Okay, maybe that’s not fully true. I can’t really call myself a poet per se, because I just don’t do it that often. I tend to do it as a side thing, outside of my prose, and I still have a lot of kinks to work out in my style. Gaining a style would be nice, too, but I can set that aside for later.
In the meantime, I’ve finally returned home to my awesome mother, who sadly is down with pneumonia and can’t do very much. It’s sad to see such a normally energetic lady not able to be bounding gracefully all over the house. She’d only have me to do it for anyway. Just us two sad people, until other family come to visit. 🙂 But that’s ok, because family is family even if we’re small. Actually, we are both rather small in height, too. I still have to climb on counters to get things as an eighteen-year-old adult, and it’s awesome. I feel like Bilbo!
Ok, maybe I’m a slightly taller hobbit, since I’m six inches taller than my mum, so I can reach a few things she can’t. But it certainly doesn’t help that the house was clearly made for a tall person. Who on earth would make cub-bard shelves seven and a half feet high? Did people that tall even exist in the 70s when the house was made? I don’t know.
As you can guess, I did get home with the girl who I thought listened to pop. It turns out she liked pop about three years ago, and now she’s into hardcore rap. That was a switch from what I was expecting, but it made a very interesting car ride, I guess. In the meanwhile, she told me all about her family (which are wonderful), her lineage (Italian and Greek) and her family business (which turned out to be a ski shop that’s been in her family since her great-grandfather came over from Italy).
I always love meeting new faces, new stories, even if they seem simple and similar to others. Not only are they great ideas for book characters, they’re almost always more than they seem to me. Before getting to know her, she was just the Italian girl in the sister dorm. Now she’s the talkative, rap-loving, rock-climbing, snowboarding and of course Italian Leanna.
I figure I might as well end off the blog with a poem to give an example. I haven’t even gotten around to editing, but here we are:
Daylight
Daylight, now
It falls on earth
Like so much snow
At winter’s birth
And so reveals
To sighted and blind
The great devils
Of their own mind
For suddenly
No secret’s kept
And instantly
No longer deft
Are giants from
Their slumber risen
And dark succumbs
To its desctruction
Like twigs inside
A forest fire
A tale inspired
By harp and lyre
And bloodbath’s birth
Begins aright
Across brown earth
And now, daylight
Gabriel to Earth 