Whispered In The Wind

Whispered In The Wind
Just a fairy blowing in the wind, singing tales to the west wind

Monday, September 8, 2014

Wish Tree

I want a tree to hang secrets and poems from
huddle warm bodies around
so they breath in its scent
read the words and paper returning 
to original form
find twine and wrap it round its boughs
write in bold ink
I wish to always love myself
come to appreciate my body’s soft nature
the squeaks that fall into my voice
my wild eyebrows
wrinkled fingers
I wish to look at people and really look at them
pull them inside
and feel their heart beats
know why they continue to wonder
and are their souls intact?
I want a tree to age gently with me
four years, it’s not a very long time in our lives
but still, we may grow taller, grow more concentric circles
drop leaves, stretch into other trees and trunks
I want a tree who keeps my secrets
who accepts vague poetry
and abstract concepts
who understands sometimes wishing on stars
is just too impractical
and I need some grounding 

Monday, August 25, 2014

Trees Around My Bones

I have roots growing from my feet
I have roots growing from my feet
I have trees twisting around my bones

I have roots growing inward
coming in, making way
I have roots spreading like new veins
leaves flowing through this blood

I have a forest growing inward
trees twisting round my bones

All this new growth and its finally
making its way home

all this new beauty 
and it's finally making its way home

roots growing from my feet
roots growing in my bones 

Look inside
You can see it all happening 
look in my eyes
you can see it all happening
a new body system in here

a baby jungle growing up

You could get lost in here
in this body
thoughts could curl up into the branches
and sleep, sleep, sleep

I get lost in here
in this body
in these new sprouts
I can smell dew and dirt
and me
I can smell me

And if feels good
it feels like home

I’m finally filling up this body with trees
filtering the oxygen in here
this feels like home
trunks wrapped around my skull

I look at the mirror 
and I see a home
because I have a forest growing inside
this body

I have trees to climb
and touch
and feel
and even cut

I have places to explore in here
and trees wrapped around my bones 

So welcome home
It’s about time
you let it grow in here 

let trees wrap around your soul

Monday, May 26, 2014

As It Concerns

As it concerns
Bring me the sunset in a cup
bring your stories and the misplaced eye glances
give me your insecurities and I will wear them gently
around my neck
wrapped along the tip of my fingers
quietly, I won’t let them speak

I promise that my depths are reachable
that I’m equal part scared
to brave
I don’t know what it is that
attracts me
to your glass jar contents
your cloudy days
I’m not quite sure who you are

But I know that I want you
to bring me your whispers in warm canisters
your songs in willow reeds
Tell me the first time you realized
how wonderfully imperfect this world is

Tell me what part of yourself you find beautiful
and what you try to hide from mirrors and probing thoughts
And have you ever taken hold of the moon, held it in your hands
and wondered why it looks so sad?

Thursday, May 22, 2014

Blue Hands

My finger are always covered in blue
flaked with blue paint and ocean water
wild wind and brush strokes

I used to think my eyes were gold
yellow specks gently mixed into the hazel green
but they've turned blue

two peering creatures
hungry, curious
always starring

When I watch people
my mouth is often a little open
as if trying to swallow their reflections
breathe in their essence
so I can capture them on paper
cover them with my paintbrushes
know each of their lines

Don't you know?

I'm not shy
I'm not scared
I just have big blue eyes

And I'm sorting through too many shades in my mind
trying to mix the right color
the one that is welcoming and warm and right
just right
But I have no knack for organization

So I wonder if I come off as too bright
or too solemn
I can never find the perfect hue
always muddling up color charts

And I don't know whether I'm impressionistic
or abstract
or just bland
I just hope there are some walls out there
willing to hang this mess

Artist willing to teach me their color charts
Ones who look at my blue stained fingers

and hold up their own color stained palms  

Thursday, April 3, 2014

You Don't Owe This Poem A Title (Future Advice)

Be bold
but learn to walk in quiet grace,
never let blaze overshadow forgiveness

Burn bright
but grow sacred roots
always let prayers seed

Desire the Divine
But learn to respect your doubt
invite it to dinner, feed it books and questions
allow it to live alongside faith
But don't be afraid of that which seems irrational

Seek solicitude
But create community
you are not a single stem
learn to love all roses
and even some weeds

Soak your skin
dip your toes in ocean salt
let rain slip down your eyelids
walk through storms, aimlessly and lost
But when the time comes, always
set intentions
and if you must set them in sand
that's better than never setting them at all

Lose yourself in bookstores
collect stories arches
and fairytales
But get rid of your narrative
there is no shame in living a life
that isn't a poem

Seed, Sprout, Flower
grow fierce and overgrown gardens
But sculpt your wild heart
keep it firmly in your hands
to shape and mold
a heart is a terrible thing to loose in a winter freeze

Dance with winds
Let your limbs know ocean breezes
and wet dirt
But walk statuesque
And don't be afraid to ask for directions
once the wind has subsided.

But most importantly,
when you find edges and broken bottles
when sentences grow brittle and break
when sections of books fall off
and are lost under beds
When you can't find a way to end
Embrace cliffhangers

Monday, March 3, 2014

I'm Publishing My Book, Flower Songs!

When I was a silly, naive*, thirteen year old, I promised myself I would have a book written by the time I was 16. And so I reached age sixteen with about half a dozen burned and broken half drafts, that never got anywhere.

But along the way, I wrote and wrote and wrote. And when I reached 17, I realized I had hundreds upon hundreds of writing-much of it poetry, which I've come to love with every bone in my body. And I sifted through my work, I noticed that much of the poetry I loved and wanted to share with this funny, lovely little Earth. 

And so I began working and something began forming.
A book.
A book entitled "Flower Songs."
My first book of poetry.

And it's now being published by Bolinas Books next month.
Right around my 18th birthday, two years late, but a book nonetheless.

The inside has charming illustrations by young artist, Jackie Files.
The beautiful cover is created by talented children's book illustrator, Hillary Moore. 

And it is filled with 70+ pages of original poem full of my questions, fears, musings and faith. It's inspired by my coastal landscape, my confusion with my teenage body and mind, my sprout thoughts, the little seeds inside me and my wild heart and wild hopes.

If you'd like, and I hope you will, you may reserve a copy by commenting below, sending me a message or an email (hyerington@gmail.com).
It's printed on 100% recycled paper in California and a tree is planted for each book. 
It is 15.00 dollars, 18.00 with shipping.

And it's filled with lots of love and sticky little sentences guaranteed to find some little nook in your heart.

*I'm still silly and naive, I'm just not thirteen.

Cover By Hillary Moore

Saturday, March 1, 2014

Thoughts On Heart Shaped Rocks

If I were to take this little heart shaped rock
bury it under this beach
deep, deep
Who would find it?
Place it in their pocket,
hold it in their palm
post a notice
On Bolinas beach
a heart shaped rock
sturdy and skippable
quiet rock
perfect size for holding (if you have small, gentle palms)
seems to like getting lost
excellent at tumbling
appreciates saltwater and mud
As far as rocks go, doesn't say much
But who can blame it?
It's really a very young rock.

Saturday, January 18, 2014

A Begrudged Manifesto

I've been trying to write a manifesto
a, hail the glory of my petaled frame potential
a watch me bloom and burst
turn my sunflower face to the sun and kiss my sunshine kin
I've been trying to build my poem around the stem spine of a sturdy rose
grow roots down deep, deep
and around the homes of sleepy breath mice and busy body gophers
grow so deep, I poke out on the other side
so deep, that I can never be weeded out, never pulled from this soil strong earth

But I'm not really a flower, not really a tiger lily or lion rose
I'm not even a geranium or clover
I'm just begrudgingly a human
And yes, I'm fragile
I need rain, water, sun
but I have no roots, no simple petal patterns
And as much as I'd like to spend days conversing with ivy and chattering with sparrows
I've been signed on for a human life

And I'm not sure how it happened
I don't think any nurse ever stood over my baby body and
asked me to pick my form
“Flower or little girl?”
And I would like to imagine my first thought would to be some sort of daisy or honeysuckle variety
as she listed all the drawbacks of being human
“Of course, your parents hope you will remain a little girl. But humans are a horribly confused species. They have wars and ailments and lost shoes. They often go out without umbrellas and get very wet. They are often lost and build ugly things. But of course, they have their pluses too. For example, they usually make very good muffins. So what will it be, flower or little girl?”

And I would like to think I'd waiver
But I know in the end, I'd always pick to be
begrudgingly human
with my not quite straight teeth and barely clean room
dusty shelves and disorganized binders

So yes, I'd been trying to write a manifesto
convince myself that this human thing is absolutely right for me
I've been trying to find the glory and majesty in my worn bed sheets, naïve giggles, ill fated and ill timed swoons, poorly structured poetry, math scribbles and inked out existence

But really, all I've done so far is tie up a bundle of words and thrown it out to sea, hoping it finds lands
sorted out a couple questions
and prayed an awful lot

prayed I end up on the other side
So today, instead of writing my manifesto
I've opted to keep praying
praying there is something in this little heart, these shelved up dreams and gypsy thoughts
I'm not sure what yet,
But I just keep praying they all end up on the other side
praying they find some place in my
begrudging human existence

"I want warm summer nights, to lie in a hammock, staring at the stars, telling you stories. "

"I want warm summer nights, to lie in a hammock, staring at the stars, telling you stories. "
"When asked not to make waves, I just smiled and said, don't worry this is just a ripple"