often. More often is why the most interesting men in my life, the only ones I've ever been attracted to personally, are all so much older than me. I've been told it's a thing of maturity, but then I wonder will I have to wait so long to find my true love?

 

It also hurts because I know that all people are unique-- while I am very, very pleased to retain my friendships with these men, I also know that another like them will never come. Perhaps my true love will be a compilation of these men who bless my life every day with their kindness and hilarity, as well as their consideration for the simple, timid feelings of the little girl hidden beneath the "ninja".

 

And then I think about time-- everyone grows up. I don't like change, and I like less the idea of being distanced from the close ties I have knotted through these high school years. Perhaps it is hardest for me because, during the tender years of elementary school, I had no friends besides my twin. We were really all the other had-- we had acquaintances and general friendliness...but I had no one I could ladle my fears and wishes to. I had no one to cry a shoulder on, and so, most often, I cried alone. My twin, of course, shared my tears, but there are some wounds that are shared together. I mostly feel that we are one and the same, and so, some comfort is harder to bear through two hearts.

 

These friendships, I swear, will not break. They are my first. In middle school I made several good friends-- I was, you could say, forcefully dragged from my shell and my somewhat sharp exterior. But many of these friendships have faded over the years. In a way, I do not mind. I will always remember them for their patience and enthusiasm-- the first I'd ever encountered-- at getting to know me. Getting to know the true me, not just a brave exterior to prove I did not really need them when they would, inevitably turn on me. And these friends, these true friends, did not. We stayed true through the few years we knew each other.

 

But, as I said, we grew apart. But they opened the door to my friends I met in high school: friends who have changed my life forever. A close group to whom I can tell any story and every fear. Shoulders to cry on, and laughter to ring through the halls. Adventures and misadventures to tell about in the evenings. They are a part of my heart, my soul. My twin I know for a fact will always be by my side. But I have fears that these friends, these slivers of my heart, will slowly fade and turn cold inside of me. They will not truly leave...their pain will stay with me. I only pray that they will not.

 

I love them all. But to tonight's event, the one that is causing me to write this philosophical outlook of the strange, secluded twin who learned to love. Through a series of events, I have become acquainted with the leader of a renaissance-festival band. He is tall, dark, handsome, and entirely charming. He is one of these men who has influenced me and taught me to be more myself, to stop being timid, to live out.

 

He has my respect in every regard. I consider him so much higher than myself-- not just in age, but in elegance and grace. And yet he takes the time out of his life...actually canceled pre-ordained plans...to come and see a local chorus concert of myself and my two sisters. For the fourth time. And he lives no mean distance away, especially for a little chorus concert.

 

This is not just a man providing loyalty to his fans. This is friendship...dare I say it, a kind of love. Of course it is not romance love-- that would be just silly, at our ages. And it is not romance love on my side either; rather, a kind of brotherly love. I see him as a true gentleman...the kind of man that perhaps one day could win my love. We sat, him and my family, around coffee and teas and chatted for three hours. I wish it could have been longer. We talked about...oh, everything and anything. Funny stories, Shakespearean philosophy...you name it, it was probably covered. When he finally drove away at the end of the night, my heart began to ache. When my good high school friends and I part ways for the college months again, it will be almost more than I can bear. This summer has been a dream-- my friends available almost whenever I need them or want to see them, and my respected lads always popping up in new places.

 

I suppose this "journal" of the night has turned more to a speculative talk about love and romance. I wonder where my prince charming is? My favorite fairy tale is Beauty and the Beast. Of course, I don't want my prince charming to appear in a monster's shell at first. But then...I wonder if perhaps I am, or was, the beast in this fairy tale? I was the one who was slowly excavated from a sharp, unloving hide.

 

It was only when that hide was worn away that I began to write. I think that is connected. The muse could not breathe under that beast's fur. Now the wings have truly spread, and I can fly at last.

 

When I look at his face, I see kindness and interest. He is the kind of man who, despite age, will appreciate beauty around him. I have never considered myself beautiful, but around him, sometimes, I feel quite breathless and don't know where to look or say. For example, tonight, when I let my hair down, he considered me with an expression I am familiar with, but have never really felt it pinned straight on me for sure. I did not know what to do, and so I turned it into a humorous moment to drive the attention, and the seriousness, from myself. In a way I am desperate for that true love, being a Romantic after all. But I don't want him to come too soon so that in my immaturity I miss him. But I am an impatient fey child-- I do not want to wait forever. But it is all God's will, and I must be patient if that is His plan for me.

 

To him, I am no small child to be tolerated. Nor am I just some little sibling to be ignored. Nor am I just a giggling fan-- I pray I do not giggle overmuch!!-- to be amused by, or annoyed by in turn. I am... a person... a friend.

 

I hope he is a part of my life for a long, long time to come. And I hope that one day he finds someone good enough for him. I cannot imagine him married. He seems too...too. There are very few gentlemen in this world these days, and when one comes by, I cannot help but be hopelessly smitten by him.

 

Dear Friend, I hope that I provide as much joy to you as you do to me. You have blessed me, and helped me, more than you probably know. More than saving my twin from rain and fear and sadness that one day. More than just introducing us to a fun band. You are that knight in shining armor, and this little-beast-no-more thanks you.

 

Thank you.

Squash

Mother

Confused!!!

Firefly

Melody Tam Tam

CheerMynx

Worth

Crazy