The Ajan Warrior of the Night
“Well now we know why Miss Shannon had that big silly grin on her face a couple days ago. She’s got herself a brand new warrior page!”
“Ooh, it’s got everything! Let’s see, there’s Kishi and her ring, and her cape and arrows and it’s even got three different kinds of earrings!”
“It is a pretty nice page, huh?”
“Okay ladies, me and hunter girl over here have got our warrior stuff together. Let’s get with it! Where’s your new pages?! We’ve got four to go!”
“Oh my goodness”
“Heheee.. Ooh, if you wanna read one of the stories from Shannon-sama’s book when she’s the Huntress and fights monsters with her magical cat named Kishi, you should go see the Call of the Huntress page, ’cause we gots lots of neat stories! Have fun minna!”
I'm posting this a few days early because I'm heading out on vacation.... Here's a sailing poem I wrote last year, to celebrate the wedding
we got to witness on board the Victory Chimes
by Nancy Rae Kienzler
I watched two boats
sail their separate courses,
and thought how sad
that these two beautiful things --
and following parallel paths --
should nonetheless be disjoined
by all that sea between them.
Like clouds overhead,
blown across the same space by the same wind,
but separated by a slice of sky.
But then sometimes the wind
will catch one cloud a little more than the other,
and blow the two together,
when you watch the sailboats in the distance,
you'll see their paths cross,
their bows kiss,
their sails intermingle.
And you realize that
nor any space between,
can keep two --
who are meant to be one --
Have a great week everyone!
It's been over 3 months since I've written anything of my own, but tonight it just felt possible. I went over to one of my favorite Magnetic Poetry sites for inspiration, and these words got me started -- cloud, strike, crash, tingling, waiting, happen -- even though I only used a few of them.
Here is the result, not quite perfected, fresh off the press as it were:
by Nancy Rae Kienzler
It was our longest, our greatest, our finest drought,
The time we dried like raisins, like sawdust, like parchment.
Experienced as we were, knowing it would end,
As droughts always do, we waited patient and still.
And yet, nerves tingled. Senses heightened.
Do you smell electricity? Are those cirrus or cumulous?
Are the leaves up? Are the cows lying down?
Even the animals were restless then, pacing and sighing.
One night we heard the crackle across the bone-dry hills.
We sat on the porch and looked Southward,
Then wrapped around the side to look Westward.
It was beautiful, and so brilliant, but no more. Not a drop.
I don’t remember the fall or feel of that first raindrop,
Nor the first storm, momentous as it must have been.
But the weeks, and the weeks, of watching and wanting,
Waiting and withering – I hold on to those.
I know this is late..and weekly winners have been posted... but this is my first for Monday artday... and I figured I would submit it anyway.... This little gal is "all" curl.... and check out my personal blog for the 'other' version..