If I can stop one Heart from breaking
I shall not live in vain
If I can ease one Life the Aching
Or cool one Pain
Or help one fainting Robin
Unto his Nest again
I shall not live in Vain.

"Hope" is the Thing with Feathers

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -

And sore must be the storm -

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -

And on the strangest Sea -

Yet - never - in Extremity,

It asked a crumb - of me.

Annabel Lee

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

One green thing at a time, she said.

            “Do you know what’s the best thing in the world? Eating lunch beneath a tree. You feel the breeze. Hear the birds, experience cool in the blue shade. No, it’s not even that. The breeze, it’s the embrace of life. The birds, they’re the voice of your soul. The shade, it’s the blanket of preservation. The tree? The therapy of green leaves dappling beneath a blue sky.

            “One green thing at a time.”

Blooming flowers

In the white-bricked shower.

A forest of green and pink

Surrounded by suds and bubbles.

They thread their roots

Through the drain holes.

Their emulating faces brighten the scene.

Blooming flowers in the dreary, dreary shower.

What’s next?

Moths repairing lace?

Clover in the gutter?

Pines in the desert?

Steaming stones?

But DreamWorld starts here:

I was comforted by my first enemy,

Had a bright conversation with my pretended friend.

We rode bikes home together,

And we were with a friend-that-used-to-be too.

She was nice.

Nothing is what it seems to be.

Tomorrow you may hate your mother,

Think your BFF’s are annoying.

The world isn’t black and white and clear.

It’s gray and gauzy.

Why that dove of peace may very well be

A foolish white pigeon.

nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

Here is my favorite poem, by Karla Kuskin

Write about a radish
Too many people write about the moon.
The night is black
The stars are small and high
The clock unwinds its ever-ticking tune
Hills gleam dimly
Distant nighthawks cry.
A radish rises in the waiting sky.


LOVE it!

Sorry about all the depressing suicide poems!  Let's talk about something happy for a while.
What makes me happy?  Hmm . . . ah!  Let's go!

BASED ON A TRUE STORY

"Ah, it's so hot!"
Three inseparable friends, Sara, Maddie, and Annabell, were standing on a deck swarming with people at the potluck.  The sun burned down on them, searing their skin.  Maddie sipped her lemonade.  It was the fourth of July, and she was on her guard.  Maddie had a past history of getting injured on Independence Day.  When she was seven, she had been struck with torticollis, a form of temporary paralyzation caused by her unusual sleeping positions.  Another year, she had stepped on a smoldering sparkler, and received second degree burns.  But this year -- this year she was playing it safe.
"Let's sit down somewhere," Annabell suggested, wiping her sweaty brow.
Maddie and Sara nodded in agreement.
They made their way off the deck and over to the swing hanging from the trees.  It was crawling with toddlers.  "This one's taken," Sara groaned.  "Is there another around here?"
Maddie scanned the area.  A short bench near the pond with peeling white paint caught her eye.  "That one, over there by the pond."
Sara and Annabell followed her over to the edge of the pond.  At a closer distance, the bench looked even more fragile then before.  I'm sure it'll be fine, Maddie thought to herself.  She took a seat.
CREAK.  The bench groaned, but held.  Maddie patted the spot beside her.  Sara carefully took a seat.
CREAK!  The bench swayed, but didn't give up.  "I'm not so sure about this," Annabell said.  Then, she sat.
Nothing happened.
All three girls sighed in relief.  "I thought it was going to break," Sara grinned.
"I can just imagine it," Annabell said.  "Snap, crack-"
Immediately, there was a loud snap, and the girls were splayed across the ground.  Maddie felt her wrist scrape against a sharp rock.  When she looked at it, long red lines were streaked across her arm.
The girls looked at each other for a moment.  Then they burst out laughing.
"Mrs. Sundry!" Maddie called to the owner of the house, still laughing.  "I think you're going to need a new bench!"

I am Maddie in this story.  Really.  I have the curved line on my arm to prove it.  My friend, the one in the story named Sara, has a picture of the bench that I will post later.  Well, what's left of the bench, that is.  :D
I'm also not kidding about the things happening to me on fourth of July.  I'm starting to think it's cursed.

You saw her
you knew her
she tried so hard
gave it her best, but it wasn't good enough,
not good enough for Them.
You were curious about her, but not enough,
not enough to be her friend.
Or maybe you were
maybe you were her friend.
But either way, she seemed below you.
A nobody.
A Jane Doe.
Average.  She'd never be in the spotlight.
That's what everyone thought
about the girl that no one heard.

She tried out for everything.
Sports.
Drama.
Every after school club on the list.
Everything was a new chance for her
a chance to be heard.
A voice
a somebody
a role model.
But no matter how hard she tried, she wasn't amazing.
She wasn't pretty enough
wasn't smart enough
wasn't strong enough
wasn't patient enough.
She had no talent.
She was the girl that no one heard.

She tried out for the Student Council.
The popular girl was elected.
She tried out for the swim team.
The athletic girl had a better backstroke than her.
She tried out for the Future City team.
The 4.0 girl took the last slot.
And then she realized
that she hated being the girl that no one heard.

Her friends told her that her time would come
but she didn't think so.
She wanted the spotlight.
She wanted to walk the red carpet with the stars.
But she was nobody.
No, worse than that.
She was the girl that no one heard.

Finally, she had had enough.
Enough of trying to be someone
enough of trying to impress people
who had their hopes pinned on her peers.
But there was one way.
One way to finally get the attention she wanted.
One way to get her name in the books.
She would no longer be the girl that no one heard.

Her hands were cold that night
and her brow sweaty
but she knew
that what she was doing was what she wanted.
She held the gun to her head
and pulled the trigger.
And the last thing she remembered
was the satisfaction of knowing
that the girl that no one heard
was gone.

A MESSAGE FROM INMODICA:
DO YOU KNOW THIS GIRL?  If the answer is yes, then be a friend and help her to find her talents!   Get her involved in something that she enjoys.  Give her a reason to enjoy life, and be a somebody!  Not everybody is famous, but nobody should have to be the girl that no one heard.
DO YOU THINK YOU ARE THIS GIRL?  Stop right now and think of things people have said you're good at.  If you can't think of any, ask a friend or family.  You are not worthless!  You may have a hidden talent that you have not yet discovered!  Don't be the girl that no one heard!  If you want do be heard, blogging is a great way to start.  Ask us about joining a blog or starting your own!  We'd be happy to help!
HAVE YOU EVERY THOUGHT OF COMMITTING SUICIDE?  Let people help you!  Whatever is bothering you, don't let it take your life!  Talk to your parents, your friends, your school counselor, your teachers -- they can help you.  Everybody has their ups and downs.  And trust me, even the worst downs aren't worth killing yourself over.

There she is again
in the corner
leaning against the wall.
What is that in her hand?
A book?
A paper?
We will never know
because we are watching
the girl that no one sees.

Maybe she liked candy.
Maybe she had a favorite
movie
book
song.
Maybe it was one of your favorites too.
Maybe you thought of saying hello
on the day she appeared
plopped into class in the middle of the year
but you didn't.
After that day, she melted away
becoming nothing more than a piece of furniture
or a wall
or a desk.
If you tried to think of everyone in your class
would you remember her name?
What letter did it start with?
A?
R?
L?
No one knows.
The girl that no one sees has no name.

She had a life, you know.
A family.
Maybe a pet.
Perhaps she was an algebra whiz.
Perhaps she was nice.
Maybe she was friendly.
Maybe she looked at you.
Yes, she looked at us all
but no one looked at her.
Because she was the girl
that no one saw.

Do you remember the day?
Her desk was empty.
You had heard something,
a rumor
some story about someone
and something
and somehow.
What would you think if you knew?
What if you knew that on that day
her mother was crying.
What would you have done
if you had noticed her notes
leading up to the day.
Everyone hates me.
I have no friends.
I'm stupid.
I'm ugly.
I am the girl that no one sees.

She was too young to die.
But no one knew
or cared 
or did anything.
No one saw the notes
the knife
the blood.
Because she was the girl
that no one saw.

Do you sometimes think you remembered
a change that day?
Did the universe seem different?
Did you know why?
No, you didn't.
What about now?
What if you were her?
Would you act any different if you were the girl
that no one saw?

A MESSAGE FROM INMODICA:
DO YOU KNOW THIS GIRL?  If so, please, don't let her be friendless.  The sad truth is, there are many girls that no one sees.  But we can change that!  Don't let an innocent life be wasted.
DO YOU THINK YOU ARE THIS GIRL?  If you have ever felt like the girl that no one sees, don't stay that way!  Be seen!  There are plenty of potential friends at school and everywhere else.  You just have to get to know them!  And if you don't feel like doing that, we'll always be here too!  If you every feel like the need to just talk, I'm all ears!  My email address is located on my profile page.
HAVE YOU EVERY THOUGHT OF COMMITTING SUICIDE?  Let people help you!  Whatever is bothering you, don't let it take your life!  Talk to your parents, your friends, your school counselor, your teachers -- they can help you.  Everybody has their ups and downs.  And trust me, even the worst downs aren't worth killing yourself over.

She says her name is Emi.

Short for Emily?

No, just Emily, she says.

I don’t know much about her

Except for the fact she loves to spell.

She sits over her picture book and spells every word.

One day I saw her write her name.

She wrote Me.

M E

Em ee

Emi.

The fearless fire makes tigers cry.

I find nothing but sizzling stripes

And shattered CDs flying through the air.

I’d like to write away the rain but can’t.

The rain droplets on my tree outside show me the lives of my neighbors,

And shards of broken mirrors envision pieces of my future that shall never be.

What is buildings were but walls with no people living inside?

And all windows were made out of stained glass

So when you look outside the world appears rosy?

Gauzy apparitions sweep their fabulous feathers

In the winter-spiked air.

They run under the moon through the snow-dappled trees.

These are the agitated nightmares that

Materialize in my sleep.

My dreams: glacier blue lakes,

Creatures that fly,

Liberated,

Beneath the sky and sway from the weight of air.

They are dizzy with thought,

Their wings as slender as the rays of dawn.

When they soar they can finally believe that

Fear thrives in shadows,

And hope is an empty promise.

When you add and subtract what’s left of you,

You can’t see yesterday.

I am afraid to take a risk.

You expect to find yourself in someone else,

But this transformation ends and begins with you.

My dreams still dance:

A figure that chases rainbows in a box of prismatic light.

The azure depth of night.

A hot candle magnified beneath the glare of wind.

Iced April with a frosty exhale.

The sun chasing shadows.

The rattle of glass.

Dust swept up by gravity to fly

Untouched

By the world.

Here dreams connect fantasy to reality.

My hair is curled by the sweat of human fear.

Foggy entrances chinked by memories.

Come, run with me under these trees.

See the green?

Feel the life?

Now, I’m not telling you to leave your kind so you can just be with me.

I know you civilized ones hate to do things like that.

But…

Sure, in the wild it’s rough.

And my kind aren’t very welcoming to outsiders.

And yes, I know you’ve got comforts livin’ civilized and all.

But you feel real proud every day when you survive to see tomorrow.

You get to feel the wind.

Hear the song of the leaves.

Hunt for your own food.

You feel more alive, somehow,

Knowing it’s not guaranteed it won’t be taken away.

And this place it quite beautiful,

Isn’t it?

Clearer than ice,

Flash like fire.

Harder than bone.

Beautiful like you.

Diamonds are true.

Here's part one of the prologue....

Nothing could save her now.

The artificial lights swirled like Earthen stars and even the silverware twinkled. The ceiling was draped with a golden tapestry that contained moving images: fluid horses, ancient soldiers called knights, brutal battle scenes. There was even an engraved rose that served as a clock. There was nothing on her table but a flower centerpiece and the empty chair opposite hers seemed to grin sinisterly. The room was full of bright happy conversation but her hands were cold.

Zoe’s trembling hand stroked her hair, hoping no one had seen it turn black. Up above the thorned stem ticked closer to ten. Nothing to do but wait.

Music played, announcing the new time. She squeezed her eyes shut as all the guests applauded the newcomer. Please don’t come here, please don’t come here. Footsteps rang loudly on the marble floor. “Enjoying yourself, Zoe?”

Her heart nearly exploded with fear. Her eyes snapped open.

She took in a man wearing a blue suit with a white tie and a smile. Strange, she’d never seen how handsome he was before now. Very handsome.

He laughed when he witnessed Zoe’s hair changing color, this time to ginger because of her anger. “You’re here to enjoy the party,. There’s no point in getting a temper.” He bent closer and whispered so no one else could here. “Tonight you will do whatever I ask of you. And if you don’t…” He traced Zoe’s throat with one finger while swinging his arm around her shoulders, like a couple might, but she knew he was concealing her so no one could see his hand tightening around her neck. Strangling her.

Her knees kicked him under the table, as she got ready to do whatever it took to get the man off her. At around the same instant the pressure around her throat lessened.

“Do you understand?”

Zoe nodded, too frightened to speak.

His voice returned to a contented purr. “Now, how should we introduce you as? My ora?”

Zoe’s hair turned fiery again. Ora meant wife in Kutorian.

“Ahh.. maybe more like female friend?” He winked at her.

She was ready to strangle him. This traitor situated right there, who had ruined part of her life and all of her future. This disgusting excuse for a person.

“If you don’t stop…” Zoe began.

“You’ll poison my drinks with your wine. And maybe use this rose as a weapon?” he nodded towards the table centerpiece. “But probably not. I daresay you enjoy them too much. Did you receive mine securely?”

“It was… you?” The word got stuck in the girl’s throat.

“Yes. Marvelous arrangement, wasn’t it?”

Zoe hated everything about him, from his fancy clothes to his voice. She stood up. The room quieted, staring at her in shock. The silence rang in her ears.

“I proposed to her and she said no,” he comfortably explained to the guests. “Girls these days… Always wanting more than what’s best for them.”

The hush dissolved into chuckles and the carefree atmosphere settled once more.

Zoe sat down. “Why did you say that?” she spat.

He shrugged his shoulders. “What else was I supposed to say? That my own guest was getting out of control?”

Guest. That word had venom to it. His guest. His prisoner.

Kendra's exceptionally round face flooded with excitement as she spotted the two of them in the back. Bringing her bulk squeezed into a tight magenta dress the interviewer strode eagerly to their table, her double chin jiggling on the way.

“Shut up and go with everything I say,” he hissed in her ear.

Faces began to look up at them again, confused. No reporter was allowed to approach a guest in the middle of a ceremony. Paparazzi were restricted. “Hello, I am going to be giving live coverage to Rana through their Viewers. Is there anything you would like to say before we begin?”

He stared hard at the reporter before saying sweetly, “You look very beautiful tonight.” She glowed while Zoe grimaced. Despite being overweight, there was something repulsive about her face and body.

He then added, “Why are you so fat? I thought the Nutrition Department had restrictions on what anyone could eat.”

She gave a gasp like wind being sucked out of her windpipe and turned away with a start. Zoe stared after her. He was crueler than she could have thought.



Slowly all the lights, including the candles dimmed and a darkness swept over the gallery room. An announcer at the front took up a microphone and the sound traveled through the audience. “Welcome to the Committee Gala, and I hope you are having a splendid time tonight.” As his eyes traveled around all the glass tables, Translators abruptly streamed the events to the rest of the nation, changing the announcer’s words from Anglic to Kutorian.

“We are here on the behalf of a special guest. I think you all know who he is.” Clapping of approval came swiftly. “But I will not take away any of your time. I grant you the microphone, Deputy of all of Rana!”

A real thunder roll came as it became obvious he was stepping from my table to make a speech. This was what everyone had been waiting for. He took the microphone with a flourish and began speaking fluently in Kutorian.

I had taken Kutorian as part of my foreign language education in school once, so I understood a few of the words: Welcome, women, men, Kutora, great, etc. so I knew he was going through the salutary. Soon, however, the man’s face grew serious. I strained to listen to a Translator who was streaming the speech in Anglic.

“Yes, we all know of the unfortunate tidings. But is it true?” At this point he paused dramatically before going on, “I want to confirm the rumors. Yes, Alcor is dead.”

A collective gasp came from the guests. Someone even began shouting, “How can we be safe? It’s another virus! We’re all going to die!”

At the podium the deputy motioned with his hand for silence. “And yes, because of the circulation of power, I am now leader of Rana.” Another roar of screams washed back and forth but this time with applause. He was clearly popular. His ascension of leadership was approved by the public.

The man smiled. This was what he had been waiting for. “Do not fear change. I speak to both the nations Kutora and Rana. Together we will be greater than we ever were on Earth. I simply need your support.”

Shrieks pierced the air, excited, nervous, but most of all grateful. His works were known. He had given Kutora technology, something that had been forbidden for centuries. It was a matter of time before they were richer than all the Seven Nations.

The man stepped down, giving a few waves and walked back to Zoe’s tables. People tried to get through to him but the Security blocked them. In the hubbub of noise their conversation was veiled.

“What happened to Alcor? He wasn’t sick. He was perfectly fine.” That whisper of fear came from Zoe. “Is it true? There’s another virus outbreak?”

The man smiled. “I assure you, there’s nothing to worry about. There’s no virus. Alcor simply, let me just say, reached his end.” He laughed, but it hinted at something much evil.

“The Viewers said they found him dead in his bed. The Inspectors found traces of magic. They said maybe there was foul play.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You shouldn’t listen to everything the Reporters say. Especially when they’re as fat as Kendra. But yes, that part is correct.”

It was there. The answer was there, but out of reach. “You’re saying he was… murdered?”

“Of course I’m saying that. Do you know by whom?” He grinned again.

“You?” The world was crashing around her. The ceiling tapestry was going to fall and suffocate her.

“Yes. Me”