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Welcome to HerdingTheDragon.com!

I'm a writer, a freelancer, a crafter, a nail polish mixatrix, a tea drinker, an unconventional life-liver, a journaling junkie, an introvert, a chronic-pain-sufferer, an idealist, a geek, a TV-lover. Welcome to my corner of the web!

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Saturday, September 2, 2017

August 2017 free poems!


Time for another month's sample poems! I'm keeping a notepad page open behind my browser (and my browser a little narrower than the full screen so I can see it) and just plunking down a poem whenever it strikes me, and it's letting me write So Many Poems.

In August 2017, I wrote 34 poems.

I'm not sure, but that's got to be a record for me, for anything other than that time I wrote five haiku every day for a month.

Here's a sample:

maybe i'm an eastern child
wandering lost in the west,
a unicorn without a forest
:i wandered too long
and someone took the trees
one by one.


BULLET JOURNAL: THE POEM
Tracking the small things
to prove the big things:
today's mood and tomorrow's and next week's,
a flow of electrons and chemicals
through the spaces in my brain,
notes on a history no one knows but me,
a facet of the world everyone knows now
but one day, no one will remember.
We're the ones who write history, really,
one small personal experience at a time,
a note on a calendar, a sentence in a planner--
all the clues historians will stitch together
to draw the world we have now,
when they're in another and we're the mystery.
It's a mystery now, if we're honest;
we're not birds to see everything from above,
but we can try, we can plan and note and jot,
decyphering our own codes
even as the world invents another.
We make our own meaning,
and one day, other meaning-seekers
will find it and the details will fall together
and the victors, whoever they are, won't have
the only say
in the way we made sense
of it all.


I feel like I can give you something,
but damned if I know what.
I've never been good, the way other people are good,
at identifying those slippery feelings
that slide from one person to another.
No one tells me what they need
unless we're at work and it's safe.
Life, real life, the life I'm not fond of,
doesn't have those frameworks:
"I need this, will you do it?"
"This is your job, be great at it."
"You're more than qualified, welcome aboard."
Everyone makes it look easy.
It's not easy.
I feel like I can give you something,
but it's always been a struggle between
what you take and what I have to give
and I never know what I have until it's gone
and you're still taking.
How do I know what to give?
How can I stop you from taking too much?
I'm practically illiterate
in the vague language of hints and expressions,
and I can't find the guidebook
that might translate for me.
But I want to give you something.


you speak into the heart of me
the void and the stars there,
the glowing nebula of all my sins
and insecurities:
how do you hold
all these words inside you?
how do you choose which ones
to send out into the world,
looking for me?


I feel like I'm made of knives
but everyone says I'm soft and kind
and I don't know what to do
with the differences in translation.


- August was a bit...emotional.

- Today's change: Turn your wilderness into a garden--that is, turn your pain into art.


You can find me around the web here:
And on Youtube myself and with Joy for (un)Professional Fangirl

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