Starting Time: 3:56 pm
Name: Gabrielle
Sisters: Natalie, Ne-Ce, Kay, Lizzy, DD, Jazzy
Brothers: Zeke, Wes, Stevie, Darius
What are you wearing? Green shorts, black shirt with MUSTANG on it
Favorite Number: 15
Favorite Drink: Root beer soda
Favorite Month: August
Favorite Breakfast: marshmallow treasures cereal
Love someone so much who made you cry? No
Broken a bone: no
Been in a police car: yes
Been on a boat? no
Came close to dying: yes; almost drowned
Been in a hot tub: Yep
Swam in the ocean: a bunch when I was little
Fallen asleep in school: yes!
Cried when someone died: Yes
Fallen off your chair: All the time!
--------------------------Who------------------------------
Who did you last yell at? My brother
Do you like filling these out? yes
Do you like yourself? God made me just the way I am so yes!
----------------------------Today did you------------------
Talk to someone you like? yes
Get sick? No
Sing? yes
Miss someone? no
--------------------------Last person who------------------
You talked to on the phone with? Mom
Made you cry? Don’t remember
Went to the mall with? Big sisters
Been to Europe? No
Been to Asia? No
Been to Russia? No
Been to the Bahamas? No
Been to Mexico? No
Been to Canada? No
Been to Africa? No.
-------------------Final Questions---------------------------
What are you listening to right now? Keys to the Kingdom by Group 1 Crew
Do you hate someone in your family? No
What car do you wish to have? Jeep Wrangler
Good singer? I like to sing and that’s all I’m saying
Indoors or outdoors? 50-50
Do you have a job? I volunteer at the zoo
Are you lonely right now? Nope
Time Finished: 4:00 pm
I tag: Esther Lowery, Tinydancer, and April
----
Who is your favorite artist? My sister Ne-Ce
Who is your favorite classical composer? Beethoven
Who is your favorite singer? I d’know – maybe Misty from my church.
Do you like to write? Yes
What genre? Horses mostly
What is your favorite picture book? Does Fox In Socks count? It’s sort of a picture book.
Favorite book? Maximum Ride books (there’s no picking just one)
Favorite painting? A picture of wild horses I saw on the internet one time
Do you compose music? No
Do you write songs? Last year I did
Do you like poetry? Most of the time
Do you write poetry? All the time
Favorite poet? All my favorite poems have “-unknown” at the end
I tag: Read A Review, J.R Parker, Earwen
Monday, June 29, 2009
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Reading
The library is one of my favorite places ever. Correct me if I’m wrong, but at least down here in TN it seems like every book I pick up is fantasy. I have absolutely nothing against fantasy – Companions Quartet is one of my favorite series – but when you’ve read nothing but fantasy for months and months. Well, let’s just say I’m desperate enough for reality to read nonfiction like I usually read fiction.
I just reread a non-fantasy fiction book from the series Mark of The Lion. Those are really good books. I borrowed it from a friend – which, actually, I should probably ask Mom if we can go up to their house so I can take the book back. I’ve had it for months. I’m pretty sure I got it last year.
Anyway, next I’m going to read Piercing the Darkness and This Present Darkness. They’re by Frank Peretti and really awesome. He wrote them ages ago, I think before I was even born. If you’ve never read them, you really should. They’re about spiritual warfare. This Present Darkness is the first one, so read that one first. Personally I like Piercing the Darkness better.
P.S In all honesty, I could have those books entirely backward but the one about Ashton is the first one.
I just reread a non-fantasy fiction book from the series Mark of The Lion. Those are really good books. I borrowed it from a friend – which, actually, I should probably ask Mom if we can go up to their house so I can take the book back. I’ve had it for months. I’m pretty sure I got it last year.
Anyway, next I’m going to read Piercing the Darkness and This Present Darkness. They’re by Frank Peretti and really awesome. He wrote them ages ago, I think before I was even born. If you’ve never read them, you really should. They’re about spiritual warfare. This Present Darkness is the first one, so read that one first. Personally I like Piercing the Darkness better.
P.S In all honesty, I could have those books entirely backward but the one about Ashton is the first one.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Background Instructions, Please
May somebody please give me down-to-the-last-detail instructions on how to put a new background on my blog?
The Lion King
Yesterday I watched The Lion King. Of course, I got all teary eyed because I always do. The Lion King will always make me bawl like a baby, honestly. Simba was such a sturdy, spunky little lion before Mufasa died. And he spent years thinking Mufasa’s death was all his fault.
What’s even sadder is that I still like Scar. He has a sort of roguish charm, even if he is conniving and heartless. And his song, ‘Be Prepared’ – I love it. He had a rather harsh end, although I guess he had it coming.
I wonder if Simba felt guilty for dumping his responsibilities when Nala tried to get him to come back. And when he saw his father in his reflection – I can’t help thinking about how we’re supposed to have others see Jesus in us. I wish I could look at my reflection and see Jesus there as easily as Simba could see his father.
I wonder what it’s like when we ‘go home’ to heaven. I wonder if there’re trees and stuff, the kind of trees we’re used to. And I wonder what eternity is like.
But beyond my endless wonderings, I know that no matter how perfect “hakuna matata” looks, “pride rock” is the place to be.
P.S Nevertheless, BE PREPARED is a great song.
What’s even sadder is that I still like Scar. He has a sort of roguish charm, even if he is conniving and heartless. And his song, ‘Be Prepared’ – I love it. He had a rather harsh end, although I guess he had it coming.
I wonder if Simba felt guilty for dumping his responsibilities when Nala tried to get him to come back. And when he saw his father in his reflection – I can’t help thinking about how we’re supposed to have others see Jesus in us. I wish I could look at my reflection and see Jesus there as easily as Simba could see his father.
I wonder what it’s like when we ‘go home’ to heaven. I wonder if there’re trees and stuff, the kind of trees we’re used to. And I wonder what eternity is like.
But beyond my endless wonderings, I know that no matter how perfect “hakuna matata” looks, “pride rock” is the place to be.
P.S Nevertheless, BE PREPARED is a great song.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Total Randomness
I am soooo bored. I read all my books. I finished the summer reading program. I cleaned my room a thousand times. My computer at the house is so slow I can’t stand using it. I’ve been watching way too many movies lately so I am on a movie fast. I think I’ve listened to every song I own about a bajillion times. So that leaves me with these options.
1) Edit my book
2) Practice piano
3) Read books
4) Write some more
5) Haven’t figured it out yet
Speaking of the summer reading program, I got a jump drive for reading ten hours. Getting stuff for reading is as close to getting something for nothing as you can get. And that reminds me. Mom is wiping her hard drive so I have to take all my stuff off her computer and put it on a disk. I remember she wiped my computer two years ago but I didn’t take all my stuff off in time and there went three years of writing. I was pretty upset at the time but since I couldn’t even remember what she’d wiped, I decided it couldn’t be that important. I doubled what I’d already had in a few months anyway. And it’s probably better this way. Some of the stuff I used to write makes me cringe it was so awful. And talk about grammatical mistakes… Mom is a teacher and it’s a good thing she never read any of that stuff. She’d run out of red pens.
1) Edit my book
2) Practice piano
3) Read books
4) Write some more
5) Haven’t figured it out yet
Speaking of the summer reading program, I got a jump drive for reading ten hours. Getting stuff for reading is as close to getting something for nothing as you can get. And that reminds me. Mom is wiping her hard drive so I have to take all my stuff off her computer and put it on a disk. I remember she wiped my computer two years ago but I didn’t take all my stuff off in time and there went three years of writing. I was pretty upset at the time but since I couldn’t even remember what she’d wiped, I decided it couldn’t be that important. I doubled what I’d already had in a few months anyway. And it’s probably better this way. Some of the stuff I used to write makes me cringe it was so awful. And talk about grammatical mistakes… Mom is a teacher and it’s a good thing she never read any of that stuff. She’d run out of red pens.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
My Query Letter
It starts. The absolutely terrifying experience of querying agents. Everything has to be perfect. No place for second chances here. I am surrounded by books telling you (hopefully) everything you need to know to make a spectacular query letter. Naturally it all boils down to me and my writing talent. That would be the absolutely terrifying part. What if I’m really an awful writer? I don’t think I am. But then again, trying to judge yourself is like trying to bite your own teeth. Not happening.
Right now I’m reading “Your Novel Proposal; From Creation to Contract.” It’s interesting for a nonfiction book. And once I’ve read that and the scores of other books sitting in a pile on my bedroom floor, hopefully I’ll be ready to write my letter.
Honestly, I'm scared stiff at the prospect and am trying to think no further than to finish reading the how-to books. Prayers would be appreciated. When I get nervous I'm useless.
Right now I’m reading “Your Novel Proposal; From Creation to Contract.” It’s interesting for a nonfiction book. And once I’ve read that and the scores of other books sitting in a pile on my bedroom floor, hopefully I’ll be ready to write my letter.
Honestly, I'm scared stiff at the prospect and am trying to think no further than to finish reading the how-to books. Prayers would be appreciated. When I get nervous I'm useless.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
More Sacred Promise
Here is another scene from Sacred Promise. As a heads up, CAD is chronic amnesia disorder. As far as I know the disorder is a figment of my imagination. What it means is that if Angel hits her head, she gets amnesia. She doesn’t even have to hit her head that hard. Also, Shelly is Angel’s Dad’s work partner. Kevin is a boy she’s known since she was a baby. Sasha is her best friend – Majjannan is a song.
*
I put on some socks and a sweater and was reaching for the doorknob when a scream split the air.
A tingle shot up my spine and I stood there, frozen.
Then, it came again.
It was high-pitched and haunting; resonating in my ears long after the original sound had died away.
“Angel?” Dad called.
Still, I didn’t move. I closed my eyes, listening, and the final scream made me shudder. Triste.
I took the stairs down three at a time. Dad and Shelly were standing at the bottom.
“It’s Triste,” I said. Before they could ask how I knew I’d darted past them to the front door. I think Dad might have told me not to open it but by then it was already open. The second I stepped outside I was soaked to the skin. Dad came out behind me and I could hear Shelly shuffling after us.
“How do you know?” Dad said, shouting to be heard over the rain.
I’d heard horses scream before. I’d heard almost every sound horses made. “I’ve heard it before,” I whispered. He must have heard me because he said nothing.
The air was charged with energy. Lightening split the sky in half and suddenly I wasn’t looking at the Noir Cheval. I saw two stallions, Madeira was one, fighting. The other stallion was small and there was blood on his coat. Madeira was fighting him into a corner of the paddock, his hooves pounding furiously against the smaller horse. The horse was screaming, trying to get away.
Triste screamed again and the picture was gone.
“He’s in trouble,” I said numbly.
“What?” Dad and Shelly, together.
“He’s hurt,” I said again.
At that moment I forgot everything. I forgot he’d hurt my mom, I forgot he’d hurt me. I forgot he’d hurt Sasha.
I tore off the porch and ran towards the woods.
“Angel! Get back here!”
Two steps off the porch and all sound was lost to the rain. Dad probably tried to follow me. Being my dad, that’s what he’d do. But it was too dark and too wet, and in seconds I was under the trees, running.
Once, I’d experienced blind terror. I was only a year old but I remembered it very vividly. Mom, Grandma, and Granddad had gone to the stables to help the foaling mares – three in one night.
They thought I was sleeping but only a few minutes after they left I woke up. The house was dark and it was storming. I’d gone down the stairs, crying, and out the front door. And then I was in the storm. I thought I was going to die. I stood there, screaming at the top of my lungs, until Mom came and got me.
That was what it was like now.
Only the terror wasn’t mine, it was Triste’s. I could feel it as easily as I could feel the rain soaking through my clothes. He was experiencing the same terror I’d felt that night.
The rain was so heavy I could barely see through it. In Écouter there were no raindrops, there were rain sheets. If you tipped your head back and opened your mouth you’d probably drown yourself.
I was already so wet it was several minutes before I realized dark, murky water was swirling around my ankles.
Out of nowhere a tree branch seemed to materialize. I was still running and before I could stop myself, my forehead slammed into the branch.
When I opened my eyes I was on my side.
Now I was wet and my forehead was burning like crazy. I eased myself up and my head swam. The rain-distorted setting now looked like mountains.
What was I doing out in a storm? Where was I? I tried to see through the rain. I’d hit my head. It must be my CAD. I couldn’t remember a thing.
Triste screamed.
Triste. I was supposed to be doing something about him. I tried to clear my thoughts but I was so confused.
Now I could hear another sound: shouts.
I struggled to my feet. Where was he? And what was I supposed to do when I found him? If I even could?
The sound had been so close. I could barely think straight.
And then I saw white.
The rain seemed to abate and I saw everything as clearly as if it were one of Dad’s photographs.
Triste was thrashing wildly, his massive hooves flattening the vegetation around him. There were ropes around his neck, three, tangled in the briars. He was pulling against them with everything he had in him but he was drooping with exhaustion. His mane and tail were flattened against him with rain and there was a wild, terrified look in his eyes. They glowed, even in the dark.
I heard the shouts again and this time I recognized the voice. Kevin.
“Triste,” I whispered.
The stallion went still, as if he’d been struck by lightening.
“I’m going to help you.” I approached to his left, making sure he could clearly see me. He flattened his ears and bared his teeth.
“Don’t be scared…”
He went crazy. He flung himself around, nearly going over backwards. He bucked, twisted, reared. And then he went still, shuddering.
“Majjannan,” I said.
Triste’s ears came forward and some of the fear left his eyes.
“Do you remember the flying horse?” I held out my hand. Kevin was getting closer. I could hear him. I didn’t have much time.
“And Mom? Do you remember her? Majjannan?” I was next to him, his bulk blocking the rain.
He was huge. Twenty hands – I did some quick math. That was six feet, eight inches at the shoulder. There was no telling how tall he was altogether. And if he decided to go crazy again when I touched him, he’d probably kill me.
“Majjannan,” I said again. “Do you remember Majjannan?”
I put my hand on one of the ropes, now hanging limply. They were hopelessly entangled in the bushes and there was no way I could get them off his neck. As I slid my hands up the length of it, towards his neck, I had to smile. Kevin was smarter than he looked. There were safety catches on all of them. I snapped open the first one. Triste’s ears went flat but he didn’t move.
The second one snapped open and fell to the ground.
Triste pulled away, pulling the last rope taut. He was soaked, though not so much from rain as sweat.
“Kevin’s been chasing you for a long time, hasn’t he?” I tried to get the last one open but he was pulling the rope too tight.
“There he is!”
I could see a powerful flashlight beam cutting through the dark. “Please, Triste. Hold still.” I pulled on it. My fingers hurt.
“Who is that?”
Spotted.
Triste was tensing for another pull. I shoved all my weight against his shoulder. He shifted to his left and the catch popped open.
“Run, Triste!” I slapped his rump and the stallion took off running.
I did, too.
I heard Kevin yelling but he didn’t say my name, so I guessed he didn’t know it was me. I ran all the faster.
There was another scream.
It was empty of the terror and pain I had heard earlier. Its cadence was almost like music, spiraling skyward, resounding and resounding like waves on a beach. It was the most beautiful sound I’d heard in my life.
I liked to think Triste was saying thank you.
*
I put on some socks and a sweater and was reaching for the doorknob when a scream split the air.
A tingle shot up my spine and I stood there, frozen.
Then, it came again.
It was high-pitched and haunting; resonating in my ears long after the original sound had died away.
“Angel?” Dad called.
Still, I didn’t move. I closed my eyes, listening, and the final scream made me shudder. Triste.
I took the stairs down three at a time. Dad and Shelly were standing at the bottom.
“It’s Triste,” I said. Before they could ask how I knew I’d darted past them to the front door. I think Dad might have told me not to open it but by then it was already open. The second I stepped outside I was soaked to the skin. Dad came out behind me and I could hear Shelly shuffling after us.
“How do you know?” Dad said, shouting to be heard over the rain.
I’d heard horses scream before. I’d heard almost every sound horses made. “I’ve heard it before,” I whispered. He must have heard me because he said nothing.
The air was charged with energy. Lightening split the sky in half and suddenly I wasn’t looking at the Noir Cheval. I saw two stallions, Madeira was one, fighting. The other stallion was small and there was blood on his coat. Madeira was fighting him into a corner of the paddock, his hooves pounding furiously against the smaller horse. The horse was screaming, trying to get away.
Triste screamed again and the picture was gone.
“He’s in trouble,” I said numbly.
“What?” Dad and Shelly, together.
“He’s hurt,” I said again.
At that moment I forgot everything. I forgot he’d hurt my mom, I forgot he’d hurt me. I forgot he’d hurt Sasha.
I tore off the porch and ran towards the woods.
“Angel! Get back here!”
Two steps off the porch and all sound was lost to the rain. Dad probably tried to follow me. Being my dad, that’s what he’d do. But it was too dark and too wet, and in seconds I was under the trees, running.
Once, I’d experienced blind terror. I was only a year old but I remembered it very vividly. Mom, Grandma, and Granddad had gone to the stables to help the foaling mares – three in one night.
They thought I was sleeping but only a few minutes after they left I woke up. The house was dark and it was storming. I’d gone down the stairs, crying, and out the front door. And then I was in the storm. I thought I was going to die. I stood there, screaming at the top of my lungs, until Mom came and got me.
That was what it was like now.
Only the terror wasn’t mine, it was Triste’s. I could feel it as easily as I could feel the rain soaking through my clothes. He was experiencing the same terror I’d felt that night.
The rain was so heavy I could barely see through it. In Écouter there were no raindrops, there were rain sheets. If you tipped your head back and opened your mouth you’d probably drown yourself.
I was already so wet it was several minutes before I realized dark, murky water was swirling around my ankles.
Out of nowhere a tree branch seemed to materialize. I was still running and before I could stop myself, my forehead slammed into the branch.
When I opened my eyes I was on my side.
Now I was wet and my forehead was burning like crazy. I eased myself up and my head swam. The rain-distorted setting now looked like mountains.
What was I doing out in a storm? Where was I? I tried to see through the rain. I’d hit my head. It must be my CAD. I couldn’t remember a thing.
Triste screamed.
Triste. I was supposed to be doing something about him. I tried to clear my thoughts but I was so confused.
Now I could hear another sound: shouts.
I struggled to my feet. Where was he? And what was I supposed to do when I found him? If I even could?
The sound had been so close. I could barely think straight.
And then I saw white.
The rain seemed to abate and I saw everything as clearly as if it were one of Dad’s photographs.
Triste was thrashing wildly, his massive hooves flattening the vegetation around him. There were ropes around his neck, three, tangled in the briars. He was pulling against them with everything he had in him but he was drooping with exhaustion. His mane and tail were flattened against him with rain and there was a wild, terrified look in his eyes. They glowed, even in the dark.
I heard the shouts again and this time I recognized the voice. Kevin.
“Triste,” I whispered.
The stallion went still, as if he’d been struck by lightening.
“I’m going to help you.” I approached to his left, making sure he could clearly see me. He flattened his ears and bared his teeth.
“Don’t be scared…”
He went crazy. He flung himself around, nearly going over backwards. He bucked, twisted, reared. And then he went still, shuddering.
“Majjannan,” I said.
Triste’s ears came forward and some of the fear left his eyes.
“Do you remember the flying horse?” I held out my hand. Kevin was getting closer. I could hear him. I didn’t have much time.
“And Mom? Do you remember her? Majjannan?” I was next to him, his bulk blocking the rain.
He was huge. Twenty hands – I did some quick math. That was six feet, eight inches at the shoulder. There was no telling how tall he was altogether. And if he decided to go crazy again when I touched him, he’d probably kill me.
“Majjannan,” I said again. “Do you remember Majjannan?”
I put my hand on one of the ropes, now hanging limply. They were hopelessly entangled in the bushes and there was no way I could get them off his neck. As I slid my hands up the length of it, towards his neck, I had to smile. Kevin was smarter than he looked. There were safety catches on all of them. I snapped open the first one. Triste’s ears went flat but he didn’t move.
The second one snapped open and fell to the ground.
Triste pulled away, pulling the last rope taut. He was soaked, though not so much from rain as sweat.
“Kevin’s been chasing you for a long time, hasn’t he?” I tried to get the last one open but he was pulling the rope too tight.
“There he is!”
I could see a powerful flashlight beam cutting through the dark. “Please, Triste. Hold still.” I pulled on it. My fingers hurt.
“Who is that?”
Spotted.
Triste was tensing for another pull. I shoved all my weight against his shoulder. He shifted to his left and the catch popped open.
“Run, Triste!” I slapped his rump and the stallion took off running.
I did, too.
I heard Kevin yelling but he didn’t say my name, so I guessed he didn’t know it was me. I ran all the faster.
There was another scream.
It was empty of the terror and pain I had heard earlier. Its cadence was almost like music, spiraling skyward, resounding and resounding like waves on a beach. It was the most beautiful sound I’d heard in my life.
I liked to think Triste was saying thank you.
Ask, Seek, Knock
My siblings like to say I’m spoiled. I don’t blame them. Not that I really am. There’re eight of us and only two parents to go around.
So, first off, I love junk food. Sadly, if it’s bad for me I love it. Especially barbecue potato chips. And Dad loves them, too. He wouldn’t share a solitary crumb if you got down on your knees and begged. At least that’s what I used to think.
Everybody knows Matthew 7, right? Ask, seek, knock. Ask and it shall be given you; seek and you shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you. For everyone that asketh receiveth…or what man is there of you whom if his son (or daughter) ask bread (or a chip) will give him a stone?
While I was reading that, I was hungry – yes, I know, I’m verily easily distracted. So as soon as I finished the chapter I went to the kitchen and Dad was sitting in the living room, eating chips. I decided to try out the whole bread and stone thing. So I asked him for some chips. And he actually gave me some.
Now I know that the reason he never offered was so that we – me and my sibs – would learn to ask. No matter what the answer, we have to be comfortable with asking for anything. If we could do it with Dad, we could do it with God (if ye then being evil know how to give gifts unto your children, how much more shall your father which is in heaven give good things unto them that ask; Matt 7:11).
I’ll ask Dad for anything and if it’s something he can hand to me at that moment I generally get it. That’s probably why the sibs say I’m spoiled. They haven’t grasped that lesson yet.
Naturally I get my share of no’s. I always end up asking again though. As my personal favorite bible verse says: to everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven (Ecclesiastes 3:1).
So, first off, I love junk food. Sadly, if it’s bad for me I love it. Especially barbecue potato chips. And Dad loves them, too. He wouldn’t share a solitary crumb if you got down on your knees and begged. At least that’s what I used to think.
Everybody knows Matthew 7, right? Ask, seek, knock. Ask and it shall be given you; seek and you shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you. For everyone that asketh receiveth…or what man is there of you whom if his son (or daughter) ask bread (or a chip) will give him a stone?
While I was reading that, I was hungry – yes, I know, I’m verily easily distracted. So as soon as I finished the chapter I went to the kitchen and Dad was sitting in the living room, eating chips. I decided to try out the whole bread and stone thing. So I asked him for some chips. And he actually gave me some.
Now I know that the reason he never offered was so that we – me and my sibs – would learn to ask. No matter what the answer, we have to be comfortable with asking for anything. If we could do it with Dad, we could do it with God (if ye then being evil know how to give gifts unto your children, how much more shall your father which is in heaven give good things unto them that ask; Matt 7:11).
I’ll ask Dad for anything and if it’s something he can hand to me at that moment I generally get it. That’s probably why the sibs say I’m spoiled. They haven’t grasped that lesson yet.
Naturally I get my share of no’s. I always end up asking again though. As my personal favorite bible verse says: to everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven (Ecclesiastes 3:1).
Monday, June 1, 2009
Lord of The Rings?
Wow, I feel really left out. Just kidding. Anyhow (my favorite word, in case you didn’t know) on every blog I visit I see Lord of The Rings. I started reading Fellowship of the Ring but – sorry, LOTR lovers – it was sooo boring. Am I missing something? I’ve always been more of a book girl than a movie girl, although I think I’ll watch the movie. What’s up? Somebody please tell me what I’m missing.
Freedom Wars
Freedom Wars
In a whirlwind of silver magic
She left behind her friends and family
Anaya – she who is completely free
The beginning of freedom she would be
Menaces from dark mountain tops
Threatened the magic called Horse
The Wild Things told her the purpose
They set for her a lonely course.
Pure of heart and free of fear
The color of the December sun
To fight, to push, and persevere
Anaya, the strong, the free one
Consumed by green-eyed jealousy
Bellalyse, strong as an ocean wave
Part of her soul she gave away
The one she loved for to save
She watched the magic within
Anaya, growing stronger each day
She watched her beloved Zenith
From her, steadily pulling away
The hold that she once had on
the souls in her jealous care
Slipping, slowly away from her
She reached for things not there
Only part of her soul remained
Bellalyse was no longer free
Imprisoned by her need for power
And by her own jealousy
Endroit Dans la du Soleil calls
For the pure of heart, the strong
There is no place for the selfish
Who use their powers for wrong
Bellalyse longed for her beloved Zenith
Sacrifices, any, she’d make for him
Anaya’s life meant nothing to her
She’d destroy her on a whim
Anaya didn’t have the strength
To fight Bellalyse’s deathly hold
Before Anaya loomed the end of life
It was empty, dark, and cold
The Horse With The Silver Eyes
Zenith, sworn to protect his herd
Anaya’s cries of pain and fear
Were not to go unheard.
The Horses With The Silver Eyes,
Anaya, Zenith – beginning, end
They fought with the strength of a thousand
They moved with speed of wind
And in the fury of the battle
Was born a special, magic colt
On his face he bore a special mark
A stark-black lightning bolt
To finish the war and bring peace
To Endroit Dans la du Soleil
This magical colt was born
The color of a golden sun ray
Anaya whispered into his ear
His most prized possession, a name
It whispered of happiness, peace
Of green grass, of ruby rain
If you close your eyes tightly
The wind seems to whisper to you
His name, it says, oh so softly
Of his destiny, it holds a clue
Hold your breath and listen
Picture a flash of black and gold
His name – Troika – means ‘freedom wars;
The proud, the true, the bold’
That is the second part of the poem trilogy. I love the name Troika. It makes me think of a warrior. I just found the blog of Rachel Danielle which I am particularly excited about. She’s hoping to get a book contract this summer, same as me, which is cool.
A girl my mom met, her name is Victoria, says self-publishing is the only way to go now. She had her books printed by Morris Publishing. I’m looking into that, too, although I’d rather be picked up by a publisher. I’m trying to come up with ways to get my name out there. Anyhow, we’ll see what happens.
In a whirlwind of silver magic
She left behind her friends and family
Anaya – she who is completely free
The beginning of freedom she would be
Menaces from dark mountain tops
Threatened the magic called Horse
The Wild Things told her the purpose
They set for her a lonely course.
Pure of heart and free of fear
The color of the December sun
To fight, to push, and persevere
Anaya, the strong, the free one
Consumed by green-eyed jealousy
Bellalyse, strong as an ocean wave
Part of her soul she gave away
The one she loved for to save
She watched the magic within
Anaya, growing stronger each day
She watched her beloved Zenith
From her, steadily pulling away
The hold that she once had on
the souls in her jealous care
Slipping, slowly away from her
She reached for things not there
Only part of her soul remained
Bellalyse was no longer free
Imprisoned by her need for power
And by her own jealousy
Endroit Dans la du Soleil calls
For the pure of heart, the strong
There is no place for the selfish
Who use their powers for wrong
Bellalyse longed for her beloved Zenith
Sacrifices, any, she’d make for him
Anaya’s life meant nothing to her
She’d destroy her on a whim
Anaya didn’t have the strength
To fight Bellalyse’s deathly hold
Before Anaya loomed the end of life
It was empty, dark, and cold
The Horse With The Silver Eyes
Zenith, sworn to protect his herd
Anaya’s cries of pain and fear
Were not to go unheard.
The Horses With The Silver Eyes,
Anaya, Zenith – beginning, end
They fought with the strength of a thousand
They moved with speed of wind
And in the fury of the battle
Was born a special, magic colt
On his face he bore a special mark
A stark-black lightning bolt
To finish the war and bring peace
To Endroit Dans la du Soleil
This magical colt was born
The color of a golden sun ray
Anaya whispered into his ear
His most prized possession, a name
It whispered of happiness, peace
Of green grass, of ruby rain
If you close your eyes tightly
The wind seems to whisper to you
His name, it says, oh so softly
Of his destiny, it holds a clue
Hold your breath and listen
Picture a flash of black and gold
His name – Troika – means ‘freedom wars;
The proud, the true, the bold’
That is the second part of the poem trilogy. I love the name Troika. It makes me think of a warrior. I just found the blog of Rachel Danielle which I am particularly excited about. She’s hoping to get a book contract this summer, same as me, which is cool.
A girl my mom met, her name is Victoria, says self-publishing is the only way to go now. She had her books printed by Morris Publishing. I’m looking into that, too, although I’d rather be picked up by a publisher. I’m trying to come up with ways to get my name out there. Anyhow, we’ll see what happens.
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