Mother Turtle

Thursday, July 30, 2009

She comes up.
Slowly letting
Pushing, pulsing,
Send her
Over the
Onto a beach.

She lands,
Her flippers
And great mass
Heaving, Straining,
As they inch up the shore.

On she goes,
This silent mother turtle,
Pull myself
Over the coarse, rough,
Uncultured grains
Of sand.

It is lonely here.

But then she stops.
Not there.
Not there.
Not over there.

Right here.

On this quiet, foreign,

¼ of 60 minutes,
A quarter of an hour.
Time to lay the eggs.

Time to release those
Little ones,
That she loves,
Though she cannot stay.
But she will lay the eggs,
If that is the last thing
Shall do.

Carefully now.

Now, it is nearly over.

They are laid now.
Now, to bury them
Under sand,
But willing.

Flap, flap, plop, pat-pat.

Her leathery, age-worn flippers
Throbbing tiredly,
As she sends the sand
Flying over her,
Landing over
Her eggs.
Again, again, again.

Flap, flap, plop, pat-pat.

The Birds shan’t get them now.
It is finished,

She hobbles down.

Straight line
To the

Exactly where her own mother
Had once,
Old ages ago,
Slipped off to her

And waited for
God the Mighty
To light the spark of life
In a
Little, baby,


Sunday, July 19, 2009

Starting a 2-part series. Another addition to my little stock of Tyatoran legends (haha!).

In the later years and seasons after the Great Making, and after the Rebellion of Jalkir, there were yet many of the faithful stewards of Endramius. Among which, the wisest of their number, were chosen to be the Jyelvarin, the Princes, by Amentoris Himself. Each of these Princes, were delegated tasks and regions to care for and look after, as time and earth may endure. Each was given one place to call their own; some were given mountains, some rivers, some principles or natural laws to supervise. They and their households would watch over the land, as a gardener over a great field, or a Guardian over a doorway. They were not masters of the land, only caretakers, for their duty was different from that of us mortals. Yet, for this, they were content to be, and they lived happy ages, and still live on, throughout the Seasons of Endramius.

Among these Jyelvarin, Lord Tiendar set up his stewardship of the Lake of Dinkaron, of the Merry Heart. He and his wife, Venyai, cultivated the land surrounding the lake, and caused the fish and water-flowers of the lake to flourish. Beautiful was the land under his and his fair wife’s care.

It came to pass that Venyai became with child, and she gave birth to their first daughter, Neler. After her, Venyai had another daughter, Feian. And after Feian, came the Twin Sisters, Thiendori and Pienhor. After the Twins, Venyai had two more daughters, Lerya, and Treyal. And finally, Tiendar and Venyai, had their last child, a son named Licoann.

And many long years passed, as the household grew larger and merrier with the laughter of young children, and the sound of music was constant. Many a traveler and pilgrim, even Solemn Lathur, came to see the shimmering lake of Dinkaron, and bear gifts to the great house of Tiendar and Venyai. Of gifts, they refused, but instead constantly gave, and despite it, they grew wealthier and greater still. Truly and mightily was the blessing of Amentoris upon them.

Their daughters and son grew tall and fair, as was the appearance of all the great Stewards. And they each took upon themselves a robe to the shade of color that was their own. Neler took maroon, Feian took the hue of citrus, The Twin Sisters each took to themselves the shades of gold and forest green. Lerya took the blue of rivers, while Treyal took the shades of the Blue Sea. Licoann took the rich violet that symbolized tenacity and loyalty.

Now very fair were these, especially among the daughters, of which there was no comparison on Endramius, though none among them were the greater. They were raised faithfully in the way of Amentoris, and they faithfully took on and upheld that which they had been taught.

As it was, to the south, there were the Greater Fays, led by King Dyavan, which means Gleaming Sword. He, among all the other fays of Endramius, opposed Jalkir heavily, and was one of the most upright and warlike of his race. He had six sons, Thelin, Baranin, Borthonin, Carin, Thruilin, and Thruanin. They, like their father, were warlike and strong, yet unlike their father, and more like their mother, were impulsive and less upright.

Alas, when King Dyavan and his sons came to visit Tiendar and his household, he came bearing many gifts. As was his custom, Tiendar refused, and instead treated his mighty guest with many feasts and celebrations. At the time, the seven children of Venyai and Tiendar had been off to deal with a large infestation of weeds on the Northern Lakeside. A messenger was sent to tell them to return for the feasts.

On the fifth day of celebrations, they came, having dealt with the large bulk of weeds. Down they came, in their flying robes, and spent the day readying for the night’s merriment.

That night, they came to the feast, for King Dyavan and his sons were staying but for one more night. And on this day, the six brothers first met the Steward maidens of Tiendar. At first sight, the brothers found these sisters very beautiful, but they kept their thoughts secret, to each other and to their father. However, throughout the merry-making and celebrations, the six brothers’ eyes were ever on the daughters of Tiendar. Licoann, though, by chance saw their furtive glances and was troubled by that flash in their pupils, but he spoke of this not, for he decided such suspicions as folly.

The next day, Dyavan returned to his realm, with his sons and their retinues. Dyavan, upon their departure and return, noticed a cloud over his sons’ heads. He was wary for a while, but let it slide off over the weeks to come. In truth, the brothers had great desire for the maidens of Dinkaron, and time oft breeds greater desire for all manner things. Their desire ever grew greater, and in time they spoke among themselves about it. They had all considered asking their father to arrange a series of weddings between they and the Stewards, but pride stubbornly held them back.

Finally, Thelin, the eldest of Dyavan’s sons, suggested a plan that surely would allow them to arrange marriages of their desires. It was a crafty and conniving plan, but impulse and want overruled morality and uprightness.

“Let us then invite our father to a feast, and make him drunken with heavy wine. Upon this, we will persuade him to give us all a promise, and we will arrange our plans well. We will send the messages to the King Tiendar. When our father has awoken from his stupor, he will have no opposition to our plans, and will not realize his decisions the day before.”

Thruanin, the youngest, heard this proposal, and was unhappy. His love for his father was no greater than that of his brothers, but his standards were more upright, and he was reluctant to partaking in the plan. But his desire too overruled his conscience, and he remained silent.

The sons of Dyavan executed the plan. All went as was expected, and messengers were sent to Tiendar’s household, bearing proposals. The bearers of the messages were welcomed cordially by Tiendar, and their proposals were considered. Venyai and Tiendar called his family together from their duties and held a private council among them.

And that is where we stop for this post. To be continued. . .

Haikus on Small Things

Thursday, July 16, 2009

Small, Busy shuttlecock,
All befeathered and bouncy,
Racket to racket.

Pink, soft, and lovely,
The young, happy flower bud
Just bursting to bloom.

The crisp, round, Cracker
A bit brown round the edges,
Longs to be eaten.

Soft, gummy, blue,
Moldable and smooth to touch,
We call it play-dough.

Sibling's teddy bear,
Fuzzy paws and tail and ears,
Stares up to ceiling.

The little garden -Metaphors and Musings

Saturday, July 11, 2009

Ah, I'm such a sentimental muser.

We were driving home, taking the right-shoulder of our street. There was a traffic light, so we, being law-abiding citizens (I think), stopped. Then I saw it. It was a small little patch of grass and weedlike flowers, just on the little barricade seperating our turning lane from the main road. That little, minute patch of grass, daintily surviving amidst the chaos of the city.

In was surprisingly pleasant, looking at that little lush island, stuck in a sea of hardened tar and metal automobiles. One resilient survivor, one unique patch of ground, standing by for greenery and old times, and memories of the great fields of its ancestors.

A butterfly hopped onto one of the flowers. A fugitive, perhaps? Where can a small, six-legged flutterer sleep, in this vast city-maze? Maybe this was his little residence, his little refuge. Maybe he knew that the road and the cars would not swallow this place.

Then the traffic light turned to green, and we drove off, leaving me to think on about that little insect, and his little garden stronghold.

Dreams of the Stars

Friday, July 10, 2009

I wonder, sometimes,
What those faraway stars do,

In their own little dreamtime,
As they gaze through

Maybe, then, they watch us,
Maybe, just because
Made them that Way.

To remind us

And see what
We mortals are doing.

Of time.

They are
Always peering down, through
Sleepy, yet
Weary eyes.

Cheering, and then sighing,
As they see a king being just to his people,
Or a bird
Falling from
Its nest,

Hearing, then crying,
When they hear the
Speech of
Evil men,
Or the sound of a
Lost widow’s

Scorn, then smiling,
When the hidden deeds
Of night
Give way to
The blessed gift
Of day-Light.

Hate, then laugh,
When they see
Injustice done,
And then when
Oppression is

On their silent thoughts
Go on,
By day,
By year
By age.

Until He comes again,
To call
The Stars

To let them
Close their eyes

And to be glad,
For their Kindler
Is glad
With their

And then,
Forever more

Be oblivion.


Thursday, July 9, 2009

The whine of drills from our new neighbor's home plagues us. Ipod music does no good, and I'm finding it real hard to write anything at all. Blast it!

Oh well, let's just pray the neighbors are good.

Just recovered from a slight fever, hence the emptiness of my blog from the past few days. . .

Nothing more to say about today!

So What Is Horizon?

Thursday, July 2, 2009

So what is Horizon?
Where green earth and blue sky meet?
An end of our vision?
Or a place to run after,
Just to see what’s on
The other side?

So what is light?
A charge of bright energy?
A shimmer on a fish’s back?
Or a beacon so we Mortal Men,
Can know that a Someone
Cares for us?

So what is time?
A linear line of meaningless
Events floating down
Or a gift
To help us chart and understand
Our days?

So what is Wealth?
An excess of something good?
An opportunity to gain?
Or a blessing to receive
And use

And what am I?
Nature’s tool to save the World?
An empty creature meant to be some
Or am I,
Fearfully, and wonderfully made,
Fitted thoughtfully
Into the Great Plan,
For some Purpose,
For some Cause,
Who cares for me?

Do Owls Ever Get Lonely?

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Do Owls

In that deep,
Pitch black,

In that
Silent World
In that
Distant realm.

From busy,
Baying dogs,

In this pitch black
There is

Full and Sweet,
And complete.

I guess they are
Hidden in that Silent World
Of their