Archives d’auteur : Stina

À propos de Stina

If I could tell you about me in a neat and tidy definitive statement, I don't think I'd be writing this blog.

The Corona Curriculum, Part 2 of 2.

Identifying the curriculum helped. For a day. Yesterday. I washed the floors and dusted, read one chapter from each of the three books I have on the go, wrote a blog post, ran out-of-door errands despite the rain, bottled kambucha … Lire la suite

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The Corona Curriculum

Three books on the go: American Isis, a biography of Sylvia Plath; The Hidden Life of Trees, a science book in layman’s terms about how forests function; and Desert Solitaire, reflections of a part-time forest ranger in the Moab Desert. … Lire la suite

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Not Enough Nothing

The wind howls outside my tenth floor apartment. It is negative twelve degrees Celsius outside, with a wind chill of negative eighteen. It is Saturday morning, five o’clock. What will I do with my weekend? Anxiety and pressure begin to … Lire la suite

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Nobody is going to listen to an asshole.

Happy Family Day, my fellow Ontariens, and everyone in Canada, no matter which day you get to celebrate this provincial holiday. To enjoy this lovely holiday, I awoke early, then made my way to the gym, a necessary evil in … Lire la suite

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Fear and growing in This Oasis

Machines and paved roads Comfort and ease Survival instincts forgotten The adventurous soul placated, suffocated By trips to the grocery store in a car My heart feels the pull of wild places And strange, new faces My mind is clearest … Lire la suite

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Adrift

Maybe they weren’t award-winning, but I had the fire to write them. And I liked my poems. They are finished products. And perhaps my songs are simple, but I had the affliction to write them. Finished products. And maybe my … Lire la suite

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Hurt

Me. My version of Hurt from Johnny Cash. December of 2018. My shitty ukulele-playing. And some production added, February of 2020. Pretty fun. And I’m dreaming again… http://www.dropbox.com/s/mt828n2srtf4p1r/Hurt.mp3

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Nómada

What cross do you bear? Knowing that is half its weight. At least. I know mine, and for that I am grateful. For with this awareness, I can choose how I handle its heavy load. My entire life, I have … Lire la suite

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Stages of winter

Oh, the winter. Longer than a season. From clocks back to clocks forward. Eighteen weeks of cold darkness. The inspiration of summer hastily extinguishes and I rush home to escape the cold; to an empty apartment where I do nothing … Lire la suite

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Cages

I am mourning the loss of a loved one. This person is not dead, it’s worse. This person is alive and hates me.   Quitting smoking is never a done deal. It is a daily victory, one I have not … Lire la suite

Publié dans Poetry | Marqué | Laisser un commentaire