A few years ago I made a bark sonnet, and the fun part wasn’t writing the sonnet, which was mediocre, but in gathering the bark, and putting the piece together. The best part of it was the fact that it was created on a liquor store bag.
A recycling of the items around me. This year I decided to do the same thing and I was going to use bark again, but really didn’t want to do the same sort of thing again. So, I decided to use something different. After thinking on it for awhile, I decided on rose petals. There were two dozen rose petals, one red and one pink that I began drying in my room shortly after valentines (don’t fear, I bought a dozen myself because I was so WORTH it–the other dozen was someone else’s).



In the previous year I used wood shavings rescued from reconstruction of the entry way into the college for the lines of the sonnet. This year, I gathered dried spider plant leaves, soaked them in water, and then straightened them with my tiny flat iron.

I assembled the dried rose petals, layer by layer (there are about 4 layers) on a liquor store bag (some things must remain constant). This time I even put a string on the back of the back to hang it from the wall (the string is recycled from the balls kept in a drawer (it arrives wrapped around newspapers)).


Update: The sonnet has been purchased by a fan for a lovely sum of money that is being donated to the SWG Colony.

And because whose to say the poem isn’t just as important, here is the sonnet:

On Being Contagious

Caught in a three syllable cankering.
The mind’s small boil. And what will fester first

are numbers, days determined by looking
back, towards one parched night, your untamed thirst—

how what came easy remains palpable—
your mind overtaken, need undefined.

What loosened in the loss is unable
to be tested by what someone’s sighed–

the two-fingered trigger on the handle,
guilt-slippery thoughts you try to discern.

Close your eyes and the next day’s timetable
tests you; endless waiting, this new pattern.

There will be a price: regret’s stark lining,
or what may have been had in the coming.


Well, things are winding down at St. Peter’s. I’ve written less than I’ve wanted, only about 13 pages of poetry, didn’t get as much editing done as I wanted, but whatever, the week isn’t done yet. Besides, I needed to write to be able to write. So I’m writing. The kwinzhee is complete, and we christened it on Monday night.


I was experimenting with flash, without flash, and with the night setting, and had some fun taking a few pics. Here’s a good shot of Maureen Scott Harris’s foot, Honor Kever’s foot, and the candle.


Last night was the annual Medieval Feast at the college where we produce wonderful medieval costumes from the second hand store in Humboldt, or from the costume box in the library (it is slowly building), or from other sources.


At one point in the feast, I was knighted, Lady Tracy Hamon, bard of St. Peter’s. I had to kneel before the king and queen (who had real costumes and looked amazing).


And entertainment from our group was provided by Dave Carpenter, with his Merlin magic banjo. And so you could share in the magic, here’s a little video of what we enjoyed (sorry about the darkness of the video, but hey, it’s the dark ages!).


…sometimes I need to keep busy. Sometimes I just make myself busy. As well as being busy, I’m usually known as the idea person. I’m full of them. I get them often. Sometimes they stay with me, nudging me from the empty loft perched on the neck that rests on narrow shoulders. Sometimes they nag me so much, that I decide to do something about them. Some things are a good idea.The Vertigo Reading Series is one such venture that I couldn’t clear from the hollowness. We don’t pay any money yet, but we offer an exciting new chance to read and sell books. Starting in March, Regina begins to see readers of all genres for two hours once a month. The dates of March 29, and April 26 are available for your reading pleasure, and if you’re interested, all you have to do is talk to me.


…of a deer today, which is difficult in the snow, with my loud coat, noisy boots crunch, crunching my every move. I didn’t get a picture of it, unfortunately, even though I was fairly close. Then I was bombarded by some irate chickadees, who decided my sunflower seeds weren’t quite good enough. Where were the peanuts?

Here’s a shot from Thurs, after the cocktail party at the hermitage.
Where deer go to feed.
Obviously a popular area.
What they are feeding on is apples. The tracks are in the apple orchard southwest of the gardens.
This is the look chickadees give you when you only have sunflower seeds.
My favorite restroom. My Valentine’s present.