Some random things I found in my Moleskin journal from years ago

What the title says, a couple poems (cringe) and the start of some short stories I had begun for practice:

Poetry (Prepare yourself)

I could write a poem about the ocean

but it might not be too deep

Shallow, probably

barely skimming the surface

I could write about the sun

But I’m surely not that bright

Rather dim, actually

I just can’t take the heat when it comes to those kinds of things

Owl/Hemlock

When an owl hoots in a hemlock tree/do you only think of me?

When a wave is tossed in a stormy sea/do you only think of me?

Lost in a frost lock of shore, headed away forevermore, in a briny way to fall to the depths of yesteryear clocked ahead of the brewing fight among the gods of best and delight, show what could be the end of past and present.

(Author’s note: ????????)

Short Story Beginnings

Probably will never finish these, but they were fun to practice:

Along the banks of a river in a far off land lived an old woman in a cottage she built with her own two hands. The roof was mud and pine needles. The walls were plied piled trunks of only the youngest, strongest trees.

The old woman had spent her days collecting water from the river’s rushing shores, food from the garden she grew on the side of her cottage. In the summer, the sun baked her home in glorious light, and she would pick the bountiful flowers to fragrant her home, and in the winter she would pile wood to light to keep her warm.

Many more years came and went, and as the years slid by the old woman became increasingly lonely. Though there was a village a long days walk down the narrow road, hardly anybody came to visit her. In fact, some mistrusted her, believing her to be a sorceress, a vessel for dark forces.

How rude.

But the old woman did not know this. Still, she was lonely, and wished for nothing more in the world than a companion, be it human or beast.

One day as she brought her jugs down to the river to fill them, the old woman spotted a woven reed basket caught in the current on the far side…

Second Story

There was once a man feared across the entire land. They say his shoulders were as broad as the largest mountain range, his teeth sharper than the most finely edged knives, his voice deeper than the growl within a dragon’s throat.

He was fierce, and he was feared, and because of this many kings and kingdoms called upon him to do many tasks for them. He cleared wibblesnorts from their nests, wrestled back the trepid waters of the mighty Veksped river, downed the most vicious of warlords. And as his feats grew so did his demand, and his demand was fierce and he was feared, for no man or woman wished to be around such a dangerous man.

Thus the man was alone, and this he was okay with. To him, the presence of others only brought more problems he did not need.

One day, the king of a distant land called the man to his kingdom. “I have a task I believe only you can perform,” the king said.

“Speak, and your bidding shall be done,” the man replied.

“I have an important package to be delivered to my brother’s kingdom. It is a treacherous journey across the lands of ice. Are you up to it?”

“Speak, and your bidding shall be done,” the man repeated, and the halls shook with his powerful voice. The king trembled and quickly paid the man half his promised payment and the man took the package and left. At once he started East, toward the King’s destined delivery. Toward the icelands…