Monday, August 29, 2016

Pencil



Rather appropriate for back to school, don't you think?


Pencil
Annie Louise Twitchell

I have a new pencil.
A friendly, blue pencil,
with a nice sharp tip.

My pencil writes well.
Fine lines begin to fill
my paper, telling stories
about dragons,
spies,
princesses,
vegetables,
knights,
spaceships,
caves,
treason,
despair,
and love.


My pencil is tired now.
The bright blue paint
is chipped,
from months of being
carried in my book bag.
The eraser is worn to a stub
from the labor of removing
my thoughts.
It's almost too short to be held
in my hand.
I don't want to give it up
and let it go -
the letters and words
it formed for me
are important.
They mean something.
But it's only a tool,
to convey my thoughts
so others can understand them.
The work of my pencil is done.

I have a new pencil.
A friendly green pencil,
with a nice sharp tip.


Copyright 2016 by Annie Louise Twitchell

Monday, August 22, 2016

Spinner of Secrets, Update Five (And Other Stuff)




Okay, so I really love back to school sales. Know why?

*reduced prices*

On stuff like, my favorite pens (very colorful, I love colorful) and notebooks and paper and portfolio folders and erasers and colored pencils (okay so I mostly use those for drawing and not writing) and sparkly paper clips and...

Yeah. Anyway.


On your left.

So on the left is the portfolio folder I have been lugging SoS around in for the past nine months. It had seen about four different drafts. It also housed paper for making origami butterflies because my fingers get fidgety sometimes and I need something to do so I make butterflies or doodle or something like that. It's been drowned, lost, carted all over the state of Maine in a faded blue and white tote bag along with pens, pencils, a pocket knife (thank you, Tom Sawyer), and the occasional rock collecting finds. 

It was getting kind of old. So today I transferred everything over to a lovely new one. It's purple! (On the right, which by process of elimination should be fairly obvious.)





So in my writing bag, I have the following:

  • Spinner of Secrets in a portfolio folder
  • about two dozen pens
  • a couple regular pencils
  • 15 colored pencils
  • 10 colored markers
  • a Sharpie
  • two highlighters
  • paper clips and binder clips (shiny colorful metallic ones)
  • a spiral bound notebook containing editing notes and comments for a gal who's book I'm beta reading
  • Two of Angie Brashear's books that I'm reading and reviewing
  • a clipboard with notes and paper and also my exercise record chart
  • a small coloring book
  • a cute little pen knife
  • an eraser
  • half a dozen colorful stones 
  • my cell phone
  • a lollipop wrapper

I took it to the beach last week and my mom's friend made the observation that it was as heavy as hers, which was twice as big - mine is full of books. Hers was not. Books make things heavier. 


Also, I have a new filing cabinet! So now I can actually file things neatly and properly and be able to get at them when I need them and not have to worry about my cat sleeping on them and leaving cat hair all over them (she's shedding) or my rabbit eating them.

At a family event last week my uncle asked how the book was doing, and the universe and my brain were aligned properly so that I was able to glance in the faded blue and white tote bag slung over my shoulder, look at him, grin, and announce that it was behaving itself.

This was quite a masterpiece because although I can be very entertaining, it works best in the written word instead of spoken, because I entertain myself so much that I can almost never deliver it properly. I start laughing in the middle and sometimes I can't even finish saying it. So I was really pleased with myself for being able to deliver that line without busting up laughing and ruining it.


Oh yeah, and on Thursday (while I had a head cold, no less) I figured out how to set it up so you can subscribe by email and some other formatting stuff. I have been trying got figure that out off and on for the past six months. Obviously I need to do technical work, when I'm sick.


Copyright 2016 by Annie Louise Twitchell

Monday, August 15, 2016

Dream Baby




Okay. This is me, warning you all, that this might make you cry. I'm sorry. I cried while writing it, on the interstate on the way to Bangor. I was wearing sunglasses so I don't think I disturbed anyone. But still. I've warned you. You might cry.

*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*

Still here? Okay. 


Dream Baby
Annie Louise Twitchell

I'm sorry I can't stay, Mommy.


But this was my choice.

You needed me for this short time
and I am glad to be your baby.

And I know you want me forever,


but I can't stay any longer.

I have to go back to Abba Father.
But you don't have to be too sad

for me because He said

I could play at His feet

until you come see me again.
And I'll be okay, Mommy,

I promise,


and you'll be okay too, one day.

I love you, Mommy, so very very much.
I
love
you



Bye bye, Mommy, for a while...



Copyright 2016 by Annie Louise Twitchell

Monday, August 8, 2016

Diving





Diving
Annie Louise Twitchell

breath

plunge

cutting through the water
my hands like a knife blade
forcing a path through
soaking
wet
cold
biting

silent

down
down
down

breathless

up

kicking, kicking,
breaking the surface again
roaring
rushing
water swirling
air
fresh
hair wet, pushed out of my face
sucking in a breath
climbing up
onto the raft

breath

plunge


again.



Copyright 2016 by Annie Louise Twitchell
Image: Annie Louise Twitchell - Kezar Lake in Lovell Maine on the eve of a thunderstorm.

Tuesday, August 2, 2016

Pain



Pain
Annie Louise Twitchell

The dark shadow
of night falls
in a sudden rush
over my cottage.
Bright color and welcome song
cannot hold back the night.

Tonight the dark is
dangerous,
threatens to bury me
under the black expanse of the sky.
In the night I sit alone,
wishing for a whisper of comfort.

Would it not be better
to let the night run its course?
To let the new day shine clear?
Maybe it is best this way,
though I long for the dark
to be lifted, taken from me.

Then, in the rays of the new sun,
I see him coming towards me.
My friend,
come to spend the day with me,
to make our lonely nights
fade into pale memories.

I run to him, I will not
leave his side, the whole day long.
We delight in being alive, not alone -
it is being alone
that makes the night so dark,

makes it hurt so much.


This is one of my first poems that I was really happy with. I took a poetry class and the teacher asked us to write a metaphor. I chose pain, probably because I had a headache that day and was feeling pretty blue and depressed. I was happy with this because it evoked the emotions in myself that I was hoping to evoke in others. I have always felt frustrated at my inability to vocalize emotions - I start to explain why I feel sad and approximately 4.9 seconds into the explanation, I am a soggy puddle of tears. I wanted my poem to be able to talk because I can't. Whether it worked on this one or not, I don't know. It has worked on others that I've done since.

Copyright 2016 by Annie Louise Twitchell