Dream, Grow, Knit

Once upon a time I taught myself to knit.

I knew so little them, and had such room to grow,

And as I looped each stitch I began to dream.


At first the things I knit were not the “stuff of dreams,”

But still I soldiered on as row and round I knit,

And as I practiced more my skills began to grow.


Now as I add each stitch my love for knitting grows.

My hands become so wise, and I knit in a dream.

I love to grow and dream: this is why I knit.


Knitting helps me grow into my dreams.



We were once all worms alike,

Crawling on the ground,

Eating dirt and leaves.


Until one day you had to leave:

You could no longer live alike.

You left us on the ground.


Your feet no longer touch the ground,

You’ve wings like jeweled leaves:

To us you are unlike.


Like you we shall escape the ground and fly among the leaves.


Rain comes inexorably closer

Washing away the dirt of toil

Cleansing away dust and dwelling alike.


Thunder booms ominously

Result of Lightning flashes

Like a million fireflies dying.


Winds roar at me

As I struggle to find shelter

Before I’m blown away.


Today would have been my brother’s 22nd birthday. He would be graduating college in the spring. Maybe he would have a girlfriend, or even a fiancée. Who knows what could have been.

Happy Birthday, brother. I miss you.


It has been 5 long years and a half,

And still my grief is near,

Hiding just behind a laugh

As smile turns to tear.


Some days I feel almost whole:

I am in control.

And other days my raining eyes

Take me by surprise.


It has been 5 long years and a half,

And still my grief is near.

In 5 more years and another half

Will it still be here?

On Writing

“Write me,” my novel begged me.

“How?” I begged it back.

“How can I write what others think,

What others feel and do?

They are not me, though I created them.

I am not them, though their source is me.”


“Write me,” my novel begged me.

“Why?” I demanded back.

“These people have no claim on me.

They owe me their existence.

I alone created them.

Their source is in me.”


“Write me,” my novel begged me.

“I can’t,” I answered back.

“I haven’t the words my people deserve.

I cannot do them the justice they so greedily beg.

They are not me, and I cannot live their lives.

I am not them, and they cannot live mine.”


“Write me,” my novel begged me.

And this time I complied.

I chronicled times I’ve never lived and places I’ve never seen.

I met so many people I had never known.

They are not me, but for a time I knew them.

I am not them, but for a while they knew me.

A Bit of a Poem

I have always wanted to be a poet. Not the kind that makes a living from writing poetry, that is too daunting a thought. But a small poet, who writes things that please her and that she can share with her corner of the world. Well, friends, this is finally going to happen. I have signed up for Camp NaNoWriMo in July, and I plan to create a collection of my own poetry. Here is my first poem, the title poem.


These Words Are Not Enough

These words are not enough to quell your pain and calm your fears.

These words cannot dissuade your heart from bursting into tears.

We know the secret soul may cry though outer self is dry.


These words, you hope, will feed your soul and soothe your troubled breast.

These words are trinkets, baubles, jewels that cannot give you rest.

Both soul and body must be fed or else the man is dead.


These words are tools you wield to wage your wars or nurture peace.

These words give names to hopes and fears when they begin or cease.

I beg choose carefully a word and by whom it is heard.

Musings on Spring

This Spring has been so beautiful! This is my 5th Spring in the South, but I have never really had a chance to enjoy it before because I was always studying, practicing, busy with school and all that it entails. I have made sure to enjoy this Spring. I love walking out of my house and seeing brightly coloured flowers in the yard. And as soon as one plant loses its brilliance another blooms! Let me tell you, it makes taking all these pictures for my Etsy shop so much easier and more exciting. I love having the chance to go outside and capture the exquisite colours and subtle nuances that only come once, only for a single day. Do you ever think about that? I can take a picture today and then go back tomorrow and take a similar picture, but never the exact same one. Each day is different.

Anyway, today I bring nature to you.


These photos are unedited. This is really what I saw today. Isn’t it beautiful? Am I not blessed to experience such beauty day after day? It reminds me of the first few lines of one of my favourite poems: Thanatopsis by William Cullen Bryant

To him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And healing sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware….