Small Things

I explore alone, worlds and words. I write haiku daily.

nevver:

Writing a poem, Incidental comics

Moving Day

Twenty years ago
We left the turtles in the
school pond

Wet flowers show me
the way, past the black bamboo
into real forests

ladyvivamus mentioned you in a post:

*excited wave*
*clears throat*

It rained like a slap,
tearing the heat out of the
sky like paper cranes

I must tell you of
how the sunlight returned as
afternoon arrived

maeglinhiei reblogged your post and added:

That was inspirational until the kabong. Or…
maeglinhiei replied to your post “i am a writer with a desk full of empty pens but no words to show…”
well that’s hauntingly accurate considering my current state of writers block.
It is, isn’t it. Although it’s more like “writer’s insurmountable wall that cannot be climbed, is this a glass mountain, holy kabong.”

Not

gone-postal:

A thousand cranes. That was the goal we set. Folding scares me, I told you, but you wanted the wish and we compromised. Baby steps. A crane a day, two hands, a thousand in five hundred days. Why not? Optimistic, to think we would make it that far. We didn’t. We made it halfway, five hundred cranes waiting to be strung. I fold them flat in a box, wondering if wishes can be halved, if I can wish you half back, half here, which is what you were in the first place.

i am a writer
with a desk full of empty pens
but no words to show for them