Rannilt• Show poetry

• Last seen on Aug 15 3:11 PM. Member since January 24, 2005.
• I'm a pyrite eye poet for 1145 comments.
• My mood is , and quote is go instead where there is no path.
• I am a 22 year old girl (Canada)
• When I'm not writing, I'm a Musician.
• 
• I am in the groups Dead Poets Society
• I have 1,145 comments, 5 contests

My Poetry

• Incomunicado

  It feels like the train itself cuts a singular way through risings of dynamite

  25 lines, July 8
• Hands

  I If I say the apple trees

  47 lines, July 8
• between and against

  15 lines, 2 comments, March 11
• no roots

  10 lines, March 11

My Stories

• Questions

  “Come away from the window, Flutter-budget. See the prints your nose is making on the glass?”
  “I’m singing the rain song, Papa.”

  562 lines, 6 comments, January 28, 2006. In <200 lines, Childrens
• Circular Logic

  -I want some nachos
  -You can’t have any chips.

  164 lines, 3 comments, July 21, 2005. In <200 lines, Other
• Observation Window

  It's five o'clock, and I'm sitting at a sticky table in the student centre, eating greasy pizza and staring moodily out the window. My mind is restless -- absorbed by questions

  448 lines, 3 comments, April 8, 2005. In <200 lines, Humor, Other

Visitor Book

• asinnerliketherest on October 14, 2006
  PS. I was inspired to write you a little poem as well, but did not yet note it in big long comment. Here it is: allpoetry.com/Poem/2281443
  
  (Yea, pretty freaky. . . while I was writing this stuff in the computer lab in Waterfront Villa, my new pad, we all suddenly got kicked out of the lab because a whole group of screaming idiots chose the room for a shouting match at 2:30 in the morning. It was pretty scary -- almost a fight -- really angry shouting and the security guard received complaints, the jerks wouldn't leave, so he phoned the cops. I didn't stick around after that.)
• asinnerliketherest on October 14, 2006
  Dear Sarah,
  
  Revived I feel by your sweet voice. If you were trying to make me bloody well cry you did it you evil creative beautiful witch. I mean that, not to insult, for there are many kind witches, such as that witch of the North who’s mentioned for like two seconds in Wizard of Oz. You are like that white witch who owns the moon o’ nights, leads readers to drink big words and awesome images. Whose voice is the voice of love, of appreciation, of all those reasons which are admirable and truly wonderful about you. It is inspirational to watch your talent go, to watch you let go and write with words which show your pidgin, your character -- unstoppable inertia. Write your stomach out, then feast words some more. Read. Read on and read with all your heart and play your piano, and write and sing and be that artistic dream that God put on this earth to share with His mankind. You. Yes, you. Do it because you want to. Because you love it. Because it’s your hobby and your entertainment and it kills philosophy and stuffs it in a can with hah, I don’t need you I got my happiness take that so there label. You, you Sarah Bestvater, are an artist. This is your gift. You are a writer and a musician. In those quiet moments. In those courtrooms and class rooms, in law or whatever you do, speak from that eternal and massive barbaric “YALP!” which boils inside you and whistles like a tea kettle, a conversation at a table, coffee words -- caffeine.
  
  I've heard it said, "A man is a boy who is old enough to ask: 'Am I a man?'"
  
  In the same way, that young woman who says I have discovered that I love to write, that has questioned: should I pursue a career in writing and music? Who yet has, as a scholar studied these crafts, honed in on these talents, illustrated a voice, choice, a damn good stubborn yet fairly fair compromising opinion, and the power to move is that very writer, that very musician which she wonders if she is. Do not doubt for a moment that you have not achieved something spectacular here. I thank you for the thanks, but dear lady the source of your wonderful words, the people that have been inspired in reflecting on your work -- that work is of you, of your love, of God's work of love that is and makes up you. God bless you for it. Thank God for it, I do, that I should have to put up with such a lazy appreciative brilliant spirit as you. (I could have chosen to flatter you, but I think the truth speaks for itself.)
  
  Out of all those who I've tried to help in writing, there is none I enjoy helping so much as you, because I know you can take it all. The dirt, the praise and be able to sift through the crazy mind pouring of James and find meaning, and above all put up with a bloody long letter.
  
  Now I shall breath, say when can we have coffee again?, and not wish, but pray you all thine bless'd favour by our master and Lord, and by thy inner muse may it be all the more devious and sharp, wittle on, wittle on.
  
  Go in peace conqueror with grace as He would say, so I say,
  
  Never let your divine gift of art and love fall,
  James
  
• Lord Espanyol on August 21, 2006
  Yes, exactly
• rannilt on June 17, 2006
  ok, I'll start thinking of something. Give me a couple days.

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