Bella was wandering through the forest, talking to herself as she went, till, on turning a sharp corner, she came upon two little men, so suddenly that she could not help starting back, but in another moment she recovered herself, feeling sure they that they must be real.

They were standing under a tree, each with an arm round the other’s neck, and though they had looked very nearly the same from far away, now that she was closer Bella could see that they were rather different indeed, for one of them very pale-skinned and had large, pointy teeth, and the other’s face was covered entirely in russet-coloured fur. “Oh, my!” Bella said to herself. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a stranger-looking pair in all my life!”

The little man with the sharp teeth stood very still, and if it wasn’t for his twin distractedly scratching his own fur—”As though he has fleas!” Bella thought with a shudder—she would have quite forgot they were alive. She was just inching her way past the pair, doing her best to keep well away from the flea-ridden one, when she was startled by a voice coming from the little man with the very sharp teeth.

“My name is Edward. And this is Jacob. Who are you?” he said. “And would you tell me, please, why do you smell so very good?” Read more »

Poetry is sort of a curious object for me. I enjoy reading poems. I love spoken word poetry, though I know it’s not for everyone. I love how poetry is about the joy of language, the purity of expression, etc. But I have an utter inability to write it. And often when I’m reading a poem I feel like I’m being confronted with some cryptogram that needs to be decoded, which is fun, sometimes, and then again sometimes not. It can begin to feel more like a math problem than a poem. And feeding my complex still: rarely do I feel so inspired to write fiction as when I am reading a poem.

Am I the only one that feels that way? That is: confused?

Anyway, in light of these thoughts, I thought I’d share some of my favorite poems. Read more »