The Sea Limerick: A Throwback Post

by tiffanyPoetry, recorded November 19, 2020October 23, 2020No Comments

Here is an older poem of mine called The Sea Limerick. I do have another poem that is just called, The Sea. They are two completely different poems and I honestly didn’t realize that I named two poems basically the same thing until I was looking for videos to do Throwback posts for.

The Sea Limerick

I went to the sea to see you see.
Yet, I could see nothing but the sea.
So I went to the shore
Just so I would be sure
That I could still see beyond the sea.

Want More?

The original post is still available to read, along with other poems of mine. If you would like to watch more poetry readings I do also have a YouTube Playlist for that.

Egg (A Poem)

by tiffanyPoetry October 27, 2020July 7, 2020No Comments

I'm boiled and bruised
Just like you.
No longer liquid inside
Life has cooked me,
There was no place to hide.
I was heated on all sides,
Break down my walls,
my outer self.
I'm ready to be consumed.
Let my life nurish your body.

Egg is a short poem that relates me to a hard-boiled egg. It is meant to be both fun and moving. I enjoyed writing it, so I hope you enjoy reading it.

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If you would like to read more of my poetry please take a look at my portfolio. You can also watch a few of my poetry readings.

Musical Romance (Short Story)

by tiffanyMy Author's Portfolio, my creative self, short stories, Short Stories Portfolio, Stand Alone Short Stories February 1, 2018November 13, 2020No Comments

Your best friend, Beth, invites you to an open mic night at a local coffeehouse. It the first time Beth will sing one of her original songs in front of people, besides you and her cat, Meowers.

It thrills you to support your friend.

After you finish your shift at the call center for a tech company, you rush home to get ready. Your clothes are changed and you redo your hair. This is in record time and you meet Beth at the cozy coffeehouse.

At The Coffee House

You can smell the beans roasting and the coffee brewing from outside the door. As you enter the coffeehouse, you look around the warmly decorated room. It has two large couches facing a makeshift stage area and wood tables that are only large enough to seat four people each.

Beth finds you and greets you with a great enormous hug, the way she does when she is nervous. As she is still squeezing you Beth stated, “You made it.” When the hug is released she tells you, “The first person is about to start. I’m fifth in line.” She straightens her red and brown floral dress that flows over her slender body.

“Of course, I made it. I wouldn’t miss this.” You look at your friend and ask, “How are you doing? Nervous?”

Beth tried to smile. “Nah, no, no. I’m fine.”

You look blankly at her and her face drops, fully revealing her nerves. “Yes, I am. I shouldn’t be, the crowd isn’t that big, but it’s my song. What if they hate it? I could mess up. What if I can’t really sing?”

“Don’t be silly. You’ll do great. Meowers and I love the song. Plus you’ve sung in front of bigger crowds than this.”

Confused, Beth asked, “When?”

“Our middle school recitals and karaoke.”

Beth shakes her head as she states, “Those don’t count. Karaoke isn’t performing and middle school ended like half a lifetime ago.”

“Still, you’ll do great.”

The Open Mic Starts

Just then the first performer takes the stage and taps on the mic. It is a sizeable round man with little hair on the top of his head, but plenty of white hair coming from his chin. He sings an old blues song as he strums on a guitar. This musician is talented and the crowd applauds him when he finishes. The next performer is a woman with pigtails and a banjo. She can’t seem to play and sing together, but struggles through the full song, anyway. The following two performers get progressively worse and the audience hardly even claps for the last man, who leaves almost in tears. His nerves won.

Beth’s Turn

It is Beth’s turn. She is nervous and starts by fumbling the first notes on her simple acoustic guitar.

You mouth, “Breathe,” to her. She closes her eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath. She starts again and plays her song perfectly. It is beautiful. The crowd cheers for her at the end. They are very thankful that she was a wonderful singer and the song was beautiful.

Beth makes her way back to the table where you are sitting with a giant smile on her face.

As she sits, the next act gets on stage. It is a male musician who has perfectly curly brown hair and sits on the stool, but keeps one leg on the ground. He smiles a nervous yet cute smile as he places his guitar on his lap. Once he clears his throat he says, “This is my first time here too, and I also have an original song.”

Another New Musician Sings

He sings and your eyes meet his sparkling hazel eyes. You hold eye contact with him and smile. It feels as though the room melts away and he is singing only to you. Towards the end of his song, he looks down to make sure he is playing the right notes, but is grinning widely.

At the end of the song he thanks the audience, but is looking at you when he does so. The crowd applauds him as he leaves the little platform that makes up the stage.

He walks directly to you. “Hi, I’m Matt.” He says with his hand out.

You shake his hand as you tell him, “Hi Matt, I’m Lucy. You were great.”

“Thanks. I don’t mean to be too forward, but can I join you two lovely ladies?”

Before you can answer, Beth does. “Of course, we would love that.”

The conversation quickly dies down as the last performer takes the stage. She resembles a jazz singer with her hair pinned in curls and a black fit and flare dress on. She sings a slow and soft song. It is a very loving, sweet jazz song. After she finishes, the audience claps, but starts to leave.

Matt, Beth, and you continue to talk. After half an hour Matt buys both of you cups of tea and you help him carry them over to the table.

You do not realize the time passing. As the coffee house closes, Matt asks for your number. Smiling, you give him your phone number and he sends you a quick smiley text, so you have his.

When The Coffeehouse Closes

This is the start of something new, but after a long day at work you are ready for bed.

You say goodnight to Matt at the coffee house and walk with Beth to your car, which is outside of Beth’s apartment. You say goodnight to your best friend and get in your car.

When you get home, you see that you have an unread text message from Matt. It says, “I’m glad I went to the open mic night, tonight.”

You smile as you respond with, “Me too. Goodnight.”

As you get ready for bed, another text from Matt pops up on your phone. “Goodnight.”

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If you would like to read more short stories please check out my Portfolio or perhaps you would enjoy watching readings of my work on YouTube.

Heart Journey, Journey to me blog series image

Why I Hate Birds: My Swan Attack Story

by tiffanyJourney To Me, My Author's Portfolio, Real Life, short stories, Short Stories Portfolio December 12, 2017October 20, 2020No Comments

It should be known that I hate birds. It is partly out of fear and partly is because I think at least fowl and larger birds are evil. I can handle smaller birds and can stand pet birds, like cockatiels. Roosters, swans, and geese are not okay in my book.

I have had a few negative run-ins with birds in my life. The first one I remember is the swan that attacked me and my now step-sister.

Until I was 10 I lived across the street from my uncles’ pig farm. They also had goats and chickens. I would always go over there and one day I went with my step-sister.

We went into the goat’s area. It was a fenced in patch of land that was a bit rocky, but grass still grew.

I did not realize that a swan made a nest and laid eggs in the grass, until I got too close. The swan chased my step-sister and me. We scrambled up some rocks, since we could not get back to the gate. There was a thorny bush on the other side of the fence. There was a short argument about leaping the fence, since we would be jumping into the thorns. The evil swan was ready to attack, but no major injuries occurred. I believe we jumped the fence or one of my uncles came to chase the bird away.

I want to say my uncle chased away the massive bird with a shovel in hand, but I can only remember the terror of the swan’s attack with its flapping wings and the feeling of being trapped.

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If you would like to read more short stories please check out my Portfolio or perhaps you would enjoy watching readings of my work on YouTube. You can also read more of Journey To Me, which is the series this is from.

Some Sort Of DreamWard Bound

by tiffanyDreamward bound October 24, 2015May 24, 2020No Comments

This week was a good week. I was productive, although you, my blog, saw none of it. I have a couple of poems that I will be typing up and posting this week. I also worked on my book for 7 hours last Saturday and painted for a few hours on Sunday.

In addition I am gearing up for my first improv show. I’ve of course have acted in scripted plays and musicals before, but never an improv show. I am really excited to be getting back on stage. It is not for a couple of months, but we still need to get performance ready.

Since it is almost Halloween I am also working on getting everything ready for my work’s Haunted House. It is turning into more work than I have time for, but it is fun. Really, anything besides writing and acting takes up too much time in my opinion, at this moment. It is fun being creative in this way. It is basically putting on a production with very little resources.

This week’s post is pretty short and I am trying to think of other things to write, but there is nothing. I also just want to type up the poems I wrote and get going on my day, so that is what I will do.

I hope you have a wonderful week and enjoy or enjoyed the two posts that I wrote this week.

weekly writing prompt

Pen Poem

Note: Links removed to site updates.

I Am A Soggy Bagel

by tiffanyI Am A Bagel September 30, 2015One Comment

Today I got dressed up. I felt like I needed to look good. I wanted to take extra time for myself, so in the morning I woke up early. I put on my new cream cheese spread and wore heels. I even did my make-up. I was looking amazing if I do say so myself.

I started my car and went to work. I was on the highway when it started to rain and then I got a flat tire. I pulled over to change the tire. As soon as my car was safely on the side of the highway the clouds fully opened up. Have you ever seen a bagel in high heels changing a tire when it was raining buckets? I am sure I was amusing the drivers with all four tires intact that drove by. I just know it was not fun changing that tire and I was almost instantly soggy. After a few nice people did stop to help I finally had my tire changed to the spare.

I stopped, soaking wet, at a tire store. They changed the spare out for a new regular tire and I was off to work, again. The only real different was that I was no longer fancy or looking amazing. I was simply a soggy bagel in heels.

I Am A Hurt Bagel

by tiffanyI Am A Bagel, my creative self, short stories September 22, 2015One Comment

The other day I woke up and my body was a bit stale. I thought nothing of it until later in the day. I started to workout with Baguette. I stretched and then ran. I was fine until we started to do the floor exercises. I should restate that. It was not until I tried to do the floor exercises that I started to feel real pain. I was falling ungracefully as Baguette showed me what to do. Yes, she did the floor exercises and I flopped around. I wound up getting unnaturally twisted up and my staleness turned into real pain. It was so bad that I could not fall asleep that night.

Thankfully us Bagels heal fast with a little wet heat. I was back to my non-exercising self within a day.

Weekly Writing Prompt (#29)

by tiffanyother updates September 14, 2015One Comment

Write a poem describing physical pain. Start the poem with creative imagery about how the pain started but then go into how it feels. What causes it to grow? Where is the relief?
Do you have a mentor? Write a character description about him/ her. What are they like? What makes them someone to look up to?
Retell a story you heard from a friend or someone else in your life. Use different names and if you forget a detail use your own imagination. Basically use a story you heard as a prompt, trying to keep it as close to the original as possible.
Two brother’s walk into a bar and start asking about the strange local crime that has happened. You hadn’t heard about anything strange, but the more you listen the more you realize you fit the target demographic. What do you do? What happens next? (yes, I am ready for Season 11 of Supernatural to start.)
You meet the person that you have you are the biggest fan of. You’ve waited in lines and get up to actually see him/her. What do you want to do? What do you actually do?

Black clad Assassin

by tiffanyshort stories, Stand Alone Short Stories September 10, 2015June 24, 2020One Comment

The perimeter of his little camp must have been weaker than he thought because he was awakened by the nose of a black horse with black eyes and black reigns. Everything about this horse was black including the rider who sat on the horse’s black saddle. The only thing that was not black was the whites of the rider’s eyes.

The rider stared at William, the now frightened man, as the black leather clad rider dismounted the black horse. William could see the crest of the deadly assassin clan pressed into the leather right where the heart should be. No one knew if this clan had hearts or if they were monsters sent to kill the poor mortals that got in their way. Not much was known about them. Only two things were known for sure, their crest had five stars and a bird, and a single assassin could kill entire villages.

Slowly the rider, who wore 2 swords, walked over to William. Only when the black clad rider was looming over William were words spoken. “Do you have food?” The words came from behind the black clothe mask, however they were surprisingly feminine. William could tell that the low register of the voice was forced and it was softer than he was expecting.

“You’re a lady.” A shocked William stated.

Before William could answer the question or even think another thought there was a dagger pressed against his throat. “I will slice your throat either way.”

William, a simple monk who was only out of the monastery due to a change in assignment was silent until the assassin asked the question again, “Do you have food or will I have to slit your throat?”

“I have food. I have bread.” A shaky voiced William answered. He stayed still until the dagger was lowered.

He went into his satchel and took out his 2 loaves of bread and offered them to the one clad in black. She took one ripped it in half and gave the other half back to William.

When William gave a confused look at the woman who was supposed to be a ruthless killed she answered the look by sitting down and stating, “I will not repay generosity with greed. You are not my target, so you will be safe.”

Neither one of them spoke as they ate the bread.

William simply sat cross-legged as he ate and watched the assassin. She had pulled her mask up to eat and William saw that her skin was only black because of the black grease makeup she wore where her mask did not cover. She was actually quite pale, especially compared to his heavily tanned skin. He also watched how she sat. The assassin sat with only one leg on the ground. The other was bent with the foot on the grounds as if she needed to be ready to spring to her feet at any moment. She also kept her dagger in one hand and the bread in the other.

They both sat and watched the other eat uncertain what would happen if either one of them spoke.

When the assassin was done with her bread, she stood and stated, “Tell no one of this meeting or you will become a target for my clan.”

She mounted her horse before William could confirm that he would not tell a soul. She did not need to wait for the confirmation though, she knew her clan’s reputation and knew he would heed her command.

Want More?

If you would like to read more stories of mine I do have a stand-alone short stories section and my writing portfolio. You can also watch readings of my writings on YouTube.

Otis, The Hunter.

by tiffanyReal Life, short stories, Stand Alone Short Stories July 22, 2015March 19, 2019One Comment

Otis, The Hunter.

Otis, the fat grayish-tan feline with thick black stripes, almost sat down next to me as if he wanted to be near the comfort of a human. Before his bum touched the blanket I had brought out onto the roof, Otis heard a noise. It was the famed climbing of a squirrel, that needed to be hunted. There was no time to cuddle the squirrel invader had to be stopped. Only the heroic house cat could hunt and stop this beast, so Otis crouched down and very slightly crept to the skylight, that since it was raised gave a littler cover for his sneak attack. Then since time was of the essence he bolted towards the wild beast, which actually gave the squirrel enough time to see the house cat and climb back to the top of the tree yelling at the cat as it climbed. Otis, who thought himself brave and a great hunter,continued to stalked the frightened and angry sounding squirrel to another higher tree.

Unfortunately the hunt had to end since Otis is a fat house cat who could not even get onto one of the trees. After a minute or less Otis came back to the blanket wanting the petting he ran away from a few moments earlier.