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NO collection is complete without this one. I have a friend who dislikes it because the words are made up. Oh, what a dreadful life onw without whimsy must be.



'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand;
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

~~Lewis Carroll
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Just because.


Because I could not stop for Death

Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me –
The Carriage held but just Ourselves –
And Immortality.

We slowly drove – He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility –

We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess – in the Ring –
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –
We passed the Setting Sun –

Or rather – He passed us –
The Dews drew quivering and chill –
For only Gossamer, my Gown –
My Tippet – only Tulle –

We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground –
The Roof was scarcely visible –
The Cornice – in the Ground –

Since then – ‘tis Centuries – and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses’ Heads
Were toward Eternity –

~~ Emily Dickinson
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There is no collection without some Poe. Read this one aloud! It sounds like bells!


The Bells

Hear the sledges with the bells-
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the icy air of night!
While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells-
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.


Hear the mellow wedding bells,
Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten-golden notes,
And an in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon!
Oh, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!
How it dwells
On the Future! how it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells,bells,
Bells, bells, bells-
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!


Hear the loud alarum bells-
Brazen bells!
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their affright!
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor,
Now- now to sit or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
What a tale their terror tells
Of Despair!
How they clang, and clash, and roar!
What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear it fully knows,
By the twanging,
And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows:
Yet the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling,
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells-
Of the bells-
Of the bells, bells, bells,bells,
Bells, bells, bells-
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!


Hear the tolling of the bells-
Iron Bells!
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their tone!
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats
Is a groan.
And the people- ah, the people-
They that dwell up in the steeple,
All Alone
And who, tolling, tolling, tolling,
In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling
On the human heart a stone-
They are neither man nor woman-
They are neither brute nor human-
They are Ghouls:
And their king it is who tolls;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
A paean from the bells!
And his merry bosom swells
With the paean of the bells!
And he dances, and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the paean of the bells-
Of the bells:
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the throbbing of the bells-
Of the bells, bells, bells-
To the sobbing of the bells;
Keeping time, time, time,
As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the rolling of the bells-
Of the bells, bells, bells:
To the tolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells-
Bells, bells, bells-
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.

~~Edgar Allan Poe
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I like this one simply because there is a wax recording of him reading it. See it below the poem.



Centre of equal daughters, equal sons,
All, all alike endear’d, grown, ungrown, young or old,
Strong, ample, fair, enduring, capable, rich,
Perennial with the Earth, with Freedom, Law and Love,
A grand, sane, towering, seated Mother,
Chair’d in the adamant of Time.

~~ Walt Whitman

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This one was written by Maya Angelou and read at Bill Clinton's inauguration in 1993. Though I never met her, Ms. Angelou lived nearby in Winston-Salem and taught for 32 years at Wake Forest University. Ms. Angelou was a true Renaissance woman. I suggest you watch Still I Rise, a documentary about this extraordinary woman.


On The Pulse Of Morning
~ Maya Angelou

Delivered January 20, 1993 at the Inauguration of President Clinton

On the Pulse of Morning
Hosts to species long since departed,
Marked the mastodon.

The dinosaur, who left dry tokens
Of their sojourn here
On our planet floor,
Any broad alarm of their hastening doom
Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages.

But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully,
Come, you may stand upon my
Back and face your distant destiny,
But seek no haven in my shadow.

I will give you no more hiding place down here.

You, created only a little lower than
The angels, have crouched too long in
The bruising darkness,
Have lain too long
Face down in ignorance.

Your mouths spilling words
Armed for slaughter.

The Rock cries out today, you may stand on me,
But do not hide your face.

Across the wall of the world,
A River sings a beautiful song,
Come rest here by my side.

Each of you a bordered country,
Delicate and strangely made proud,
Yet thrusting perpetually under siege.

Your armed struggles for profit
Have left collars of waste upon
My shore, currents of debris upon my breast.

Yet, today I call you to my riverside,
If you will study war no more. Come,

Clad in peace and I will sing the songs
The Creator gave to me when I and the
Tree and the stone were one.

Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your
Brow and when you yet knew you still
Knew nothing.

The River sings and sings on.

There is a true yearning to respond to
The singing River and the wise Rock.

So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew
The African and Native American, the Sioux,
The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek
The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheikh,
The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher,
The privileged, the homeless, the Teacher.
They hear. They all hear
The speaking of the Tree.

Today, the first and last of every Tree
Speaks to humankind. Come to me, here beside the River.

Plant yourself beside me, here beside the River.

Each of you, descendant of some passed
On traveller, has been paid for.

You, who gave me my first name, you
Pawnee, Apache and Seneca, you
Cherokee Nation, who rested with me, then
Forced on bloody feet, left me to the employment of
Other seekers – desperate for gain,
Starving for gold.

You, the Turk, the Swede, the German, the Scot …
You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru, bought
Sold, stolen, arriving on a nightmare
Praying for a dream.

Here, root yourselves beside me.

I am the Tree planted by the River,
Which will not be moved.

I, the Rock, I the River, I the Tree I am yours – your Passages have been paid.

Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need
For this bright morning dawning for you.

History, despite its wrenching pain,
Cannot be unlived, and if faced
With courage, need not be lived again.

Lift up your eyes upon
The day breaking for you.

Give birth again
To the dream.

Women, children, men,
Take it into the palms of your hands.

Mold it into the shape of your most
Private need. Sculpt it into
The image of your most public self.
Lift up your hearts
Each new hour holds new chances
For new beginnings.

Do not be wedded forever
To fear, yoked eternally
To brutishness.

The horizon leans forward,
Offering you space to place new steps of change.
Here, on the pulse of this fine day
You may have the courage
To look up and out upon me, the
Rock, the River, the Tree, your country.

No less to Midas than the mendicant.

No less to you now than the mastodon then.

Here on the pulse of this new day
You may have the grace to look up and out
And into your sister’s eyes, into
Your brother’s face, your country
And say simply
Very simply
With hope
Good morning.

Here is Ms. Angelou at the inauguration:
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I just like this one and it kinda fits for Labor Day.



Hog Butcher for the World,
Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,
Player with Railroads and the Nation's Freight Handler;
Stormy, husky, brawling,
City of the Big Shoulders:

They tell me you are wicked and I believe them, for I have seen your painted women under the gas lamps luring the farm boys.
And they tell me you are crooked and I answer: Yes, it is true I have seen the gunman kill and go free to kill again.
And they tell me you are brutal and my reply is: On the faces of women and children I have seen the marks of wanton hunger.
And having answered so I turn once more to those who sneer at this my city, and I give them back the sneer and say to them:
Come and show me another city with lifted head singing so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning.
Flinging magnetic curses amid the toil of piling job on job, here is a tall bold slugger set vivid against the little soft cities;
Fierce as a dog with tongue lapping for action, cunning as a savage pitted against the wilderness,
Building, breaking, rebuilding,
Under the smoke, dust all over his mouth, laughing with white teeth,
Under the terrible burden of destiny laughing as a young man laughs,
Laughing even as an ignorant fighter laughs who has never lost a battle,
Bragging and laughing that under his wrist is the pulse, and under his ribs the heart of the people,
Laughing the stormy, husky, brawling laughter of Youth, half-naked, sweating, proud to be Hog Butcher, Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat, Player with Railroads and Freight Handler to the Nation.

~~ Carl Sandburg
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Who Has Seen the Wind?
Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you:
But when the leaves hang trembling,
The wind is passing through.

Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I:
But when the trees bow down their heads,
The wind is passing by.

~~ Christina Rossetti

The first time I ever heard this poem, it was Yoko Ono singing her version on the B side of Instant Karma. I was about 10. hate to say it but she sounds like nails on a chalkboard!

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This one is a delight to read... it's dark and pessimistic. It was written after WWI with the world in chaos and seems to deteriorate after that. The imagery is wonderful. One COULD apply it to current poltiics...



Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.

The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

~ William Butler Yeats
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The reason I chose this poem is that a quiz at Facebook said this was the poem that I would be if I were a poem and I do like it very much. For some reason, it reminds me of Tom Petty's I Won't Back Down



Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my soul.

~~ William Ernest Henley
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If you like to beta and have a flexible group of fandoms or even just one of our fandoms that you enjoy working on, go to the signup page and fill out the form. Beta signups are open from now until November 30, 2017.

Boost this signal if you like.

Here are the links:
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Finally they are all written and posted. I had ideally want to actually post one a day in real time but that did not work out. I did, however, get all 31 done and posted as of now. The three of you who made requests, yours are there if you've not seen them.

#9 for [personal profile] silver_trails
#17 for [profile] outercorner
#23 for [personal profile] anoyo

I will post them to Ao3 in the next few days as well as to my writing journal and OEAM. I also will answer all your feedback as soon as I can. Your comments have not gone unnoticed!

September will be poetry. I was an English major and even though I am not a poet myself, I LOVE poetry more than any other literature. I will share a favorite each day and hopefully write a word or two about why I chose the poem.

Thank you all for bearing with me.
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Title: Whispered Promises
Fandom: LOTR
Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I profit from these characters.
Rating: PG
Author: Alex (
Type: 100 word Drabble
Note: August 2017 Drabble. Prompt: None



Frodo tried not to listen to its whispers. He knew that it was trying to corrupt him, to take his very soul. He couldn’t stop himself. It promised him everything he’d ever wanted and more. It whispered when he was awake and it whispered when he slept. It murmured whatever he needed to hear.

And it knew his intentions. It knew that his mission was throw it into the fire. He knew that he would never do such a thing to it, but he could never tell anyone that this was true.

It was his ring now, his own precious.
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Still Life (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache, #1)Still Life by Louise Penny

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I would give this book more than 5 stars if there were more. I an new to Inspector Gamache but I loved him. I loved the inspector, the mystery, the odd little town and the residents. The mystery was first rate... not too much info at a time but enough to drive me to read and read and read... and read it all in one day. There is more to it than that - there are life lessons, deep ones, poetry, art... I already ordered the second one and can't wit until it arrives.

View all my reviews
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Title: The Power of Love
Fandom: Babylon 5
Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I profit from these characters.
Rating: PG
Author: Alex (
Type: 100 word Drabble
Note: August 2017 Drabble. Prompt: Overflow
Summary: Delenn made John a better man.


John Sheridan had heard of someone overflowing with joy before but he’d never understood what that meant until he fell in love with Delenn. Not only did he love her but he felt a new love for all of creation, as if seeing things with new eyes.

This gave him a renewed sense of purpose and that purpose was to do what was right, what needed to be done to free Earth. Loving Delenn did not make him more alien, as Clark’s people claimed. It made him more human.

He needed to be a hero. For Earth and for her.
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Title: A Shining Beacon
Fandom: Babylon 5
Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I profit from these characters.
Rating: PG
Author: Alex (
Type: 100 word Drabble
Note: August 2017 Drabble. Prompt: Shining
Summary: Just another day with Marcus and Susan



“Do you really think Babylon 5 is a beacon shining in the night?” Marcus asked Susan as they searched among the stars for more of the Old Ones. They were hoping they could find some help in the war with the Shadows.

“Yes, I do. We are the light in the darkness to many planets… why are you laughing?”

“Because you sound like an advertisement for Babylon 5. “Come see our shininess and we’ll cure what ails you…”

Susan couldn’t decide whether to laugh or get angry, then he started singing “This Little Light of Mine”.

Angry it was!
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Title: All She Was
Fandom: Babylon 5
Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I profit from these characters.
Rating: PG
Author: Alex (
Type: 100 word Drabble
Note: August 2017 Drabble. Prompt: Untouchable
Summary: He thinks as he watches her sleep.



He watched her sleeping. Her only movement was the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.

She was beyond reproach, perfection, untouchable!

She was also warm and caring, brilliant and wise. She was human and alien. She made others be more than they thought they were and inspired them to great achievements. She loved her people and served them all as best could. She was both funny and serious, sometimes all at once. She was kind and gentle, yet she could take down a grown man.

She was a daughter, wife and mother.

His wife.

His Delenn.
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For [profile] outercorner

Title: With Feeling
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes
Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I profit from these characters.
Rating: PG
Author: Alex (
Type: 100 word Drabble
Note: August 2017 Drabble. Prompt: Lullaby. For [profile] outercorner
Summary: Sherlock plays.



He was playing the violin, but not the discordant noise he usually played. I think he played that godawful racket to annoy me. But tonight he played a lullaby, one of the sweet songs I remembered from my childhood.

“What is the occasion? Tired of driving me mad?” I asked.

“I had word that my mother is dead. She sang it to me and Mycroft when we were small.”

Feeling awful for my sarcastic comment, I expressed my condolences. He looked at me, no emotion on his countenance, and said, “Perhaps I shall feel sorrow if I play long enough.”
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Crocodile on the Sandbank (Amelia Peabody #1)Crocodile on the Sandbank by Elizabeth Peters

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I thoroughly enjoyed meeting Peabody and Emerson! Miss Amelia Peabody si certainly a woman before her time. She is an 'old maid' and inherits quite fortune from her father as well as a very curious mind and no patience for the arbitrary rules placed on women in the Victorian era. she takes her money and sets off down the Nile on an adventure and she gets more than she bargained for when she and her companion, Evelyn, meet the Emerson brothers. What follows is filled with suspense, archaeology and mummies! And a bit of love as well.

All together a delight to read.

View all my reviews
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Title: Old and New
Fandom: MCU
Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I profit from these characters.
Rating: PG
Author: Alex (
Type: 100 word Drabble
Note: August 2017 Drabble. Prompt: Enjoy
Summary: Steve Rogers reflects.



People asked him if he enjoyed the modern world, as if he were on a vacation. He had been jerked from one life into the next without his knowledge. He missed the world he came from. He missed the slower pace that life had then. He missed the people he’d come to call friends.

But yes, he did enjoy his new life, his new world. He still had a purpose. He had friends here, too. And even love. There were many great things in this brave new world.

So yeah, he missed the old but he was enjoying the new.
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Title: I Die Free
Fandom: Stargarte: SG-1
Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I profit from these characters.
Rating: PG
Author: Alex (
Type: 100 word Drabble
Note: August 2017 Drabble. Prompt: Free
Summary: Jack admires Teal’c.



Jack O’Neill thought the understood sacrifice and duty until he met Teal’c. As First Prime of Apophis, he held the highest rank a Jaffa could attain. Yet Teal’c was ready to give it all up, even his wife and son if need be, for one thing.


His friend had left everything he’d known to pursue freedom for himself but even more importantly, for all Jaffa. Along the way, he had become Jack’s best friend as well as his comrade-in-arms.

He watched, amazed, as Teal’c stood unafraid before another Goa’uld who threatened his friends and said proudly, “I die free!”


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