Imaginings

Old Writing

things that were so outdated I actually removed them from a different outdated page.

Silenced Trumpets - written for school (middle), on the illegal ivory trade

Silenced Trumpets

Passing bare bones bleached white by sun,
We step slowly, grieving started.
Mourning life for decoration,
We regret the dear departed.

Existing in fright of poachers
Is not a happy life for us,
Stuck wishing for better summers
Instead of dusty plains and fuss.

We help these flat grasslands sustain
A variety of life forms,
Yet all our tusks do not remain
Attached to faces in death's storms.

The poachers kill both young and old,
Indiscriminately shooting,
Leave bodies lying still and cold
Without any tusk protruding.

Our ivory is coveted;
We are targeted for our teeth.
Our defiled bodies are widespread,
The numbers growing by the week.

We are tortured by painful destiny.
Where is the haven we hopelessly seek?
The crimson future is uncertainty,
Offering no sneak peek to those who pay.

Will we die and rot on the savanna
For uselessly intricate ornaments?
We wonder, "Is this persecution fair?"
As we trudge on in sadness and despair.

Through the minds of humans a strange beast claws,
To conquer all animals craving peace
For bloodstained trophies on blemished white walls.

A young calf, I was free, a misty gauze
Shielding me from the harsh realities
Of the minds of humans where strange beast claws.

Then the desperate poacher comes and calls
With bullets of frantic fear that won't cease
For bloodstained trophies on blemished white walls.

Leaving behind my dying mother's squalls,
We run to find shelter amidst tree leaves.
From the minds of humans where strange beast claws.

We returned once, months later, for a pause,
Her tusks taken, for conversation piece,
For bloodstained trophies on blemished white walls.

We leave now as the threat of death appalls
Living in fear of a life's shortened lease
As through the minds of humans strange beast claws
For bloodstained trophies on blemished white walls.

Old Notes

update text that used to be elsewhere.

January 1, 2021: Happy New Year. May it be far cleaner than 2020.
	
	June 24, 2020: <a href="http://www.poorlydrawnlines.com/comic/goat/">I am so tired. I am so tired all the time.</a> But also. I have been baking.
	
	December 17, 2019: Finished a round of finals, and it is winter break once again. This site continually feels like it needs cleaning up. Or never mind: I'll just blame any missteps on my younger self.
	
	June 26, 2019: High school: graduated. Knitting: begun. I've also been trying to finish the episodes of <em>A Series of Unfortunate Events</em> (for more than a year), and now I remember why I only ever liked rereading the last book.
	
  February 3, 2019: What, updating in 2019? "Crows" added to the short stories section.
  
  December 20, 2018: There is one day until winter break. Updating from a school computer feels weird but I am bored and have no work.
	
  January 1, 2018
  What I did for New Year's Eve / the New Year
  - accepted a quarter of a chocolate cake
  - ate baked bananas
  - watched fake pirates
  - ate fruitcake
  - ate with family
  - ate a lot of food
  but did not eat long noodles, which are symbolic of having a long life
  The important thing, though: I wish you all a happy New Year. Make it a good one.
  
  October 22, 2017
  The problem with updating a home page as a way to inform people of updates is that you have to decide which updates are notable and which are not. And if your updates are just a minor bit of text, or a background change, or a shift in your font size from 12 pixels to 12.5 pixels, then it's easy to pick and choose from the lineup. But then where does the cut stop? What if you edited a dated ten-year-old dinosaur webpage to reflect that pterodactyls aren't dinosaurs? Is that important? How many times can I fit "up" or "date" into this update without confusing myself? Why do I have more fun writing updates than writing a nice little poem that's up-to-date? Why is this site so meta? These are the questions that keep me up at night.
  So okay, this home page is a irregular blog/thought dump now, as well as an update bin. Because even if this is just whispering into the void, it might as well be (semi) quality whispering instead of updates on dates of dates.
  23.

poppy image from imaginings; background texture from Viahorizon on Subtle Patterns