Why I’m Single

because I fall in love with the way other people fall in love

and somehow

that’s more than good enough for me

Posted in Idle Thoughts, Poetry | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

After Sparring

The first forty minutes after tucking my sticks away

Are uncomfortable. 

A sore spot on my left hand,

Calluses on the inside of my right.

My right arm, my ‘sword arm’,

Buzzing with an ache

Akin to the one in my legs 

And every nerve in my body

Still sparking lightning

The first forty minutes after a cool drink

And wiping sweat

Are uncomfortable,

But I’ve been doing this for so long

That nothing feels more right

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

16 Things Sabine has Always Wanted to Be (But Tragically Is Not) (Yet)

1. Jedi.

2. Cat.

3. Quiet.

4. Wise.

5. Wizard.

6. Graceful.

7. One of the Free Peoples of Middle-Earth (haven’t decided between Hobbit, Elf or Rider of Rohan)

8. Pirate

9. A person who can whistle

10. X-Man

11. Well-traveled

12. Approachable 

13. Good at dancing

14. Keira Knightley 

15. Astronaut

16. Famous

Posted in Life, Lists | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Some Days

Sometimes I’m 

Brightly-colored tank tops, comfy shorts

Faded blue jeans

Pastel leggings

And sometimes I’m 

Crisp formal blouses,

Knee-length skirts

Mary Janes,

Cardigans

Some days I’m even 

Long elegant ball gowns 

From another time

Slashed sleeves or

Long drooping ones

Skirts ballooning over a hoop or

Falling in dramatic cascades

Laced up tight in front

Some nights,

I’m the little black dress

Dark mysterious lace

High narrow heels

Evening gloves,

And pearls

Sometimes I’m 

A big comfy sweater

In all manner of

Unsightly colors

And pizza cheese 

Down the front

Sometimes I’m even a

Well-tailored 

Three-piece

Suit and

Sleek black tie

Some days are the

Long-sleeved,

Worn-out jeans days

The high-heeled boots days,

The scarf days

And other days are the

Long cloak and

Chain-mail armor days,

The leather vest and

Wizard’s staff days

Sometimes I’m 

Crop-tops

Loud colors

Big words all over fabric

Bling

Bling

Bling

Sometimes I’m the jacket

You lend to a friend

Posted in Life, Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Bass Notes

when you’re hearing music through the other side of a wall the first thing you notice are the bass notes and that makes me wish the first thing I hear when I see a person is their heartbeat thumping through the other side of their skin, the vulnerable part that I don’t see 

Posted in Idle Thoughts, Poetry | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

The Butterflies

Once a year they are born,

The generation that lives longer than their progenitors,

Granted more weeks of life and light

Than their parents could ever dream of

And returning to a place 

That they have never known, 

And yet they call it home

Perhaps they’ve been bred

On whispers and stories of a promised land,

The place where they will find love and warmth,

Lifted forward by the hopes 

Of the ones that came before,

To ensure that the great trees

Will never not be covered, root to crown,

With their dazzling black and orange jack o’ lantern kite-wings

And the sunlight is their guide,

Leading them on to the kingdom

That belongs to them and theirs

As long as the earth will turn

Every fourth generation of monarch butterflies born lives for up to eight months, twice as long as their parents or grandparents. This allows this generation to migrate anually to and from Mexico, the United States and Canada to breed. There are many theories as to how this generation is always able to find their way to these specific places. Monarch butterfly migrations are one of the most fascinating migrations on earth, and I was inspired to write this poem after learning about them on the show The Art of Movement. 

Posted in Life, Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Be Proud of Your Body

That’s what people say. 

No matter how you look, or what size you are

And I am,

I am proud of my body

Not because of what it looks like,

But because of what it does.

Walk, run, fight, dance

And do more things

Than anyone who’s ever looked at me up and down

And seen just that, a body

Can ever imagine.

Sometimes not gracefully, or even perfectly

But only in the way

That I, in this body,

Can.

I’m proud of my body

And I’m not who I am because of it

In fact,

It’s the way it is

Because of who I am



Posted in Photography, Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , | 1 Comment