I had a friend named Chris

When I was twelve I had a friend called Chris.
Chris was nice, possibly one of the nicest people I have ever met. Forever the gentleman, and not just for flirting's sake. Chris was a great guy.
We spent most of the time together: hanging out, swimming, acting out stories around a small camp fire. We'd go to town, play hide and seek and listen to music which can only be described as original skater-pop.
But then Chris left, just left, and I was on my own. I had no friend next door, all my friends were a fair walk away. I was no longer the girl next door, nor he the boy.
These days all of my friends live an hour or more away, and that's by car, goodness know how long by walk.
I have our memories, our magic, the fun, the music and the ideas we fabricated on our days together.
Chris will always be one of my closest friends, even to this day. He's the only boy I've ever felt completely comfortable around.
I often wonder where you are Chris, and if we'll ever see each other again. I'll always remember you, and I hope you're thinking the same thing.

21 Days of Blogging November 2011

Hi everyone, you;re probably wondering "What's with all the posts?"
Well every November I'm doing an online festival called '21 Days of Blogging'.
I'm getting a friend to do a logo and I've got a lot of people ready to help me out.
So it should be sweet.
Got something to say? Well email me or post a comment so we can get in touch! This festival is for writers everywhere to get together for a 'blog-fest'.
Yes, I know I missed a blog yesterday but I will make up for it tomorrow with three. I was so tired I fell asleep with my laptop, I'd been busy all day.
Keep in Touch
-Maddy

On a red carpet of poppies

I stepped through the hidden glen like an angel, my feet did not dare disturb the fleshy florals through which I trod. On a red carpet of poppies, but the plants were much more lushious. Sunlight lit the coven like a spot light on stage, turning the tendril grasses translucent and light. White flowers peppered the edges, jasmine could be scented but not seen. It was scacred ground. It could turn you away if it wanted to, you'd feel out of place and abandoned, as though you were intruding on a funeral or left out of some great joke. But I felt at home, no, not home, part of it, of the glen.
I felt as though I could swing through the trees without effort, despite my lowly strength. I could fly, without wings and swim though the tropic riverlets as a mermaid..
This was a place of magic but I could not stay. To stay too long wold spoil the deity, the euthoric feeling that was attached to the place. I would leave now, perhaps forever. But I would visit often. In my dreams and memories the little meadow, a gazebo of entwined vine and branches. It would always be deliccously beautiful, I glutton enough to drink it in. It would not tire, it would remain as so.
Then perhaps, just perhaps I would return, an old and thought aged woman, my body bowed to time. I would stand at the edge of the gazebo; and walk on a red carpet of poppies. Perhaps my hair, no longer the water gold of yonder, would be silve; long and light. As a spot light of butter sunshine lit before me translucent grass. And this I would say, on a red carpet of poppies in a world only known to few,
'Hello dear friend; I am home, lets make but one of two.'
-By Madelyn. C. Lardner

A little bit from Jane Ormes

This is a little piece of poetry I found a few months ago. Don't think of it as sad, think of it as sweet...
***
Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow...
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain...
When you awaken in the morning hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight,
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there, I did not die.
-Jane Ormes

I've never been in love, but this must be how it feels

I love the way you hug me,
And the way you make me smile.
I love the way my heart aches,
When you're gone a little while.
Your eyes are always sparkling,
You say it's 'cause of me.
They never said it felt this way,
The feeling that I'm free.
I never wanted to be bound,
To a person or someone.
I didn't want to be 'their girl',
But now my heart is won.

I'm sorry if it's silly,
If you think I sound plain sad.
I'm sorry for the lonely,
Who can never know what we had.

This is what my friends say,
When they've 'met their one true love'.
This repeats quite often,
Like the heartbeat of a dove.
'I'll never know!' they declare,
Only lovers feel this way!
I don't love a person,
But I feel love everyday.
I love my music, my writing,
Acting on screen and on stage.
And the thing about my love,
It's like turning a page.
My passions won't back stab me,
Or leave me for the fray,
It's like a brand new dawn,
It's brand new everyday.

By Madelyn. C. Lardner, in love with her art

I'm just saying...

I'm just saying you know, just saying.

I Wonder...

The human is one of the greatest scientific wonders. I wonder about all it's idiocy all the time. Sometimes it has good emotions and sometimes bad, both are essential for an artist. But some emotions leave me wondering. Why, why do I even bother?
Of course, you're human, I almost forgot. You can't always be in control, you sometimes humiliate yourself the wonder why you were so stupid. I wonder too. I wonder why you just do things and why you have no answer to your wondering.
But of course, you're human, rules by the emotions! How's that going? Work ethic alright? Are you wondering why you are reading this? Wondering why I told you via YouTube to google this? I don't.
But of course, you're human! It's the human thing to do! Just like swearing, drinking, embarrassment and wondering. You like entertainment, like leadership. But is this entertainment? Art is subjective, but isn't that subjective too?
Hello, I'm a human. I've just done something incredibly embarrassment and am vehemently taking it out on you.