On Departing

My feet pounding the pavement to the beat Of poetry that laid the cobbled street, I feel a shaking sense of bittersweet For a face I only once did meet And wind that sings its fingers through my hair Will not again its subtle secrets share, Nor will the trees and flowers for me bear…

A Poem Passed-By

That moment gone was but a spot of time Yet still I yearn towards its eternity, To find it past yet feel it presently For such moments are best realized in rhyme. But somehow this one fails to really be As full in feeling as it was before; In that one moment, not a second…

A Poem to the Church of St. Edward King and Martyr

The words that lie written beneath our feet, Titles of saints, these graves in graven stones, The echoes of reformers' gracious tones Which once and still all sinners here would meet. And still these words evoke fascination Of both pilgrim and poet's seeking hearts, Quickening with the spirit each their arts, Knowledge grown into Imagination.…

Little Elegy

Walking through Cambridge, inspiration is difficult to avoid. My apologies to those on the sidewalk who had to go around me as I stopped to give this poor bird a proper elegy. "His eye is on the sparrow," so 'tis sung But 'neath some foot or wheel its feathers flung- Poor claws curled up in…

Method…Writing?

Method acting is a key point in my novel. One of the characters is an actor who has become "stuck" in the role that he last performed. He has lost himself into the character he was contracted to play. There are obviously a MANY problems that arise from this (many dark moments for this poor…

Toasty Summer

Ah, summer... when this Scottish gal turns a bit less pasty, nothing feels better than reading in the pool, and the beach hair makes its comeback... But this summer has turned toasty in more ways than one! As a runner, I've been waking up early to beat the relentless Arizona heat. I love my morning…

Phone Finds: Leaving

My phone storage is full due to my incessant note-taking...although I carry a notebook on me constantly, I somehow still find bits of poetry, philosophical musings, and novel brain-showers caught beneath the screen. Here's one from my final morning in Scotland last summer:

Re-re-re-reading

I just finished reading Margaret Mitchell's Gone with the Wind for the fourth(?) time, though, honestly, I've probably read parts of that book three times, parts of it six. I just can't seem to stay away from it and end up rereading at least half of it every late spring/early summer. Whatever the exact number, I can…