The Great Escape

On a dark and stormy night,
Two cows were on a mission,
Wandering through the soggy fields,
In search of ammunition.

For farmer Jim was plotting thus,
To slaughter them for meat.
They knew this was their only chance,
They’d have to be discreet.

The ducks were watching from the wall,
To warn if he should wake.
The sheep were packing up supplies,
To aid in their escape.

The pigs did not assist at all.
They slept right through the chatter.
They had their warm and sloshy mud,
To them it didn’t matter.

The cows returned with ample load,
Of varied kinds of missiles.
They dug and scrounged all they could find,
From basketballs to thistles.

Assemble swift the catapult,
And drag it to position!
A piece was hidden in each stall,
So not to rouse suspicion.

The signal left the gander’s throat.
The mares threw wide the door.
They loaded up the weapon full,
And made the rubbish soar.

The bedroom window crashed right through,
And woke Jim with a start.
He slipped into his boots in haste,
With hand over his heart.

The second load crushed in his roof,
Just as he stepped outside.
His eyes fell on the animals,
And he was mortified.

The charge was roared in unison.
They rushed at him en masse.
Jim screamed in horror as they came,
And hid in the tall grass.

With copied truck keys safe in hoof,
The cows jumped in the seat.
They turned the key to start her up,
And floored it down the street.

A quick high-five, a hearty laugh,
They made it! They survived!
They sent a postcard to their friends,
Home in the countryside.

© Rachel Svendsen 2014

Sonnet No. 2

Sometimes it seems like we have always been.
Was there a time without a You and I?
So tell me darling how could I begin,
To dream of life without you by my side?
So here I stand your hand in mine to ask,
If you would let me change your name to mine.
Though living life can be a fearful task,
Together even darkest days will shine.
If you accept this ring and take my heart,
I’ll walk beside you till the day we die.
For only death my dear could ever part,
Two hearts that fit so well as you and I.

My dear one take this ring I offer you
And make that solemn sacred vow, “I do.”

© Rachel Svendsen 2014

A Year Ago

A year ago I walked away
Far too nervous to look
Your father had tears in his eyes
Two pink lines
I was so nervous
I shook
I put my hands on you
Asleep inside me
The nightmare came too soon
Always weak
Always ill
My heart knew something was wrong
“Tell him not to leave us.”
Your father would put his lips against you
As close as he could
“We love you. You stay in there”
Always weak
Always ill

We came that day to see you grow
Cold office
Cold reality
“We’re so sorry”

A year ago I walked away
Far too wretched to believe
Your father had tears in his eyes
Two grieving parents
I was so broken
I shook
I put my hands on you
Dead inside me
The nightmare wouldn’t end
Always weak
Always ill
Weeks dragged by relentlessly
“Why did God do this?”
Your father put his lips against my forehead
As close as he could
“I love you. We will be okay.”
Always weak
Always ill

Has it really been one year…
Still loved
Still missed
“Goodnight my Angel”

© Rachel Svendsen 2014

Our First Sunrise

Wisps of light feather from the horizon
The clouds are shaded shadows
Barely visible
The early morning sand is cool
It smells of salt
I run my fingers through the smooth grains
Frothy white waves whisper soothing songs
Their bow lazily lilts across the violin of shore
I close my eyes and let the song envelope me
Inhale it into my chest
The birds chant their descant
Your hand is warm
You’re still waking
Brown curls uncombed
Brown eyes still bleary
But lovely, tender
Happy to share this moment
“It’s starting.”
My eyes open
The sun arrives and blows the moon a kiss
The moon bows lovingly from view as all eyes fall on her
Shaded light rends the horizon
Waves welcomely kiss the colors
It spreads in rippled reflection in the mirrored eyes of seawater
Rising dawn
Rising sun
Warmth spreads through me
Not from dawn
Not from sun
From your hand

© Rachel Svendsen 2014

Sir Lochen

Sir Lochen was free from evil and greed.
A knight noble in heart, he mounted his steed,
An earnest voice whispered, “Kind Sir, you will need,
To urge your horse to move on!”

The voice from the dark was the youngest Monroe.
“Oh please, Good Sir Knight, I must beg you go!
Gregarious lurks and is plotting your woe.
Please urge your horse to move on!”

A silent glance back at the home just vacated,
His gut from the meal was still slightly inflated.
His host? No, not he! A man to be hated?
Why urge his horse to move on?

Then his mind snapped alive and awoke as if flinted,
Replaying remarks and the warnings that hinted…
Both rider and steed simultaneously squinted.
He urged his horse to move on.

The fire-lit room heard the cry of his mount.
Gregarious snarled and quickly ran out.
“You shall not escape!” was the foe’s angry shout.
The horse was urged to move on.

Forced into action, though still slightly plastered,
Gregarious still had his plan fully mastered.
He rang the town bell that would bring the disastered.
The horse was urged to move on.

The sharp pealing bell had the whole town awake.
They picked up their weapons both pitchfork and rake.
They were trained to respond, did not know their mistake.
He urged his horse to move on.

Through the trees as he rode he could see Myrtle’s door.
“I must reach my sweet Witch with great haste and I’m sure
She can turn them to toads, put an end to this war.”
He urged his horse to move on.

The commotion grew loud as the gang was assembled.
Not a cheery portrayal of justice resembled,
They marched in his way and the earth shook and trembled.
He urged his horse to move on.

“Oh Myrtle my love, I will soon be with thee.
Just through these dark woods and beyond that large tree.
I’ll hold you so close, then we’ll truly be free.”
He urged his horse to move on.

Through the woods and the trees he verily clattered
Each dream and each hope there so easily shattered
For Into an oak tree he suddenly splattered
The riderless horse still moved on…

© Rachel Svendsen 2014


The sun has set
But your tired eyes aren’t closing yet
So close them now my little love
And let my voice from up above
Flow over you
Over you

Your breathing slows
Your numbing senses ebb and flow
So put your busy mind to rest
Just lay your head against my breast
And let it fade
Let it fade

My love rest on
Let sleep remain with you ’til dawn
You’re warm and safe when I am near
You know the heartbeats in your ear
Are all for you
All for you

© Rachel Svendsen 2014

I Guess I’m Starting a Blog

I am a writer.  I think I more or less always was.  That may seem impossible.  I can hear you saying, “Surely you weren’t writing direct from the womb.”  No (silly goose), but I’ve always had a vivid imagination.  I’ve always had incredible dreams.  That is as good a place to start as any.

I started putting pen to paper in Middle school.  I wrote poems and short stories.  My diaries were filled with over-exaggerated portrayals of my everyday experiences.  In sixth grade I started my first long story (with chapters and everything.  Be nice!!  That was a big deal for me then).  I completed two by the end of seventh grade.  They were shoddy at best but the pleasure of seeing my imaginings written out on notebook paper was unparalleled.  (They have since mysteriously gone missing…)

I continued to write poems, mostly goofy nonsense, all through high school.  (I remember one in particular that I wrote about a Bible teacher of mine who had the distinct mannerisms of a Tyrannosaurus.  I tried to share my creation with the student next to me and was immediately shunned.  Perhaps they feared its gentle rhythms.  Perhaps because they were trying to pay attention in class.  Perhaps it was the drawing of my teacher as a T-rex on top.  It’s difficult to say…)  After graduation, life got in the way.  I wrote rarely, mostly free verse poetry when I was hurting.  Sometimes there is nothing more comforting than guiding your heart through your pen to help the overflow of emotions seep into a blank white slate.

After I got married, my imagination was full of plots and poems.  One day it overflowed onto a word document, creating my first real novel.  It is still in progress, but one day (whether through a publisher or by myself) I am going to publish it.

I do not pretend I am the best writer that ever lived, (being an avid reader that would be a horrific statement to make) or even that I do not have much to learn.  What I do know is this.  I love writing.  I love creating.  I love reading.  I love poetry.  This blog is meant to share that love with others.

So lay your favorite blanket across your knees, pour a cup of tea, and I will tell you a story or let my heart sing you a song.

Once upon a time…