To Be or Not To Be

Do you ever get those "what's the meaning of life?" moments? Well, I do. All the time. I wonder why I even ask myself that question when, as a Catholic, I know what the meaning of life is. Is it wrong to analyze your own life? To think about everything that has happened in it up until this point and wonder how in the world it will all amount to something, good or bad, in the end?

I sure hope not.

I can't tell you that I've ever dated or had a hangover or any of that stuff that crazy college kids do to escape the hum-drum of studies and deadlines. I've never been outside of my own country. But at times I feel like I know all there is to know about the world.

Either that, or my current knowledge of the world is all my mind wants to know...at least for now.



Do you ever get those people who tell you, "I want to travel the world!"
Why? I mean, I've wanted to tour Ireland ever since I was 10. But Ireland isn't "the world."
What makes us as human beings so restless about our own surroundings that we want to be restless in different surroundings? It's hard enough trying to understand our lives in a place that's comfortable to us. But maybe this is just me.

Anyways, this is just my daily rant. Not written for anyone or about anyone.
Just my thoughts on paper...well, "screen."

I wrote this for a friend who's going into the army.

"His Decision"

His struggle between “myself and I,”
The mirror echoes both man and boy.
These gadgets, these killing-machines, once mere toys.
But no longer, no longer.

His heart, his body, his mind-- they ache.
The barren night, his only companion.
Cramped in vile trenches-- abysmal canyons,
He longs for her, he longs for her.

He is only understood by some,
The few, the brave, and the fallen.
Commands whispered, he continues crawling.
A little longer, just a little longer.

His decision—the very thing that keeps him here,
he’s told it was not in vein,
“home is where he belongs,” they explain,
He’s stronger, so much stronger.

The White Knight

This is a poem I wrote a while back. It was inspired by one of the members of Celtic Thunder, a fantastic Irish group that has a great set of solo vocalists. Enjoy!

The White Knight

The news rang strong, and deep, and clear,
in that commendable Knight's ear,
in a moment's time all he held dear,
was thrust upon the rack.


The quill he gripped--it fell to the ground,
straight to his steed he leapt with a bound,
the servants were frightened, barely daring a sound,
from the portcullis their mounted lord burst.


Over fields, and glens, and every hamlet,
he would not be thwarted 'til this challenge was met,
for his queen the Knight galloped on this chess set,
chimerical fire licked his stallion's heels.


At long last he skidded to a halt,
this castle wall he considered he'd pole-vault,
'til a lumbering beast began the tumult,
unsheathing his blade the Knight stood his ground.


"Where is she?!" he screamed. "And what is this shroud,
this deathly veil which hides my love 'vowed?
I will not surrender, nor my head bow,
my snowy flag will not see the sun's light.


If you expect me to yield, as many do, friend,
then I suggest you ask for a brain to lend,
I know your weak-spot from a mile on end,
there is no match for my intellect and nerve."


With that he lunged forward, heart beating fast,
it was true that his skill was unsurpassed,
the Knight parried and thrust, the beast he'd lambaste,
his unfailing blade delivered Death's blow.

The beast shrieked a scream of defeat,
it fell to the ground, its permanent seat,
but the victor's task was incomplete,
to his reposing fair damsel he ran.


The Knight, out of breath, had traveled far and wide,
And at this moment the fates did collide,
gently pushing his beloved's auburn locks aside,
his lips softly brushed hers.


She awoke, she gasped, and he wept,
and assured her her trust he'd kept,
it was true, she admitted, she'd overslept,
they were merry and embraced once more.


And so the White Knight's story ends,
but I give you my word that his tale transcends,
do as you will and be mirthful my friends,
your life is an open book.*

*This poem was written from the viewpoint of the man who rescued "Sleeping Beauty."

Check it Out!

This is the link to my second blog where my friend and I are writing a short story based off the ancient tale of Robin Hood. Please feel free to check it out and comment!
http://notightsallowed.blogspot.com/

Second Section of "Marian" Short Story

Previously: My heart leapt! I had not heard Robin's name for seven years! And now he had thrust aside the idea of fighting in the Holy Land with King Richard?! If I recalled, Robin had always been enthralled at the thought of waging war with King Richard. I had to see Robin as soon as I was able.

-Chapter Three-
Confusion, The Market Fight, Robin

Thoughts of Robin came rushing back to me as I walked briskly out of Bramwell's candle shop. After dreaming of picking off thousands of Saracens single-handedly in the "Unholy Land", as Robin called it, why had he suddenly stooped to the level of outlaw?
This confusing sea of thoughts was interrupted by a sudden tumult in the market square. Half a dozen of the Sheriff’s guards were screaming with faces the color of the tomatoes being crushed in the chaos. Another two guards were busying their swords and grinning wickedly as they fought back two young men, who seemed to be the source of the bedlam. One of the thieves was carrying five loaves of bread under one arm and a bulging sack of poultry in the other. Smirking and antagonizing the guards seemed to be his specialty, and although the young criminal was lanky, he had a unique way of defending himself. To my amazement, he was using only his feet to fight! He kicked here and parried there, his feet flying into a swift frenzy.
His partner in crime, a taller and bulkier specimen, carted three purses brimming with sterling on his deerskin belt. This man's weapon of choice did not appear to be an appendage. With the greatest of accuracy, he manipulated a recurve bow, shooting arrows with it at one moment and shirking the guards' blows with it in the next.
Soon the entire brigade of sentinels was lying in a defenseless heap of shame in the middle of the square. As if fire were at the criminals' heels, they sped straight in my direction, and the master of the recurve bow stumbled, sending my basket of candles and me soaring into the air. I landed in a pile of horse dung and muttered a small oath.
"What in St. William's name is the matter with y--?" The look in his eyes stayed my angry insult. We both paused. I had seen this look before. The market thief was Robin.

-Chapter Four-
The Chase, Explanations, Returning Home

Before I could think of anything to say, Robin grabbed my hand, summoned his comrade, and began sprinting with the alacrity of a stag. I stumbled unwillingly after him.
By this time another dozen of the Sheriff’s guards were ordered after us, which was not so terrible...but this time they came with vengeance for weapons and horses for shields.
"C'mon, Will!" Robin called to his partner in crime. "We'll head into the woods! The Sheriff’s minions will be too fearful to bring their horses into such a boggy terrain," he said with surprising energy.
Robin's guess about the "Sheriff’s minions" was as exact as his arrow shooting. When the three of us had run about a mile into Sherwood Forest, Robin finally allowed us to catch our breath.
"What," I panted, "is," I took another deep breath, "the matter with you?" I gawked at the face I had not seen in seven years. It was now half-covered with a thin, russet beard. Its eyes were piercing blue, and its lips flickered, always willing to smile. I gaped at Robin with probably the most puzzled look in the history of puzzled looks. He just laughed.
"Ah, Marian, you're just as I remember you." And he shot me a toothy grin.
"Is that a good or bad thing, Robin, King of Outlaws?" I had been flung into horse dung, had unwillingly run two miles, and was now sweating like one of the farm pigs. To make matters worse, Father would be arriving home with his convoy in less than an hour, and Cecily was most likely searching for me throughout the entire town of Locksley. If one could not guess, I was seething and probably would have scared myself if I had had a looking-glass.
"Oh, no need to be angry, Lady of Kenton!" Robin said, lifting his hands in defense. "I just remember you as being completely out of breath when we played 'tag' as children. And in that sense, you appear exactly as I recall you. And for future reference, I am not 'King of the Outlaws' as you so quaintly put it."
"Then, why in St. Paul's name were you and your friend stealing from Locksley market?!" I wanted to know once for all.
"His friend's name is Will. Will Scarlet, if you please," interjected the man who had so proficiently fought with his feet.
"I was stealing from those rich merchants for the poor, helpless families of Locksley, Welham, Aslackby, Nettlestone, and Metheringham," Robin said with a look of genuine earnest in his eyes. "They have nothing while the greedy, ring-fingered merchants have everything and more!" he scowled. "While they sit in their fine brocade armchairs at their rich mahogany tables and eat the most luxurious foods with spices imported from the Holy Land, these destitute souls are lucky if they have chairs, tables, or any food at all!"
I was definitely able to see his point.
"But there is still no need to steal. There are other ways...," I said meekly.
"What other ways, Marian! If you know, please enlighten me," he grumbled coldly. "I am sorry. I did not mean to appear so callous. But as you know, Prince John raises taxes, sends orders to do so to the Sheriff, who practically kneels at his feet, and the people of England are left to starve. They have no money or stamina left for taxes. What money they scrape together is left for a meager meal," he said with sorrow reflecting in his piercing-blue eyes.
"What about your dream to wage war in the Holy Land? Doesn't that mean something to you?"
"I left my vocation for the knighthood for reasons. When my stupid ways of childhood dreaming were replaced by sensibility and reality, I saw how aloof and uncaring each knight was. Why had I ever wanted to represent, ride with, fight alongside, and imitate these uncouth men?" He shook his head and then became silent. While thoughts raced inside my head and my mouth struggled to free at least one word, Robin said:
" 'Best take her home, Will. It's almost dusk. She lives at Kenton Hall, three miles north of Brighton Abbey. Goodbye, Marian. Give your father my regards."
I was too dumbfounded by everything that had happened to me in less than three hours; I could not give Robin a reply. I smiled weakly and mounted a mare that Will had prepared.
Some form of adventure and excitement had come at last, and I was so used to my monotonous life that I had not accepted it as readily as I thought I would be able. Suddenly, Robin's last words to me replayed in my head. "Give your father my regards." How did he know father was returning home from his campaign?
And then a bolt of panic struck me. Father had probably been home for at least an hour! I was supposed to have returned home hours ago myself, and here I was smelling of horse and its excrements and looking like a regular milk-maid. What would Eleanor and Cecily say? To be continued. . .

"Marian"--A Short Story of Sorts

This is a short story I started writing for my composition class last year. I was just re-reading it again and although the sisters in it appear to be similar to my sisters in real life, I've made the older one a lot more dark/menacing. Most of the story's ideas come from the BBC Robin Hood show, so you may call it "fan-fiction" if you like. Some of the writing is not my best/favorite work. But let me know what you think!

-Chapter One-

Rosemary, A Trip into Town, and Questions

"Marrrriiian!"

I shuddered as I heard that piercing howl for the third time that hour. Not caring if the surplus of vegetables and herbs went flying everywhere, I let my basket fall to the ground, wiped my brow, and stumbled into the kitchen.

"Where is that rosemary?!" Eleanor, my older sister, raged as she viciously plucked the feathers from our precious chicken. It had been months since our small family had been blessed with a sumptuous feast, but today was an exception. Father was returning home from the Holy Land, and everything had to be perfect...even if it meant scraping together our last shillings to buy a plump chicken.

"Well? Have you found any?" she barked impatiently as she tapped her foot.

"Yes, I have," I managed to mumble. "I'll be back in a moment with it. Anything else 'Princess Eleanor'?"

She threw me a look too angry for words, and I scampered out of the threshold, hoping that another awful squeal would soon be out of earshot.

Once I reached the garden, the blazing sun reminded me that mid-afternoon was nearing. I never minded the sun. Cecily, my younger and kinder sister, always seemed to be fanning herself, no matter the weather, and she envied my tolerance of fiery temperatures. She even looked like the sun, with her flaming auburn mane, rosy cheeks exploding with freckles, and bold, opinionated temper already established at thirteen years of age.

Eleanor, on the other hand, was quite the opposite. Blessed with rich, ebony tresses and a smile so sweet that every lad in Kenton longed to be shot a toothy grin from her, Eleanor was often visited by the shyest of suitors. But as the oldest, she insisted on putting Cecily and me "in our places," and although she could be quite charming, that was when she was the most dangerous. In her nineteen years, she had discovered the art of manipulation and had mastered its perfection thoroughly.

Ahhh, I thought with relief, here's that confounded rosemary! Plucking a handful of leaves from the precious herb, I scampered back into Kenton Hall, the home that had held four generations of Kentons and a myriad of memories for more than one hundred years. It was neither the grandest of homes, nor did it have the most breath-taking facade, but, nevertheless, it was my home, and I had lived in it and loved it for seventeen years.

"Oh, you're here just in time," Eleanor said with a fiendish smile as I entered the kitchen threshold for the second time that hour. "I was just about to send Cecily to Locksley market without you. She's already hitched Bran to the cart, and I've given her a list of all that is necessary for father's welcoming."

Little did Eleanor know that my heart skipped a beat at this invitation! It had been weeks since I was privileged with a visit to the market, and I my feet were itching to flee Kenton Hall for the least bit of excitement. Maybe I would even get the chance to ride Bran, my favorite stallion.

On the six-mile journey into Locksley, I thought of father, his responsibility for the men under his command, and the bloody war with the Saracens. Why were the poor men of England engaging in war when they had families to care for? Why was King Richard so bent on changing the Saracens' beliefs? Is not every soul entitled to its own views? These questions and others entered my perplexed mind, and before Cecily and I knew it, we were enveloped in the cries of the greedy vendors at Locksley market.

-Chapter Two-

Guy, The Candle Store, An Old Friend

After I had tethered Bran to a post outside the blacksmith's shop, I turned around and discovered that Cecily had already scampered off into the confusion of the square. Suddenly, a sharp yank on my mousy-brown braid made me shriek and whirl around to lay eyes on the culprit. Standing there with that big-headed smirk on his puny, little face was Guy of Gisbourne, the miller's son. Recently returned from Brighton as a soldier-in-training, Guy had assumed the role of braggart and held the belief that he could woo any young maiden...whether she liked it or not.

"Why are you snaking around the market today? Is today different from any other day?" I snapped as I turned away from him as I started a determined march to the candle-maker's shop.

"Todaaay is tha same as yester-tomorrow," he managed to sputter out as I realized that he had already paid a visit to the tavern that afternoon. "You are looking as striking as a rose today, Marian...thorns and all...," he spewed out.

I threw him a dirty look and strode into Bramwell of Locksley's candle store.

"God bless and keep you, Marian! How do you and your sisters fair?" smiled Bramwell.

"We are getting by. Father is returning from the Holy Land this eve," I said with a grin. After finally losing Guy and his horrid remarks and buying ten tallow candles, I overheard Kennera of Langdon speaking in a hushed tone with Delia, the baker's daughter.

"I hear that that Robin of Locksley has become an outlaw. He gave up that position of squire to become an outlaw! And he was on the brink of becoming a knight, too. What is in that boy's head?"

My heart leapt! I had not heard Robin's name for seven years! And now he had thrust aside the idea of fighting in the Holy Land with King Richard?! If I recalled, Robin had always been enthralled at the thought of waging war with King Richard. I had to see Robin as soon as I was able.

To be continued...

Hello friends!

I must admit it. I am new to this "blogging thing." But I'm willing to learn what they are all about. My name is Mairéad (Irish for "Margaret") and I am a college student. I'm not sure what I want to do or what I want to be "when I grow up"...but one thing is for certain. I'll be climbing this "ivy wall" until the day I know what I want--what I want to achieve. As soon as I've reached the other side of that wall, I know it will be one breath-taking sight...but right now, I'm ready to take whatever God blesses me with and I will strive to be what He wants me to be. Although it is a struggle, I love this "ivy wall"...I have found many friends and hobbies between the viridity of the twisting and twining plant. I know when the time is right, I'll be able to stand atop that wall: my family and friends behind and around me, my future and life-changing choice in front of me, and God...well God will surround me.
What my blog's about: I'm kind of an artsy person...I love to write poetry and short stories, so expect a lot of that! I'll also be posting original photography and artwork, and maybe a video or two now and then!