Friday, November 20, 2009
tabi, zori, and juban 2
so the zori and the juban came in on the 7th! i had a friend bring them to be a couple of hours before it started so I could sew the chikara nuno i made onto the juban. it was horrible though! my juban was too long!!! so i had to fight and tuck it. i also had a hard time getting the zori straps loosened so i left them for another day. (it took me: 1 exacto knife, 1 paint can opener, 1 bottle of wood glue, and 2 hours to get them loosened 0_0 ) international night was ok. there were some people representing japan (wearing yukata) and... PRETIED OBIS. i wanted to scream, cry, and pull my hair out when i saw them i was so upset. especially since the average person wouldnt know too much about kimono... i couldnt really take any pictures due to the lighting troubles. at least the food was good.
wolf run 2
Wolf's Run [version 2]
I know why the wild wolf runs.
He runs to feel the sharp wind through his soft fur.
He runs to feel the hard, cold ground
Beneath his taut paws.
His feet thumping a repetitious rhythm
On a snare drum of ice and snow.
He runs to feel the beat of his heart
Blood coursing through his rigid veins
Warming his skin beneath the sharp wind
Which whistles through his flying fur.
His muscles scream in protest
Yet he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop running
His ears pick up the faintest scratch
His nose twitches as he smells a distant scent
Near indescribable through the rushing tumult
And his eyes strain through the falling snow
That rushes past his face
As his warm air crystallizes
Fogging up the air in front of him
His long pink tongue hangs out as he pants
Water sliding past his sharp, pitiless teeth
And down to cool his hot throat
Which stiffens as he summons up his remaining strength
To howl at the moon
And to begin his run again.
I know why the wild wolf runs.
He runs to feel the sharp wind through his soft fur.
He runs to feel the hard, cold ground
Beneath his taut paws.
His feet thumping a repetitious rhythm
On a snare drum of ice and snow.
He runs to feel the beat of his heart
Blood coursing through his rigid veins
Warming his skin beneath the sharp wind
Which whistles through his flying fur.
His muscles scream in protest
Yet he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop running
His ears pick up the faintest scratch
His nose twitches as he smells a distant scent
Near indescribable through the rushing tumult
And his eyes strain through the falling snow
That rushes past his face
As his warm air crystallizes
Fogging up the air in front of him
His long pink tongue hangs out as he pants
Water sliding past his sharp, pitiless teeth
And down to cool his hot throat
Which stiffens as he summons up his remaining strength
To howl at the moon
And to begin his run again.
wolf run 1
Wolf’s Run [old poem, version 1]
I know why the wild wolf runs
He races to feel the sharp wind
Whistling through his rippling fur
In sharp gusts he can feel his breath
Searing his lungs with a rush of exhilaration
And his paws hammering the frozen ground
Muscles hot from continuous movement
Ears cocked and waiting
Straining through the sound of his thumping heart
Beating a tattoo against his ribcage
He can smell the rich tang of the earth
And taste the wind, heavy with sweet scents
Of herbs and berries
His movements are fluid like
Time flowing into eternity
He sees all through a rushing vortex
Of blurred, half seen shapes in his speed
His pink tongue hanging out, sides heaving
Panting and dripping flecks of water
As he feels the icy rush
Hurrying over his tongue
On its way to unknown seas
His throat tightens and his muscles tense
All time stands still as he sounds his voice
In a lonely cry
Through the crisp air of the full moon night
I know why the wild wolf runs
He races to feel the sharp wind
Whistling through his rippling fur
In sharp gusts he can feel his breath
Searing his lungs with a rush of exhilaration
And his paws hammering the frozen ground
Muscles hot from continuous movement
Ears cocked and waiting
Straining through the sound of his thumping heart
Beating a tattoo against his ribcage
He can smell the rich tang of the earth
And taste the wind, heavy with sweet scents
Of herbs and berries
His movements are fluid like
Time flowing into eternity
He sees all through a rushing vortex
Of blurred, half seen shapes in his speed
His pink tongue hanging out, sides heaving
Panting and dripping flecks of water
As he feels the icy rush
Hurrying over his tongue
On its way to unknown seas
His throat tightens and his muscles tense
All time stands still as he sounds his voice
In a lonely cry
Through the crisp air of the full moon night
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