Poetry Sunday: John Keats

To Autumn by John Keats
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Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

Poetry Sunday: Kathleen Jessie Raine

Change by Kathleen Jessie Raine
Said the sun to the moon, 
You cannot stay. 

Says the moon to the waters, 

All is flowing. 

Says the fields to the grass, 

Seed-time and harvest, 

Chaff and grain. 
You must change said, 

Said the worm to the bud, 

Though not to a rose, 
Petals fade 

That wings may rise 

Borne on the wind. 
You are changing 

said death to the maiden, your wan face 

To memory, to beauty. 
Are you ready to change? 

Says the thought to the heart, to let her pass 

All your life long 
For the unknown, the unborn 

In the alchemy 

Of the world’s dream? 
You will change, 

says the stars to the sun, 

Says the night to the stars.

Changing a Tire, California Style

Today was another adventure in learning how to be an adult. In today’s episode, we changed a tire!

In my hometown, there is a notoriously dangerous highway that you take to get to the beach, and I was driving it with my sister when


followed by a horrid rattling. Rather than being freaked out, I was more annoyed that we would not be getting to the beach on time. Pulling over into a turnout, I walked to the right rear tire and saw that it was completely, irrevocably flat. I threw everything from the trunk to the backseat and started pulling all the tools out from under the bed of the trunk.

My sister and I proceeded to flex our pit crew muscles, unscrewing lug-nuts, jacking up the car, and putting on the spare. A fairly easy task, besides the hilarious hiccups; me falling on my bum trying to loosen the tire or having to jump in the tire iron to get one of the lug-nuts off.

All in all, it took us about 20 minutes from pulling into the turnout to leaving, so not too shabby for two teenagers! Of course, as we were throwing everything into the trunk to leave, a tow truck pulls up asking if we were okay, and the look on his face when I said we already had the spare on was priceless. The only thing unpleasant about the experience was being honked at every couple of minutes. But, it feels great to know that I can cross one more thing off my ‘How to Be An Adult’ checklist! Plus, we did it all on our own, no help necessary. #strongwomen

Any funny stories about road trips?


I Am She That Drowns Thee

They cautioned me not to turn into her, the woman that occupies too much space. My body stands resolute in doorways, my shoulders fill their frames. My steps do not falter in walking, nor my voice in talking. I am she that does not comprehend the skill of disintegration, of falling to pieces like a vase thrown in the heat of a fight. The fragile pieces of broken china hold no resemblance to me, but their sharp edges that pierce like knives mimic the daggers slung from my eyes. This is a savage, a stag, an ocean transferable, and I am she who is competent enough to drown thee. I am capable of being your undoing, of making your life disappear into the periphery evermore. I will make you an aside in the stories of antiquity, a digression in pub conversation, and the target of quips wherever you may go. You told me to be subdued, and forgot about me as I faded into the darkness. The darkness welcomed me, chewed me up and spat me out as dark as the holes in the universe that swallow the stars. And now I swallow the galaxies around me, a violence that takes up more space than you could possibly imagine. I asked you why I could not be supernova instead of a spark, and all you did was snigger.

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Tell me a piece of your history you’re proud to call your own.

When all is said and done,

what will we have left behind?

Our generation, so mired in despair and pain,

indifferent to suffering, 

yet moved to change the world in radical ways.

They say we cannot understand the world,

they give us not the chance.

Why should we have to prove we are worthy

to inherit the mess they leave for us?

Stand we tall and proud

to claim the life long deserved

and create the world on our own terms.

Take back the power they’ve stripped us of,

take back the society so perverse.

Find a remedy for the affliction of history.



The fight for food
So different from the battle
Of a thousand years ago.
Instead of the fierce beasts of wilderness,
We clash with lines that wrap around and around.
Muttered orders and irritable sighs weigh heavily
In the air between the hungry patrons.
Feet stomp the dirt and snow in tracks
Easier to follow than the footpaths of old.
I order at the counter and wait my turn,
A system so different from the world before.
How did we end up here?