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books, movies, music, & more!

The Wonderful World of Harry Potter

Harry Potter is a huge part of my childhood.

Growing up, my dad started reading the books to me when I was quite little. When the first book was published, I was around six or seven years old. By the time the book series ended, I was still listening to Dad read Harry Potter to me, even though I could’ve read them on my own.

I also listened to Harry Potter voraciously on my own, using the Jim Dale audiobooks to listen to them on my own. I would often draw scenes from the books, or in later years, be knitting.

I had the first five books on cassette tape, and the last two on CD. #throwbacktohe90s. Now, I’ll be listening to those same books on Audible.

As an adult, I want to return to the world of Harry Potter. The magic, the mystery, and the adventure (as well as the Quidditch) keeps me wanting to return. I remember being obsessed with wizarding world, and still am, Muggle that I am.

I miss re-reading the series, and will soon be returning to Platform 9 and 3/4.

I solemnly swear that I’m up to no good,

Meghan

Categories
#poetry

Straight-Laced

Your textile mill
& your straight-laced columns of mathematics
kept me in line—
but when I sent kiss-o-grams
to the cute boy in cubicle three,
you crippled me with laughter,
a bruised knee,
& sideways shoves into the lockers.

When I held his hand for the first time,
—fly-me-to-Jupiter, over-the-moon happy—
you said I was gross
& plenty of other terrible things, too.

I still work at the mill,
& keep my records straight,
tight as a wound ball of yarn,
tidy as my pencils, neatly ordered in lines—
but he’s the only one I tango with at night.

M.B.B.
2/17/15
(edited 6/4/20)

Categories
#poetry

goldfinch

I hop from branch to branch,
peeping & tweeting,
as I collect small sticks for my nest

I’m a goldfinch,
yellow & black,
tiny feet gripping the branches as I flit to & fro,
munching on sunflower, alder, & birch seeds

M.B.B.
2/20/14
(fixed 1/29/16)
(edited 5/28/2020)

Categories
#poetry

The Science Guy

Bill Nye was amazing. His lecture was funny, poignant, hopeful, personal, and highly informative. The gym in the RFC (our workout center at Morris) was packed with students of all ages. (A mom with her husband and their elementary school aged daughter and son sat in front of me. The girl thought that Bill Nye looked like he was “seventy.” A Google search revealed that he’s actually fifty-eight.)

There was a beautiful roar when he finally took the stage. Phones lit up the dramatic dimming of the lights. I sat in the bleachers next to Rory & Leon with blue hair. We were three of 1,700 people.

Bill Nye said that he doesn’t want to be around scientists who don’t appreciate poetry, or poets who don’t appreciate science. There were made up words for the different shades of shadows, some starting with X. His dad helped create the sundial while in a Japanese POW camp, with a shovel rammed into the stiff earth. Venus is so hot that the rain there never reaches the surface: it gets sucked back up in the thunderheads overhead. If there is life on Europa, we’ll know by flying through the geysers and counting the enumerable bugs on the windshield.

We can, dare I say it, help change the world! Laser bees are going to chop up oncoming asteroids.

And people say that science is boring.

M.B.B.
10/23/14
edited 5/26/2020

Categories
#poetry

resting place

In my life, I’m busy:
Homework keeps me on my toes,
friends invite me to socialize & social events,
& the real world awaits.

But the mountains are calling, John Muir says,
& I must go,
the Misty Mountains are calling,
& dwarves are in my Hobbit hole.

The mountains, Misty or not, stand stock still,
as unshakeable as soldiers.
The streams gurgle,
the breeze whispers,
& the snow crunches like carrots underfoot.

There are so many things I must do:
I must prepare for my driver’s test,
& write a 400-word essay by tomorrow.
Showering isn’t a luxury: it will only take ten minutes.
My best friend is leaving for Washington, D.C.

The Sun does not hurry,
for it’s hot as hell below,
nor does it rise late upon Mount Sopris,
nor does the grass wither.
Remember, grass doesn’t grow like green piece of paper on trees.
Remember, life’s like a jump rope.

M.B.B.
2/12/15
edited 5/24/2020

Note: italicized pieces are from the works of Blue October, Les Miserables (the play), & a quote from John Muir is also included.

Categories
#poetry

The Journey

There’s a tall glass of water on the counter,
& a tiny door in front of you.

It’s like Alice’s passage into Wonderland,
an oaken door to adventure,
to green parks & freshly painted houses all in rows

You’re about to embrace an adventure,
a road where no one has traveled,
where your bare feet will be the first prints in the dirt.

But first you must decide:

Is the glass half empty or half full?

Your answer will determine
how green the grass looks,
how bright the colors of the red, gold, & orange leaves will look,
how the children will laugh & shriek with delight, chasing blue rubber balls
& how clean the parks will be
once you open the neatly oiled wooden door,
stepping inside.

M.B.B.
5/5/15
edited 5/24/2020

Categories
#poetry

an ocean

Your blue-green waves
tug me from the soft sand & beckon me into your lapping waters,
where I splash you
with my goose-pimpled skin,
warmed by the sudden blaze of Volcanus’ heat from your undertow.

M.B.B.
5/28/15
edited 5/23/2020

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books, movies, music, & more!

Crossover (Cassandra Kresnov # 1)

In a futuristic setting, Cassandra Kresnov must stake her claim on her autonomy and rights as an android, an artificial person, while struggling to live life as a civilian. Created by the League for wartime purposes against the conservative Federation, someone who is like the Daft Punk song: Harder, better, faster, stronger. She’s also more dangerous and more intelligent than ordinary humans. Having fled the League, she tries to find a new life among the Federation, her previous enemy.

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New Blue!

Blue October has released a new single called “This is What I Live For,” off of their upcoming tenth album of the same name. With a slower tempo, intimate lyrics, and strong beats, “This is What I Live For” is a solid single.

Categories
#poetry

Dear Jude

I miss your cleaning. I miss hearing you trot out arpeggios in the middle of the night on the piano, when you can’t seem to grasp reality. I miss your cooking. I miss the sound of your voice, even when you’re angry. I miss the looks you shared with Willem; I miss you looking at the rising sun at the office. I miss your smile, hidden behind your hand. I love the sound of you singing in German. You’re one of the smartest men I know. May I give you a hug? Would you want to go for tea sometime? I miss the sparkle in your green eyes. I love how ruthless you are in court, how you glue everyone’s eyes on you. Don’t let the old bastards get you down. I love the way your hands move across the keys of a piano, how they finely chop onions or carrots. You’re the most sensitive person I know. Don’t worry, JB was right: It will get better.

Thank you for your life.

I miss you so much.

Love,

M

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books, movies, music, & more!

Pansies

Alfie Bell has a lot going for him: he’s making good money, he’s got his own place, and he’s looking for love.

When he accidentally comes out as gay at his mate’s wedding, his world is turned upside-down. Shocked at his reveal, Alfie leaves the wedding in a rush, leaving the place of reception as quickly as possible. In a pub, he meets a handsome man around his age, and sleeps with him.

To his horror, Alfie learns that the guy he just slept with is his old classmate, James O’Donaghue. He used to torment James for being different, without realizing that he himself was just as different from everyone else, just like James–who now goes by his real name Fen, short for Fenimore.

Categories
#poetry

Threads

So, this is what it’s like to truly miss you:
wanting nothing more than to wrap you in my arms
like I would wrap a present with a nice, tight red bow.

Your smooth, supple legs twining around mine,
our clothes lost from top to bottom—
the threads unraveling with each kiss
& each brush of each touch
renewing my faith in you.

You’re better than any demi-god,
because you’re a fully-fledged human:
flawed like my first clayey spin at the potter’s wheel,
fabled like the Geat Beowulf,
witty as Chaucer in his pilgrimage to Canterbury,
sharp in a black vest and red bowtie,
smart like Tesla,
strong as a beaker,
& sexy as ‘80s synth.

I can’t believe you’re actually mine:
clear, mountain stream blue eyes,
full rose-pink lips,
long, nimble fingers
that unbutton jeans as easily as laying the strokes of lines of code,
powerful thighs which wrap around my torso,
your beautiful cock to greet me
in the morning,
& wet my appetite
well after midnight,
& your warm, sweaty body to hold in my shining arms
once we’ve finished mussing the bedsheets.

M.B.B.
8/3/16
(edited 5/21/2020)

Note: This can be seen as a non-personal poem, for it is a fantasy in the speaker’s mind. The image used is from shutterstock.com

Categories
#poetry

It’s the little things

It’s the little things that set you apart from others:
your shining blue eyes,
the way you brush your teeth,
the way you comb your hair,
and the way in which you walk with your calve muscles
it’s the steady thumping of your fingers on your keyboard,
your sharp laughter at something funny,
and your long hugs
which warm me like a blanket

M.B.B.
1/16/16
edited 5/20/2020

Categories
#poetry

How to Love Someone Two Hours Away: a Time Capsule

  1. It’s harder than concrete,
    & sparser than the desert flowers
  2. Meeting up, everything’s rushed:
    time floats like the loon they say;
    driving the kids around in the golf cart,
    pushing little Ezra to “go higher!” on the swing set,
    watching The Lego Movie on your grandma’s bed
  3. Kissing you is sweeter
    than salt water taffy;
    our tongues crackling electricity in our mouths,
    snapping like Pop Rocks
  4. I miss squeezing our bodies
    closetogether in a fierce hug;
    I miss riffling through your shoulder-length brown hair;
    I ache for the sound of your voice
    in my sadness,
    in my inability to wrench myself from the suction of bedsheets
  5. Now, during Covid-19:
    Your laughter over funny YouTube videos
    brings a trembling smile to my lips,
    I ask how you’re doing
    & feel gushing spring water relief when you say, “Okay.”
  6. At night,
    I hope I dream up adventures for us:
    picnics, snuggling on your sectional couch,
    eating burgers & shakes at Freddy’s,
    holding hands as we walk down the bike path,
    the trees budding pink and green shoots anew

M.B.B.
7/8/16
(edited 3/17/20)
(edited again 5/16/20)

Categories
#personal

Happy Mother’s Day!

Dear Mom,

You are one of the most amazing people I know. You’re one of the kindest, sweetest, most sensitive person I know.

I am still moved by your dedication to wanting to have children, and how you used your worry dolls to wish for a child in your life. I love how much you and Dad wanted to be parents, and how you still cherish the time you spend with us as your adult children.

I love how you find humor and joy in your daily life. I love your passion for watching the news. (I find it adorable how you have favorite news anchors!) I love how you love our two Golden Retrievers, Bentley and Charlie. I love your tangent moments while we have conversations. (I do it, too, so we’re even.)

Thank you for your support in my relationships, your daily love and your belief in my writing skills.

I love you high as the sky and deep as the ocean,

Meghan