Rose Garden

letting it wrap us in its
painter’s palette
and confuse our senses

The world is a rose garden
full of hues of fuchsia and coral,
of cream and ruby,
and we can do nothing but
stand in the midst of it,
letting it wrap us in its
painter’s palette
and confuse our senses.

A gust of magenta and emerald scent–
that sweet, earthy aroma–
breezes by
and we breathe in deep,
letting that petal-and-leaf air
color our lungs,
so that we may be
vibrant, too.

That wind whooshes
in sounds of
scarlet and sage and pearl,
its voice
loud and piercing and haunting,
lush and rich and deep,
light and tinkling and mellow,
calling us to stoop
and pluck one of the flowers
to gain a closer look.

We reach and grab one
and hold it near to us,
knowing that the stem
tastes of green bitterness,
of growth and newness and vitality
and of loam and apathy.

We know what the thorns feel like, too,
but just to test,
we press one firmly against our skin,
feel the crimson spilling from our wound,
and smile.

Photo by Adrianna Calvo from Pexels

This poem was inspired by/written for the theme of colors and senses for this weeks Thursday Poetry Competition at Penable! Go check out that blog for this and future competitions!

Today, I offer you an invitation to breathe and feel and experience life. Look for the vibrant flowers, but acknowledge the thorns as well. This poem and animation by Morgan Harper Nichols called “I don’t feel fearless right now” helped me to do just that. And, if you ever need to chat about life, the good and the bad, just know that my comments, contact page, and Instagram DMs are open.

The Screen

That evening, I press my fingertips
to the screen in front of me

With his focus on a robin
in the bushes
just outside our open window,
my roommate’s cat presses his weight
into the screen.
It pops out of its frame
in the blink of an eye,
sending the cat tumbling onto the mulch
just a foot below.
He is now closer to the bird
he was intently watching
than he ever imagined
he could be.
The robin, surprised by the cat’s presence,
immediately flits away.
The cat does not give chase.
Instead, he sits, stunned,
amazed to be face-to-face
with the nature
he so admires,
until I race outside
to retrieve him.

That evening, I press my fingertips
to the screen in front of me,
the one I am are using
to videochat with you.
I wish that I could fall through it
just like the cat did,
but I can’t.
So texts and phone calls and FaceTime
will have to do
until I can be next to you

Photo by Mugurel Photo from Pexels

This poem was inspired by this week’s Penable Thursday Poetry Competition with the theme of friendship. (It was also inspired by a recent true, momentarily frightening story.) If you would like to enter the contest (and I highly suggest you do), you can find out more here.

The Penable Award

Recently, I have been reading a lot more poetry and trying to hone my own poetic writing skills.

After winning the galaxy-themed Penable poetry contest with my poem “Galaxies, Or Regarding Poor Prufrock”, I was nominated for a The Penable Award. Thanks again to SaaniaSparkle from Fun With Philosophy for choosing my poem and H.R. Phoenix at Penable for hosting the competition. And thanks also to Phoenix for nominating me for this award!


  1. Tag your post with the #penableaward
  2. Display the Penable award logo (above) on your post and follow Penable if you haven’t already
  3. Thank the person that nominated you
  4. Tell us what your writing talent is
  5. Answer three questions that you have been asked
  6. Nominate three inspiring people for this award.
  7. Let them know of their nomination
  8. Give them three new questions to answer!

My Writing Talent

I think this is the hardest part to answer. When I started this blog, I planned to do only traditional blog posts, and that’s where I still feel most comfortable–writing essay-esque long-form blog posts. Poetry is what I dabble in on the side, since writing one of those long-form posts (from coming up with an idea, to researching, to writing, to editing and formatting) can easily take most of a week to complete. Recently, however, I have been reading a lot more poetry and trying to hone my own poetic writing skills.


1. If you had a time machine, where would you go back to?
I assume you actually meant “when” would I go back to 😛 , but I feel kinda lucky that this was phrased the way it was because my answer includes both a “where” and a “when”. I have recently been enthralled by the idea of the American expatriate writers of the Lost Generation in Paris. I would love to meet Ernest Hemingway, Gertrude Stein, and the Fitzgeralds.

2. Who are three people on WordPress who have inspired you?
I answered a very similar question in my Awesome Blogger Award post, so I’ll share three more.
1. João-Maria of (CALIATH) for gorgeous prose
2. Lucy of Lucy’s Works for beautifully descriptive poetry
3. Shreya of Wild Scared Crazy for consistently posting thought-provoking ideas via poetry

3. What are three books from your childhood that you wouldn’t mind reading today?
I’ve answered a similar question before and I gave my late elementary school/early middle school answers, so here are my early elementary school answers:
1. Go, Dog. Go! by P.D. Eastman
2. Because of Winn-Dixie by Kate DiCamillo
3. Chrysanthemum by Kevin Henkes

My Nominees

  1. Shreya of Wild Scared Crazy
  2. Roser of Howl
  3. Silver Stone of The Bored Side Of The Phone

My Questions

  1. If you could live anywhere in the world other than where you live right now, where would you choose?
  2. Who was your favorite author when you were a child?
  3. Do you prefer warm drinks (like coffee, tea, or hot cocoa) or cold drinks (like lemonade or smoothies, etc.)?

Galaxies, Or Regarding Poor Prufrock

Around us we hear the swift-moving cars,
racing to their destinations

Image by FelixMittermeier from Pixabay

When I saw that this week’s Penable poetry competition had the theme of “galaxy,” my first thought was of the poem “The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock” by T. S. Eliot.

Update: I won! Thank you to everyone for your support! Thank you H. R. Phoenix for hosting the contest and thank you Saania for selecting my poem!

The original “Prufrock” begins with the lines “Let us go then, you and I,/When the evening is spread out against the sky/Like a patient etherized upon a table.” If you want to read that entire poem, you can find it here.

My poem isn’t meant to be a response to “The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock.” My poem is simply what I thought about while I reread that poem and reflected on galaxies.

Galaxies, Or Regarding Poor Prufrock

In a lush field upon our backs we lie
with our palms spread out flat against the sky,
like a perfect frame for the gleaming stars.

Around us we hear the swift-moving cars,
racing to their destinations, but ours
is simply here under the summer heat,

For we don’t want to roam the busy streets,
we desire to just wait in peace and meet
constellations, greeting them one by one.

Soon, though, even without illumination from the sun,
our gentle quietude becomes undone,
reminded of life’s chaos by the overwhelming vastness of space.

A disheartening question now we face:
Among the cosmos, what is our place?
It ravages, rages, consumes our brains

until it is the only thought that remains.
Though to the tranquil darkness, it does not pertain,
so we wonder if it needs answered at all.

The beaming starlight once more does call,
and though we may feel stuck and small,
held in by the pointillated dark sheet above,

we notice the heavens surround us with love.
That inquiry flies off like a dove
as we feel safe beneath the galaxies.

We will return to questions of mortality,
morality, reality, and unreality,
but for now, we focus on the view. How pretty!

For this moment,
we ignore memories of the city,
the hustle and bustle, the anxiety,
that simultaneous crowded, lonely curse.

Those thoughts are for another poet’s verse–
We do not dare disturb the universe.

A Child’s Fantasy

In air thick with haze,
She wakes to a maze

When I saw that this week’s competition for Penable was about fantasy, I wasn’t sure if I should enter. Until now, I had never written poetry that would fall into the category of fantasy, so I wasn’t sure that I would be able to come up with any ideas. I’m so glad that I gave it a shot! This poem is a little different from what I normally write, but I really enjoyed doing it. Thanks Midnightlion for encouraging me to enter!

A Child’s Fantasy

In air thick with haze,
She wakes to a maze,
At the end, a green hedge with a door in.

She picks correct paths
With ease, then she laughs.
This silly place–to her, it is foreign.

Stepping through the door,
She sees even more
Of the land and the creatures upon it:

Both fairy and beast
Trolls and sages–the least
Of which speak in great rhymes like a sonnet.

With hope for adventure
She asks will they send her
On a quest that she may soon embark?

Then forward step two,
These odd creatures who
Know a task that’s both tricky and dark.

This smooth-talking frog
And bespectacled dog,
Tell of a prince who needs saving.

So, she runs through the world–
That sly, clever girl–
While cliff walls all around her are caving.

She is stopped by a knight
Who dares her to a fight
When she carelessly tramples his garden,

But she lacks any swords,
So his request, she ignores,
And decides she will instead outsmart him.

She tells riddles and rhymes
Of both night and daytime,
And apologizes for her poor introduction.

Thrilled by her charm and wit,
The knight chooses to admit
That a prince has been trapped in his dungeon.

She asks for permission
To complete her sole mission
And take the prince out of that dark place.

Though knowing the danger,
The knight obliges the stranger,
A frightened look crossing his tan face.

She strides through the hallways,
Not scared, just as always,
And finds the prince trapped in that prison.

She undoes his cuffs,
And the prince huffs and puffs.
He then tells her his bad premonitions.

But she saved the dear prince
From the dungeon, hence
She does think that the hard part is over.

Then, a dragon appears,
And it fills her with fear
Of consequence really quite sober.

The winged figure ascends;
Its talons put to an end
Her hour spent thinking and scheming.

Her eyes open to Teacher–
Not some terrible creature–
Who then tells her, “No more day dreaming!”

Photo by Lisa Fotios from Pexels