Dear Heather Heyer,

Dear Heather Heyer,

You are dead.

No wait…

Hi, Heather how are you?

No, that’s stupid, she is dead…

I am sad.

True but, argh!

Dear Heather I wrote a string of tweets yesterday because I was too high off of caffeine to care about grammar and if you want you can check out the tweets they are all about you and how your death impacted me and how I wish you lived so follow me at @poet_rose wait you can’t what the fuck am I still typing for.

Why am I such a mess?

Breathe.

Okay, try again.

Dear Heather, I found out your had a dog. Specifically a chichaucha and you named it violet and I had a dream about meeting your dog and it being stupid cute with buggy eyes and we went on an adventure to find violet doggy hair dye so we can run around Puget Sound with a violet dog but then I woke up and you are still dead…

… no…. that’s not what I want to say at all!

Dear Heather, fuck you for dying on us. No one had to die. But you had to be there. Didn’t you have better things to do besides fighting American Nazis!?! You had a dog, dammit!

That was just insulting but okay… no. Not okay. Try again.

Dear Heather, on August 12, 2017 you died for my right to exist in America but you never knew me. You marched against racist in Charlottesville, VA. You are technically White by American standards but I am beginning to think that European American would be more apt because I want to keep your name away from any association with those fucking bigots!

Too political… try again.

Dear Heather D. Heyer, your dad and mom were on the news. I read that you had a paralegal job and you are only a few years older than me. Heard you were going to go to school. You would have made a kickass lawyer. We also had a lot in common. You cry during sad and traumatic news and you are passionate about equality and you hate bigots and did I mention you had a dog named Violet. Your favorite color is violet.

Pick a past tense or present tense verb.

Fuck you.

What?

FUCK YOU. THIS SHIT IS HARD.

Yes but you got to.

I KNOW BUT SHE IS DEAD IT HURTS AND SHE CAN NEVER COME BACK AND SHE DIED FOR MY RIGHT TO EXIST AND WHAT CAN A SUICIDAL 28 YEAR OLD BLACK PINOY ON THE WEST COAST DO. I WAS ASLEEP WHEN THE CAR PLOWED THROUGH HER BODY AND SHE PROBABLY HAD DREAMS AND FOUGHT WITH HER PARENTS AND GOT DOGGY KISSES AND HAD LOTS OF LOVED ONES AND THEY ARE NOW SUFFERING ALL FOR MY RIGHT TO EXIST AND THAT WEIGHT IS TOO DAMN HEAVY IT FEELS LIKE AN ALBATROSS IS TIED TO MY CHEST AND IT IS SO FUCKING HEAVY SO I COULDN’T GET UP WHEN THEY ANNOUNCED HER DEATH I COULDN’T SHOWER OR EAT OR TALK I WAS JUST BAWLING ON THE FLOOR YELLING AT PEOPLE ONLINE BECAUSE I NEEDED SOMEONE ELSE TO KNOW HOW MUCH THIS HURT AND NOW IT IS DAYS AFTER HER DEATH AND IT STILL HURTS AND I AM TRYING TO MAKE SENSE OF IT ALL BUT SHE IS DEAD AND WHAT AM I SUPPOSE TO DO?!?!

… Live.

What?!?

Live. Honor Heather and live and write and hell, maybe get a bet dog named Violet. But live. Don’t throw your existence away because some assholes don’t want you in your homeland. Live. Live so fiercely that it pisses them off.

But, she is dead…

Many died for your right to live before her. She is now with them. Do what you do best with your life now. Write from them. To them. With them. Write, live, and love.

…I’ll try.

Okay. Up for another draft.

Sure…

Dear Heather Heyer,

Advertisements
Snoqualmie Falls

Snoqualmie Falls

20160904_124006

Snowplow

On September 4, 2016, I went to see Snoqualmie Falls with a few friends. When we found a parking spot, which was its own adventure, we noticed this large snowplow.

20160904_124110

THE SNOWPLOW

Rusted and broken down, it stood as a testament to the ingenuity of man. This snowplow helped to clear of snow the tracks for lumber cars during Seattle’s youth. Still rather unfamiliar with snow, it amazes me that such a large plow would be needed.

20160904_130020

The beginning of the falls

After a bit of a hike, we reached the falls. There were many other pilgrims there, each wanting to take photos of the falls as the mist sprinkled our heads.

20160904_130053

The surrounding forest

I found myself wondering if the water droplets that flew in the air after the initial plunge down the falls kept the forest green.

20160904_132140

The Falls

The mist reminded me of dragon’s breath and I could have sworn a wyren lived behind the falls.

20160904_132143

The River

Such power followed by such calm.

20160904_132255

Mini Jet of Water underneath a Mountain

More proof of man’s hand.

The adventure was short but gave me plenty to think. How do hydroelectric plants provide us with electricity? Have the falls been negatively affected by tourists? If so, is there a way of reversing the damage? What stories do these falls hold? How many winters and springs have they seen?

I will return to them eventually, but for now I am enjoying the electric heat of my laptop and the sun beaming down from my window.

Adventures In Edmonds, WA

Adventures In Edmonds, WA

As mentioned in a previous post, you have to live to write and (for writers) write to live. The two are inseparable. So, I decided today was and exploration day. I picked a random park here my home and went for a mini-hike.

The park in question was…

My hike lasted on 30 minutes because the trail was pretty short and lead to residential areas. Also, I got hungry… But, there are many other trails to explore and I most definitely will be back soon.

The trees were huge and majestic. Some reached so high that I could barely make out the canopy. Others reminded me of the om, the idea of the continously echoing sound of the universe. Where one tree ends, another begins.

The local residents, however, reminded me that civilization and human impact have left their mark. This park was not as wild as I had hoped. There were sewer drains and manholes hidden under fallen pine needles. There were scattered pieces of trash here and there. But what was most disturbing to me was the ducks.

Animals, wild ones, usually run from me. I took it as part of their wildness and intellect. I would be afraid if a strange bipedal creature with large eyes and a light box came up to me to. But these ducks…

These cuterms guys followed me! Out of no where I heard the fluttering of ducks and the splash of their bodis hitting the pond. They must have heard me as I approached the pond. I took a look and saw 8 then 10 then 15 ducks heading my way. I started to back away as I realized that these ducks… have been unintentionally domesticated. So, I ran off but not before taking a quick pic of my duck chasers.

I then stumbled on an invasive species…

A bridge over a dry creek bed…

And the not-scary-at-all-tube-tunnel..

Nope not horror-movie-fuel at all. Nope…

And yes, I went through it. I held my phone out to light the path. The tunnel lead me to…

The street. I was so disappointed I didn’t bother to photograph this moment. I saw a Canada Dry can left by the other end of the tunnel and that was it.

All and all, my little hike did allow me to experience tempered nature in my new home town. I hope to explore more of Washington in the coming days.

Happy reading and happy writing my fellow dragons.

The Parable of Snack Time

The Parable of Snack Time

The toddlers at the child care center I work at giving me many reminds of very old life lessons.Here is one, I call, the Parable of Snack Time.

“Snack time!” I said.

Twelve toddlers look up from what they were doing. Some start chanting “snake time!” Others drop their toys and waddle or crawl their way to an empty chair. Once all the children are sitting down and the tables are cleared of blocks, I begin to pass out today’s snack: Gold fish crackers and green beans. 

After everyone has their snacks and water bottles, I seat down with them and talk with my coworker, Ms. Z. Ms. Z and I make sure to demonstrate what conversation should look like and how to seat in chairs. We ask the children questions about their day and so forth. Soon, there were empty snack plates and many still hungry children.

I get up to pass out more snacks. After the last child received their portion, I asked, “does anyone need anymore food?”

“More snack-y plwese,” said a little girl, name Mary. 

I looked down at Mary’s plate. It was full. She hadn’t touched her snack all afternoon. 

“Finish your snack, Mary,” I said.

“More snack-y!” she cried.

I pointed to her pile. She, in turn, pointed to the bag of cheesy goldfish. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll give you more when yu are done.”

And that was when the tantrum began. She yelled and screamed for more goldfish. She the her arms left and right. Before she knew it, all her snack-y was all over the floor and Ms. Z intervened.

“Mary, you had snack, but now it is all on the floor. Come here and sit with me until you can calm down.”

After guiding a screaming Mary to Ms. Z, I swept up the rest of snack. By the time everyone was done with snack, Mary finally calmed down and I sat with her as she ate her new serving of goldfish and green beans.

Moral? 

You tell me in the comments.

The Summer of Crows

The Summer of Crows

A thought, brought on by the morning chorus as sung by a neighboring murder.

The summer heat crept into my window, driven by the calls of crows. In a large pine tree a family, a murder, trains new fledglings to feed and fly. I am reminded of a story I learned a long time ago, back when I learned that love and expense were tied into one word: Maganda.

As the story goes, when the world first began, there was no land, only the sea and the sky, and between them was a crow — Black as the space between stars. One day the crow grew tired of flying around. There was no land.

Thinking on the wind, she began to stir up the sea with her wings, until the sea threw its waters against the sky. The sky, in return, tossed thousands of islands into the sea to restrain it. Soon the sea could no longer raise. Instead the sea began to flow back and forth, making a tide that beat to the rhythm of the crow’s wings.

Then the sky spoke.

“Crow, go and land on one of the islands. Build a nest and leave the sea and I in peace!”

As my Nanay told it, from then on the crow lived happily ever after with the other birds on islands between the sea and the sky.

That must have been the first summer of crows.

NATIONAL POETRY MONTH

poetrymonthgraphic1

Happy National Poetry Month!

National Poetry Month is the largest literary celebration around the world, with readers young and old marking the importance of poetry in our culture and lives. There are many ways to celebrate poetry (reading, writing, going to poetry events, carrying a favorite poem around with you, etc.) and one of my favorite resources to explore this month, Poets.org, has a list of creatives activities to do during April.

One of their suggestions is to carry a poem in your pocket or share some of your favorite poems with your friends.

Now, having read a lot of poetry books in my days as a graduate dragon, I have a large horde of poems that I call my favorites. However, limiting the list to Rosie’s to 10 Poems for 2016, seems too … limiting. I am a dragon writer, after all, and as such I would be embarrassed to show off only 10 gems when I could display 10 treasure chests.

Without much ado, I present to you, A Dragon’s Top 10 Poetry Books:

the_lorax

The Lorax taught me that you can tell a story, a sad and thoughtful story, through music. I didn’t know, as a kid, why the music came out of everyone who read the Lorax aloud to me, but the music came all the same. This was my first introduction to narrative poetry.

47

I know, I know, technically this is not a poetry book. But there are enough memorable poems here to make my list. Also, I did my undergraduate thesis on the poems held inside this treasure chest. Nonsense poetry that hides depth and meaning while teaching the reader how to read … Lewis Carroll was a genius.

51-e8embt2bl-_sy344_bo1204203200_

From Lewis Carroll, I found my way to Edgar Allan Poe, writer of the infamous “Raven.” Enough narrative poem. I became hooked soon after this. Poetry began as necessary to me as water.

112204

It was in High School that I came to love this poet. Something — about her — struck — me — deeply.

51p1o39unrl-_sy344_bo1204203200_

I found myself craving songs with meaning in my high school life. Songs that changed history and then I found Hughes. “Dream Deferred” still rings in me like an unfinished song or a tune caught in my throat.

148317

I am cheating here because 1) Carlos Bulosan is a treasure all on his own and 2) for some reason I cannot find a full complete collection of his works on line. I can copies of his poems scattered about my files and I keep America is in the Heart by next to my Bible.

51nwxwkcyll-_sx322_bo1204203200_

AUDRE LORDE, ENOUGH SAID, MOVING ON!

light

“here yet be dragons”
so many languages have fallen
off of the edge of the world
into the dragon’s mouth. some

where there be monsters whose teeth
are sharp and sparkle with lost

people. lost poems. who
among us can imagine ourselves
unimagined? who

among us can speak with so fragile
tongue and remain proud?

9781613762066

FOR ALL THAT IS HOLY, BUY THIS BOOK! I was so inspired by Ms. Carmen Giménez Smith that I even wrote her a Facebook fan letter.

51woifezowl-_sx330_bo1204203200_

I already reviewed this one, but, as with all the books in this list… READ IT IF YOU LOVE POETRY, FANTASY, AND THOUGHTFUL DISCUSSIONS! … cough… roar…

I hope you enjoyed this list and the books found within. What are your favorite collection of poems? Who are your favorite poets? Please comment down below.

As always, peace, love, and pancakes!

Emerald City Comic Con

emerald_city_comicon

Hello my lovelies!

This week in Dragon Den news, we have EMERALD CITY COMIC CON! This is my first year attending this convention and I have to say, Seattle knows how to put on a good show of art, literature, and fandom pride. Emerald City Comic Con “is the premier comic book and pop culture convention in the Northwest, taking place in beautiful downtown Seattle, Washington” (as stated on their site).

Now, why would a well-educated writer be interested in comic cons? Or pop culture? Or, for that matter, anything besides literary fiction and poetry?

For the same reason this blog is called Dragon’s Den: I love to gather, collect, review, create, consume, and live art in all forms. Literary art, High Fiction, Low Fiction, Mid-grade, Paperback trade novels, classically bound art books, and all forms of beauty. This world is rift with wonder and comic cons are filled brimming with gold I would like to showcase.

But they also have something unique, something I had trouble finding in Graduate School.

Fearless love of the craft of creation.

I attended several panels, since the convention began late Thursday afternoon. Many of them were panels of how to break into the industry, how to forge a path in art, the business of writing, etc. Many gave advice I have heard before. I will now summarize them here:

  1. MEET DEADLINES AND PROVE YOU CAN
  2. BE A GOOD PERSON/LIKABLE
  3. PRODUCE GOOD ART/FINISH YOUR WORK

Each panel kinda boiled down to those three bits. The last panel I attended, however, hammered home a lot for me, given these three seemingly simple rules. The speaker, Alex DeCampi, made it clear that creating your work, is work, and should be treated as such. Every artist must treat their work, their craft, like a 9-5 job. Be ruthless with your time because time is something everyone has a limited resource of. Money will come and go but time is always ticking away. Use it.

Also, you have to figure out how you plan to get to your work. Schedule it in. Have a 9-5 job? Work on your real work after 5 and don’t be afraid to be strict about it. Clock out and Clock in.

She also spoke about the feeling of needing permission to create work (and I have felt that need so hard). When she spoke about it, her words resonated with me:

VALIDATE YOURSELF.

You don’t need permission to create a tentacle kitty. DO IT. Trust me, someone will buy it. Hell, I bought one.

20160408_230217

Everyone say hello to Mr. Teal.

Create your own plan and give yourself permission to create the work you wish to create. Ultimately, that is what helps people get hired.

If you write a million words about a topic you hate, hoping to get a steady job in the field, you will get a job in the field… but you will hate it.

But… if you write for 10,000 hours, each month, about something you love, creating your worlds and poetry, you will get a job writing what you want, and you will love it…

Most of the time… The panelist also spoke about how the mindset changes once you are a professional. You get paid and there will be days when you just don’t want to inked that panel. But that deadline looms… The thing is, you got to. JUST DO IT. And get to the next panel.

With those thoughts, my lovelies, I will now end with a series of pictures. I hope these inspire you and get that fire in your belly ignited. Happy crafting!

 

20160408_130035

Bounty Hunter Sighted!

20160408_143436

Hagrid!

20160408_160349

Wirt and Greg from Under the Garden Wall

20160408_191433

Pony with Volunteer Gear!

20160408_162746

Groot and I