Robinson Astaire didn’t have a care

As the bus ride got him there

From Point A to Point B

A chance to see the whole city

On the far side of the lake

His own rendering he would take

Of the mountains afar

And the Needle, its top light a star

Somewhere in the hustle and bustle

There were quiet parks where the leaves would rustle

But that would have to wait another day

For today was his time to look toward the bay.

It Begins…

March 2014 clean 106Aerie

The nest once belonged to the eagles, three

Until the storm took down the strong oak tree.

The mighty nest came to rest on the ledge below.

Perdita Hermione Denke dared to reach for the center

Of the mighty nest now abandoned

Hoping, convinced the new occupants were better.

Never mind her fear of heights,

Never mind the frequent fights,

Never in her mind did she give up her rights

In knowing that dragons flew throughout the night

And swooped into homes as fairies could

Bestowing charms upon the good.

Of the bad, removed the curses they had

And defended the weak from the evil, strong.

No, Perdita Hermione Denke knew the lies about dragons were completely wrong.

In this aerie, about to be born, just as evening gave way to morn

Would be a dragon she could call her own

And so would begin the greatest adventure ever known.


So begins the Camp NaNo April 2014 adventure: Diary of Dreams.


Today’s snippet is brought to you by the letter “A.”



Gone were the uniforms of svelte learners draped over straight backs and squared shoulders, replaced by long, dark coats with many buttons, concealing the casual attire of the entrusted, elected educators of the emerging term. The trio of silhouettes against the rising sun over the horizon had, yet hadn’t changed in in the old one’s mind.

     “Now it begins….Professors,” Jalem whispered to the men on either side of her, her heart racing at the responsibility of guiding the students through the quagmire of insanity and towards Quinton’s core teachings.

      Desmon smiled, hands gripping the solid edge of the wall that dropped all the way down to the water’s depths below. The clamoring of footfalls, the shouts, taunts, greetings and laughter rose to a crescendo as a group of teens and pre-teens ran towards the building, energetic, nervous, open to a world of possibilities. “Here’s to building the future.”

      This environment, with its steady and sure pace similar to the one left behind, had some comfort to it for Allen. Finding that sliver of freedom and hope to enjoy, confident that they could logically lead this group away from the madness that could lead to more massacres, he hoped by Quinton’s strength, they could succeed.

     They stood to their full height and enjoyed the gentle breeze caressing their faces.

Yomin Youth

a-to-z-letters-yThe beauty of Ella and Alle Yomin is not their near eternal youth but their youthful enthusiasm and hope about the worlds they have lived in. Over the years, they had taken in many of the lost –  found the paths for some, lost some others. Even though they know the truth of Atkinson’s childhood and the circumstances that led him to where they had called home, neither Alle nor Ella saw reason to shatter the young man’s dreams; their final hope.

They would lay their lives for Allen or anyone in their circle. While they know the worst is yet to come, they prepare for the best, aware of just how horrible the various wars over time can become.

Whether they will see peace in their lifetime, or better still, see their son and his generation experience that joy is a goal that has kept them living for so long.

With Love

Today’s poem share is my original pair, describing the powerful love that Ella and Alle share for their adopted son.

Elle Yomin

Elle Yomin


Tending to the Mending Heart

With the arrival of the gloaming

She first sees a lost lamb roaming

Appearing to be torn apart,

Narrowly missing a passing cart.

She steps into the cloak of evening shade

Wondering how this child will behave

He’s far from home, that much is clear

Yet his posture gives clue what he wants is near.

For her, a flicker of hope and doubt

Disciplined skill keeps her from crying out.

She’s failed once, that one far from pure.

The second time, she is still not sure

This child here, she’ll never scold

But rather heal his wounds and help him grow bold.

Alle Yomin

Alle Yomin

Embers Eternal Embrace

As the volcano’s

Fiery river dissolves

Ashes to the wind resolves,

The one logical choice to be made

To prevent the loss of another by blade,

For all the love and all the might

Were not enough to undo the blight.

Aware that the wrong child could die,

Sent to their death with a stealth-told lie,

The sureness of wind, the spirit of water,

The sizzling wrath to thwart the slaughter

To hold on now by letting go

Hoping that the child knows

The sun shines on forever.



Jalem kept score of the debates, wondering how long it would take for both ‘opponents’ to realize they were more alike than they cared to admit. True, she had the advantage of knowing something intimate about Desmon and Allen, secrets she’d keep until the end. Given the true strengths beyond the masks they wore, she expected to live a long, long time.

Maybe that was why Jalem wasn’t surprised by the bonding ceremony, a foolish hope she had even before the revelations in secret. She couldn’t define – then or now – what it was that made each man a relative outsider to the community, yet fitting in seamlessly so for safety’s sake. If Desmon knew the truth about Allen, or vice-versa, then neither friend needed to worry about punishment from the magistrates.

Yet Jalem saw the power behind their combined talents, an opportunity of throwing fire with the rain. She would only have to steer them like the winds that blew over the coastal waters, guiding defensive learning with an empathetic soul. They could succeed, guarding the next generation from the trappings of twilight. Maybe.



Atkinson’s krov-cousin, the young man wise (and perhaps older) than his years has never forgotten the one who left in the middle of the night. What Voba tried to prevent started before that fateful night, an event that led an abandoned baby to Schilon’s doorstep.

Wellone is gifted in more ways than most in the village. His connection to Allen so far away helps the young man become healer, tending to everyone in the village and beyond. When the opportunity arises for the caretaker/protector to be tended to, Wellone claims the roll quickly and decisively.

What he hasn’t gleamed from Allen’s formal learning is innate to him, giving him insight into Desmon’s true destiny, among other things.



With each step taken, the mind awakens

To the possibilities of this world and the next

Untangling those things that others find perplexed.

With eyes of brown, he sees all of town-

To the place where the stolen were sold.

Undeterred to have the truth be told.

A jovial dance becomes a lullaby

Until the time comes for a decision of goodbye

With the steps towards sleep, of rest so deep.




a-to-z-letters-v Voba , sees and hears more than others realize – fluent in most languages of the travelers, peddlers, tradesfolk and the like; a ‘magician of the mundane’. As innkeeper, his hospitality goes beyond those who stay within his dwelling – a place he build alone, with the scars on his hands to show it. He provides and protects, goads and guides.

What happened to Atkinson didn’t prevent the tragedy that increased threefold. Yet Voba’s ‘claim’ to the prodigal son is one he will not release without a(nother) fight.


Take my kin; spill your blood

Bones will break; I give my word.

’tis easier to push you hard

Than drag you cross the yard –

Of what life has in store

Once you’ve stepped outside my door.

Yet come on in, have your fill and rest.

By Quinton’s strength,

I’ll keep your faith abreast.




“Just because Sorpha is unstoppable doesn’t mean things aren’t unchangeable.”

The three of them looked up from their studies, ingredients and materials held mid-air above the pillar of steam. “I don’t understand,” Desmon said.

Alle smiled as he stretched his legs towards the fireplace. “Something unstoppable doesn’t mean it isn’t unchangeable. Goodness knows how much has happened in the course of our lifetimes where the prophesized plan became a near obsolete obstacle instead.”

“You’ve heard the stories, though,” Jalem said. “Entire villages have been burned to the ground; homes once firm within the cliff-faces by the seas gone, smaller than the sands below.”

Alle nodded. “Yes. However, from the ashes of the villages, peoples as strong as those of the Rathens Regions emerged. From the foams of the waves, warriors ward against the deaths of the desolate districts.” He paused, a slender finger tracing the details of the modified timepiece, dark eyes staring out the window where the garden could be seen.

“Realistically, the three of you don’t stand a chance against Sorpha. What he’s accomplished in such a short time is… Don’t surrender, but don’t slip into a false security of surviving without scars.”

“Father, we never thought-,” Allen began, furrowing his brow.

“Enough. Not a good use of the evening before the celebrations. Finish what you’ve started. We’ll be beside you, united, throughout it all.”



     “At what point does a senseless jump become the sensible thing, Mr. Allen?”

      Allen bit the inside of his cheek before finding the perfect wording to avoid another ten-part spur-of-the-moment exam. All the while, Professor Rickby’s gaze bore into him as if she were determined to find the least bit fault to pounce on him for. The answer given, Allen felt his chest tighten, wondering what unseen tripwire he’d found.

      He paced the circumference of the space allotted him in the tower, counting forty heel-toe-heel-toe steps all around. No door to open, and a fair-sized window taunting him of a serene setting outside, Allen did his best to keep his focus on what he could control.

      He had never had to deal with detention since his studies began, walking within the lines, not bothering with contraband that would immediately result in this. Instead, the sentence was imposed upon him without warning while he was on his way to the study group.

       Allen lost count of what lap he was on when an unfamiliar, almost inhumane voice echoed in the chamber.

      “Who are you, Mr. Allen?”

      Allen stepped to the center of the chamber, adjusted his glasses before focusing on nothing in particular since determining the source of the sound was impossible. He heard rumors of the invasive introspections and that some students hadn’t endured well, quitting or failing from the program so close to completion. If this was his turn for such a test, he could only hope to be strong enough to pass.

      “I am the son of Alle and Ellia Yomin, merchant scholar and medical-.”

      “You lie!”

      He flinched, from the booming resonance that shook him to the core. At least when he faced the trials with Professors Chekton and Miga, Allen could see his accusers, could try to read their expressions and try to anticipate the next collection of questions, keeping in mind Professor Miga’s advice. Granted, in hindsight, that may have led to Allen being chosen as a target for Miga’s plan.

      Here, the questions came at him from all directions, with each disagreeable answer resulting in the stones closing in on him as the window began to shrink in size. What seemed disturbing was the fact that the window rose a bit each time, yet still focused the outside rays on him. Granted, it didn’t bring him warmth or chill him completely for being in such a spotlight, but the change of it troubled him just the same.

      Closing his eyes, he brought his right hand to his left breast pocket, clasping the pocket-watch within. If he dared to steal a look at it, he might have been correct in his guess of at least a whole day passing since the questioning began. If his time was about to come to an end, then he’d do what he could to face it with dignity, determined to remind himself that he hadn’t completely failed his second set of parents either.