Magazine Entry


Yes, I am still alive.  School has kept me very busy, but now the semester is finally over and I can breathe a little.  I have until the first week of January to psych myself up for my heaviest semester ever: 20 credit hours.  If I make it through, I won’t have anything more than 16 hours for the rest of my college career, which is great, because next fall I start student teaching and I have a senior recital and all sorts of things going on.  So yay for planning ahead!  Yay for ridiculous over-loads!  Hahaha… (like my Education Psychology teacher always says, “You have to laugh because if you didn’t, you’d cry.”)

I’ve missed blogging, but sometimes you have to decide to miss things so that you won’t miss other things.  I’ve had a great couple of months participating in concerts and spending time with my friends.  It’s amazing how close you can get to people in just a couple years.  I can’t imagine what it will be like to graduate… I’m going to cry my eyes out, I’m sure.  It’s making me sad just thinking about it.  Let’s change the subject, quick!

This post is kind of like a trial run.  I’m trying to actually submit something to the literary magazine at my school.  Why?  Because.  I hide myself too much.  And this blog is not the only way that I’m trying to fix that.  Also, it’s possible I could win some money if they like what I send, but that’s not what I’m really going for here.  Just getting something published would be victory enough for me.  Now, as I have already pointed out, I’m not much of a poet, but I did find this:


My neighbor down the road had a horse.

My horse,

as far as I was concerned.

I would ride my bike up to the grouchy electric fence,

(its droning threats could not deter me)

thrust a carrot between the wires, and there she came

ambling over, dapple gray coat and charcoal mane

drab and unimpressive

to the usual passerby,

but illustrious and gleaming to my callow eyes.

She would munch-munch the carrot out of my hand,

and I would stroke her velvety nose.

Nothing could hurt me with Kristy there; she was the miracle horse.

That last visit…

I maneuver around the moving truck on my bike—

pedal down the road as fast as I can!

     Oh!  A guilty pang at the realization I have no carrots…

I pull dandelions from the ditch,

anything to lure her to the fence.

She comes (of course.

She always comes, she is not like the parents,

picking and choosing when to show affection),

and then, in a fit of rebellion…

     I slipped under the fence!

… Sure that any moment I would be caught,

but knowing that the risk was worth it.

I stood next to her, sliding my hand along her side,

tracing the dappled pattern on her thick neck,

Feeling her warm, calm pulse.

She was not afraid, and so neither was I.

I silently thanked her,

I had no idea what for at the time,

but now, a decade removed, I know.

She was shelter, and peace—

My escape from a world of change.

I really hate the way WordPress formats poems.  This was the best way I could really portray how it is supposed to look, with the indentations.  The font really shouldn’t be lighter in each stanza, but it’s ok, it’s basically the same as in the original format.  Anyway, that’s the poem I’m considering.  I wrote it my freshman year of college (two and a half years ago– wow!  Time flies.) in an English class and I hadn’t really looked at it since.  Questions, comments, concerns?  What does everyone want for Christmas this year?  (I’m hoping for some money to expand my teacher-closet and maybe a guitar.  Or new mittens.  I like mittens.)


Torrence Nightingale

PS:  How about those snowflakes?  Wordpress, you crack me up.  Also, do you like the snowy-butterfly background?


One thought on “Magazine Entry

Whaddaya think?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s