Musings During a Random Moment

As the blog is getting a small revamp, I've decided that this "Page" can be somewhat of a memorial post to my Creative Writing class. I wrote all these during it. I loved it. I need to write more, just randomly.

11/29/10
"After Feeling"
Fat - belly - rolls
    Leftovers and turkey
Cravings for pumpkin, chocolate, apple
    Wash it alld own with gravy.
Roll (wehat or white) me over to the couch
    Smother me with a buttery blanket
As I nap
     Hoping the plates and plates of food
Disappear
     So I can eat more.

11/9/10
"He summons
From a far off land
To lead me to my destiny
or death.

I obey,
Trekking quickly there
Only to find, no one had called
But me.

My sorrow
Plagues my old body.
Adventures have filled my life
not love."

"Red sky, red sky
Blood burns in stars so bright.
The moon is red, the sun is dead
Fire light the sky tonight."

"Black penguins pass
Slipping and sliding away
Going gaily on down
Heartily homeward bound."

"Blue fish, blue fish
Swims swiftly south today
Away from cold, Away from north
Summer waits for fish today."

"Blue chils the sky
Sweater vests and hats
Attacked by wind
Teeth chatter nonstop."

"Stewed blueberries slither down the hot pot into the yellow dish, steam rises a mixed color of fruit, water and burnt seeds."

11/8/10
"pouring rain
puddles here
puddles there
wet and soggy
leaves on ground
rain, rain, rain
yuck."

"The annoyance in front of my face. It hangs in front of my eyes, falling up and own, forward and back, ear to ear. It isn't very noticeable, but I know it's there - it is ALWAYS there. I hate my chronic sore neck and small headaches."


11/3/10
"Falling Leaves
Parachutes in jackets of orange and yellow
fall out of high branches in green trees
softly floating to the ground below.
Many times they land off target
into nests of brown or blonde hair."

"I see the sun, but feel no warmth. I see the rays, but am not blinded."
"Birds ferociously arguing with the noise of construction."

"night falls lightly, leaving glances
small glimpses and pools of light.
sun is gone, moon is come but
day doesn't want to leave yet."

"They sit, one bench apart
Never knowing how far
How close together they are.
Both in a world of their own
Only ten feet from each other.
One bench apart is too far.
They look past each other
Into the beyond, never seeing
Into his, or her eyes."

11/1/10
"pour me out a story
sing it to me soft.
pour me out a story
play it to my ears.
pour me out a story
tell me what happened so many years ago."

"To be back in Wales - to forget everything here. To go to the past but never exit time, nor enter into it. Places of history, of mystery echoing me to return and stay. Stay and forget as I never leave my Neverland."

"A blue tie - the perfect tie for a plain old raindrop to wear."


10/30/10
"A shadow light up the evening -
orange covers purple
rain drops splatter across colors
orange on top of purple.

Tires drive through puddles
the water spraying up colors -
dark blue overthrows the orange,
and throws away the purple."  

10/24/10
"The stars showed what shadows were come to pass."
"She threw the fish back in the pond - it was too small for her needs. What she needed was not the small anchovy, but a large silver catfish. Wiping the sweat off her brow with her sleeve, she sat back down in the canoe - this was harder than she thought."
"Why did this work? Everything she had always tried never worked. She ha just given up hope of ever succeeding, but this time it worked. Laughing, she twirled, her blue skirt flowing out."


10/21/10
"Tears push up under my bottom eye lid. A crooked smile stretches to my cheek bones. I totter on my feet, my hands wringing a cloth that's not there. That feeling of nervousness laughing, mocking me, sticks to my stomach, reading up to tickle my throat. I am nervous, really nervous." 
"Musing - what is it? It sounds like 'amuse' - am I amusing my self as I think and ponder and write? Is it entertaining to me? Or does it suggest words of my Muse - those masterpiece ideas bursting forth with ingenuity that I have plagiarized and tried to pass off as my imagination?"

10/19/10
"Curly locks over a pink top"
"Who are we? I don't know. But we are here - that is the important thing."
"A braid, so tenderly done, hanging at the end of the neck - a calm, serene hairdo for a laid back smiling girl."
"The white shirt, sourly stained pink in the underarm"

10/13/10
"The worst illness.
I want to throw a chair,
Pull out my hair, can't stand it.
Brain waiting to implode.
The worst curse,
A mumble-jumble of words,
Nothing is right, crumple and throw it to the fire.
A sick unease irks me.
Writer's block - so terrible, so frightening -
It plagues me, stealing, preventing.
No happiness can escape the blackhole."

10/12/10
"Why move on? Why move foward? There is so much here. Many adventures yet to have a tthe top of this hill. Why roll down to suburbs below? Too many opportunities arise, take advantage. Why move on?"

"The Scarlett Letter
A scarlet letter
The red hot iron, branding my soul.
I can't ignore the matching drops of blood
Falling in the pattern of an 'A.'
The scarlet letter - adulturess.
The rusty iron-filled design weighs me down.
No words will escape my matching lips,
I wear it alone - the sin is mine.
A scarlet letter
My heart has broken - turned from red
to cold, stone, black rock.
I am the Black Man's lover now.
The Scarlet Letter
My crest to pass onto my child,
My sparkling white Pearl, forever
Marred, marked, stained - a naughty Imp."

10/11/10
"'I am not a weapon to be used. I am a Fae, and more than that, I am your Maraka. I will not be treated as such an ignorant body of kiji you take me for!"

10/5/10
"Tree filled:
So many trees - big and small, tall and short, thick and skinny branches and leaves scattered everywhere on the ground - dirt ground, some grass - ore like a foest setting. Two playgrounds, one with a canopy. My treehouse in the forest. Surrounded by deep ditches, like a maze wondering through the open forested backyards of my block.
I would play back there - indians, adventure, runaway, fantasy, fights with swords and magic, army, jungle kids - building shelters over the ditch."
"Window in my house:
Look to the corner of 7th N 4th E can see the campus and the Y. When curtains are pulled, you can't see anything - too dark. When the curtains are opened, the room lights up. I can watch the whole day go by - see weather, the changing beauty of the Y, people passingby - spend hours just watching. I take breaks from homework to just stare, makes me want to go up to the Y."
"Seagulls in the morning:
Squacking, loudly around 4 am, as soon the sun lits up - eating and attacking trash in Cardiff. Time to get up - a new day - new adventure, true, it's an annoying sound and a ridiculously early time to wake up, especially cuz we have late nights, but always ready for a new adventure once seagulls wake me up. I can look at the bad and good views of life."
"Campfire"
The wholly smell of wood smoke - not gross like burning food or a cigarette, but it has a certain taste to it. It is accompanie by the crackling sound and warm blanket of heat. When my fmaily would go camping in National Parks every summer, we would have dinner by fire, make s'mores on popcorn, cuddle in blankets, read by firelight, go in tent and wake up next morning to build another fire. I love the outdoors, love fires, love camping, there is such peace, tranquility, family bonding. I miss doing it now."

9/24/10
"The fancy of Neverland lives in me still.
I shall never grow up - Never.
I may grow tall, hair grow long.
I may be married with children of my own,
But I shall never grow up - never!
Flying with fairies, fighting pirates -
High adventure - how fascinating!
Friends with Pan - truly exciting -
I shall never grow up - NEVER!"

9/13/10
"Y Wyddfa - Snowdon
Is it raining below? Grey fog in front, pushing from behind, The dismal cloud laughing, mocking.
The puffy white clouds blend in with the grey, moist blanket. Was that the train's horn or the wind? Sight and hearing can't help you find the train - right next to you or past the cliff edge.
Slippery rocks, loose or wet try to turn me around, 'don't go higher' they scream, silently.
Is it raining below? No rain rides on th wind here, but it appears, clings to me, I'm heavy with rain.
Is it raining below? Does the sun shine? Is there warmth? Peace? Quiet? Tranquilitiy? Green?
Is it raining below? It must be - I'm climbing the mountain in the cloud."

9/12/10
"'There are two geese on sentry duty,' reads the handmade sign, painting the way to the ruined castle. Usk, full of history, full of blood and rage, built of mortar and stone from sweat and toil, was now a background garden.
On top of the hill, trees and brush became the castle walls. A few stones laid helter-skelter on the courtyard, filled with courtisans of a new breed. Chickens were escorted by a proud rooster. The goat engaged the sheep in conversation near the fountain while the two sentry geese kept a wary eye on us as they made their rounds. One wall remained, now painted green with a halo of pink flowers growing from centuries old grey stone.
The walk on the wall led to the chapel, only recognized by a small cross engraved in stone. The pews, now hedges. Guarding the chapel was a tiny grove, a large tree bending to lift all its branches and leaves on its back. One arm it offered as a swing.
My very own Secret Garden - Usk Castle."

9/10/10
"The beat pulsed through her chair, vibrating, her glasses subtly moving in tune. Numerous voices followed the song, some off-pitch, some to slow, some creating unknown words. Lights flickered, shining blue, green, yellow, red, purple, disfiguring her face while giving style to her plain white dress. She knew the song, her mouth silently forming the words. She knew the dance, her feet softly shuffling. Yet, here she stayed, in her chair, watching the party go on without her."

9/8/10
"Shining bright, shining strong.
True love in celestial form.
A crown of glory, feelings on my sleeve,
Love abounds, the halo of splendor.
True love conquers all -
'For what do stars do best?'
An ever after, never an ever after,
Never an ending - eternity:
Star's bright love - true love.
-written while watching Stardust."

"Wind blowing her haird, a mane fills her head, complemented by a fur-lined jacket. Dark glasses lie about her blue eyes as brown. A serious look on her face, (she is actually enjoying it) stares into the sunset as she rides her glider through the red sky."

9/7/10
"The music sporadically spilled across one ear and out the other. A clanking symphony of bells, chimes, sticks, and hands wound circles around the chanting and dancing. Colors swirled, splashing the tribe in the off-beat of the tune.
To any other ear, it was noise. To us, it was our soul, flying, pounding the soft dust of earth with our calloused feet - celebrating allwe were, are, and would be."

"Thinking was her favorite pastime. She would think of numerous things - how the bees could fly faster than her, how the dew never dampened her clothes, how her hair color matched her rose, yet her wings matched her guardian spirit.
Pulling one knee up to her chest, she rested her chin on it while she swung her other leg under the sturdy rose leaf.
Mamso fluttered by, the speed of his wings faster than her identical ones could ever match. Smiling, she touched his head in acknowledgement.
'What were you thinking of this time, Tsarin?' Mamso asked."

9/4/10
"Many strenghts become one when the time is right."
"She snarled as if as a cat with its fangs bared."
"Journal writing is my pride and joy - it keeps me sane. It is my best friend."
"Visions of possibilities swarm in a hurricane, threatening to overcome the future."
"Her violet eyes lit up - amythests sparkling in the cave, hinting at her joy in the joke."

9/3/10
"Half unseen from the world, she peers over, curious to see what she was missing."
"Mae ddrwg 'da fi, ond dw i'n meddwl dy fod ti'n hefryd."
"long hair fluttered as if finding joy in riding the wind."

9/2/10
"The railroad tracks began in the middle of the room and disappeared through the wall."
"What do you do when the thing you treasured the most has shattered to pieces due to your own clumsiness?"

Thoughts While Doing Husband's Laundry for the 1st Time

Wow, he has a lot of t-shirts.

I will hang up most of his shirts and surprise him with that!

I remember that shirt...and that shirt...and that shirt. Wait, I've never seen that shirt.

He has a lot more of those than me. Huh.

There is an insane amount of socks here.

How many black socks does a man need?

Why do none of these have a pair?

I'll keep searching...

No, still no match, just more different kinds of black socks.

I give up. He can sort his own socks when he gets home.

Watching the Sun Rise

It is an incredible thing, sitting in this trailer in the parking lot south of campus, watching the sun rise over the mountains.

Wednesday through Friday mornings, I wake up at 5AM and get to work at a snack trailer south of campus at 5:30AM. I open the  by 6:30AM. The sky is light, but living on the west side of the Wasatch Mountains, there is still no sun in the sky at that time.

Even though it is summer, it is still chilly in the early mornings. So, I sit on my stool with a jacket, and watch the road in front of me for signs of sun.

Soon, sunlight prevails on the asphalt, chasing shadow closer and closer to me. It only takes a few minutes and I am always antsy with anticipation.

BOOM! Sunlight pervades into the trailer, beaming down right on me. I can escape from the jacket and become revitalized as I am warmed by the rays.

Looking at the Y Mount and the pass between the mountains takes my breath away every single time. The sparkling sun climbing over the peak, the glittery rays poking through the pass, the inviting illumination it gives the Y.

What an incredible sight.

The Color Gray

So, I thought for today, I'd share a poem I wrote almost three years ago.
It was a day much like today, so I feel it is a relevant poem.

Gray -
A soft, squishy, plush word.
Rainclouds and haze.
Old, cold, and bent.
Never bright, but never dark.
Bleak aloneness, the sound
of nothing whispering in
...echoes.

My Name

When I was in high school, I hated my real name. I didn't feel it was creative, so I went on a search for one. Thus, Tanney was born. I used it throughout my classes, published in the Literary and Art magazine, as well as the school newspaper with it. In my Creative Writing 1 class, we read an excerpt from House of Mango Street. (read it--its really cool) Then, we were told to write our own about our name. If you are interested in seeing my 14 year-old self's response, go to my Fictionpress page. 

Here is my new one, in 10 minutes, just a Slice of my Life...and yes, you may be able to see my real name! Lucky you!



Tanney. Smiles--that what it is. Smiles, and an aura of orange. Playful, passionate, creative, unique, a-follower-of-her-own-drum-beat. 
Tayler. Smart, academic, tom-boy. Determined teacher. Finally found her self-confidence.

I have a duel personality. In high school, in my classes, I went by Tanney. On my sport teams, I went by Tayler. My fellow writers knew me as Tanney. My fellow church members knew me as Tayler.

Tayler (Old English)--tailor. Bethany (Hebrew)--house of God. Christiansen (Danish)--son of Christian. Go even further--Christian--> one who believes in Christ. My name holds new meaning to me now. I am a Christian, my body is a temple, the Holy Spirit lives within me. 

Tanney (no origin)--me! There is no nickname for Tayler. Tay-Tay gives the connotation of a toddler just beginning to walk, stumbling around in a pink tutu. What would I call myself in a world of Katie's,  Kathy's, Kat, Jess's, Jessi's, Brit's, Maddie's? 
Tayler + Bethany = Tanney. It took a while, but the equation worked. 

Lo, and behold, I loved tangerines. Oranges, tangerine, clementines, mandarins, citrus fruit drinks, citrus starbursts, citrus suckers, citrus candles. I loved it. Tanney--short for tangerine.

Youthful. Tanney encompasses my youth, allowing me to be forever young, while Tayler allows me to grow up and experience new places. Tanney holds my imagination, Tayler holds my ambition.

Together, I am a formidable foe, a determined dame. 

"Once Upon A Time"

A poem I wrote about how history is a form of story-telling.

“Once upon a time,”
Starts every story, every fairy tale;
throwing us from the fire in the present
To the smoke of what was, and has been,
 All once upon a time. 

Once upon a time,
There was a princess with hair of fire.
 Gloriana was her name, a future Fairy Queen.
Knights in shining armor came to court
only to be turned away and sent across the sea.
Elizabeth the first ruled mighty England,
All “once upon a time.”

Once upon a time,
A mighty warrior rose from the misty plateau,
Shamans, with their runes, at his side.
Like a mighty plague, his army rode
thundering across the barren waste land.
Genghis Khan almost conquered the world,
All “once upon a time.”

Once upon a time,
A humble, barefoot tribe of forest dwellers
Connected to the spirits of the land,
Were invaded by pale men with lightening sticks,
Only to be saved by an unlikely couple.
Pocahontas meets her John Smith,
All “once upon a time.”

“Once upon a time”
Begins myth and legend, story and song.
“Once upon a time”
Begins our past, our story,
Our history.

Poem, no title yet.

Smile,
and show my teeth.
After twenty minutes,
cheeks are too stretched to continue holding it.

But, I like smiles--
That hidden one on the upper left side of the face
causing eyes to twinkle.
Full lips holding back a joke.

Too sore. Or I have something between my teeth.
Smile is gone.
There is something better--a laugh.

Eyes wide in enjoyment,
mouth open (not enough to allow the full laugh out),
shoulders quivering in hilarity.
The tiny giggle behind both hands.
The loud gaffaw that has me rolling on the floor.
The snicker, a small puff.

But, which is better?
Which do I enjoy more?
Both work well together, true
However, I am a simple girl--one thing at a time.
Draw lots,
Who gets the smallest one?

Poem for Today

A/N: No idea what to call this poem!


The smile lingers longer than expected.
I’m a contortionist in feelings,
Lost in a labyrinth of roses
Lined with rows of white dandelions.

I’ve been in this maze before
Why have I lost all sense of direction?
                                 (again)

Hedges change their position
Branches cringing as they moved —
A cackling mock directed at me.

What Dreams May (or May Not) Come

What dreams may come at the end of the day
Are far too few between:
To cast a net over the stars and hope in vain
You might keep one or two.
Waking during sleepless nights unfulfilled
Leave you wondering what dreams may come,
But may never arrive.

He Mocks Me.

He stares and me and mocks me. Promises and riddles, my favorite gifts from him are still on the front porch. He smiles and I believe any thing he says. He reads to me, points me to the cascading waterfall. My eyes are opened.

He smiles that crooked smile and I am lost in that maze.

He turns and walks down the steps, shaking his head. He mocks my naivety. Those gifts are just trinkets, spewn across my porch. That waterfall is just a sprinkler. My eyes are not opened.

He mocks me.

Roadblock

When you come to a cross roads, you choose one way or the other. Now the question is, the road chosen seemed to be going my smoothly but a tree just fell in the road, followed by a crew of workers barring your passage. Do you back away, and try going the other way, instead of your favorite path, or do you try to debate with the crew and wait until the tree is cleared away, hoping their construction hasn't completely ruined your drive?

Shoot for the Moon

"Shoot for the moon, and if you miss, you'll land among the stars."

I've been aiming for the moon for some time now. I've gotten past Earth, past all the clouds and past gravity. I landed among a star. It's amazing here - better than anything ever on Earth. I'm still aiming for the Moon, though. Just becuase the stars are more brilliant than I ever imagined does not mean I want to stay here forever. I still have a goal. I still have a destination. But...

The Moon has turned to show me its dark side. Has the Moon turned its back on me? Should I stay here amongst the stars? No. That just means it will take longer for me to land on the Moon. I just have to be patient, but I am keeping an eye on the Moon. Why? Becuase that is my dream - I found the Moon and know that is where I want to be.

Dried Up River

For the summer, I live in the desert with my family, right next to the Mojave River - literally next to it. Every day while driving to work, I have to cross this dried up river of sand.

While away at college, there were some big storms and water started to fill up the river again - not alot. The river bed is very wide and very deep. Shallow water started to flow through, enough to see the lines it was caressing into the sand.

The first day I went to work after coming home for the summer, I was suprised to see these little riverlets streaming down an otherwise barren wasteland. It made me smile; I looked forward to the drive to work. It gave me hope - that in this forsaken desert, some paradise had pushed through. I planned to drive to the riverbank one day I didn't have work, and play in the appealing water.

But, as the week has gone on, the riverlets became smaller and smaller, sinking into the underground course the Mojave River takes, or joining the clouds in the sky. Now, there is no water, just a bridge over sand. The river has run dry.

Just as my creativity has. My muse, still lost, probably was hiding under my bridge, waiting for the perfect day to play with me in the cool refreshing river. But, with the blaring sun and the winding sand, and the dry, dry atmosphere, she has left me again, with a dried up river. I cannot wait to go to lush, green, moist, water infested Great Britain. 50 more days!!

The Smell of Heaven

is one with yellowed pages stacked to the ceiling on all the wall in a small and old home with the underlaying musks of coffee and smoothies.

The few times I've driven to New England, I've seen small college towns and think how wonderful it woul dbe to live there - a sort of Gilmore Girl atmosphere, if you will. And, always in the back of my mind is my ideally creative living structure: a small aparmtent on a Main Street above my very own bookstore. Remember the small bookstore in "You've Got Mail"? I want it.

Yet, I've never been in one of those old rustic shops before, only passing those wonderful tresure troves, or seen them on TV, until today. I was walking to my designated spot mentioned in my previous post and found heaven.

This small building is full of shelves of random books of all ages and varied levels of usage. The smell reminded me of Nauvoo - old and moist. But, that's the smell of heaven. I walked around, my heart pounding, a smile spread on my face. Traveling through the labyrinth of bookshelves, I entered the second part of the store - a small cafe. This place is heaven and only a five minute bike ride from home.

I love it. I love it. I love it. I want it. I know I'll be spending more time here, because I now have the smell of heaven in me.