The Dice

Six seconds.
Fight, die, live,
it’s all decided
in the space of a moment,
a fraction of a minute,
a tenth of our time.
Do I run,
flee,
leave company behind
thirty feet away?
(but I’m short,
I’ve always been,
so twenty-five).
Do I fight,
tooth and nail,
pinned to the ground
by a villain
we cannot see.
Do I wait for an outcome,
for them to move closer,
to see the whites of their eyes
before firing,
missing or killing
but at least acting.
Six seconds.
I count them on one hand,
the sixth a dice
thrown on the table,
my action an arrow,
my fate in the dice.

An Ode to Vox Machina (2)

Critical Role allows me to imagine anything, to follow stories of fictional characters that mean just as much to their creators as they do to the fans. It’s a story to look forward to, whether I’m driving or waiting for the show to start live streaming. It’s a story I can feel free in, because anything can happen. Anything does happen. And their reactions are just as genuine as anyone’s.

So here’s a little nod to three characters I love just as much. Can you guess who they are?


Child of the goddess,
shining bullet through the sky,
stealthy plate mail a marching band.
Heal, protect, watch,
anger that you were not there,
building shrines, faith,
watchinf friends break,
voice of reason, optimism,
your light is never gone.


You left.
You claimed they never cared, so you left.
You watched from the sidelines,
the Meat Man, the Spice Fan,
and yet you came back once you left.

You inspire.
Words are too quick, you inspire.
You cut with your tongue,
with your wit and your lies,
you give of yourself and inspire.

You play on.
You mastered the music, play on.
You roll and you fight and inspire,
shit on the beds and spit fire,
you keep moving on, so play on.


Shapes, colors, and ale,
I would like to frenzy rage.
My strength is my friends.

An Ode to Vox Machina

I have become addicted to a simple show airing Thursday nights on a lovely channel called Geek and Sundry. I have been a fan since the show started, but only recently have I fully delved into the wonder that is Critical Role. And I have been entranced, obsessed, and in love with everything it is. The characters, the story, the world, the people, it is wonderful. So I decided to write an homage to the characters. Hers is long, so hers is first.

Stolen trinkets are the toughest to keep.

A heart, a soul, bow, brother, pet
each a stain of guilt on the conscious,
a tear in the fabric of your being.

Smoke and ash, gunpowder and lead,
there are worse things than death.
Take off the mask.

Life a gift, a curse, a need,
desired by others, not just you,
their wants tethering you to earth.

Darkness, bargaining, offerings,
traps released, tine frozen.
How do you feel? Cold.

Journey far, wide, alone but not,
hand in hand, side by side,
this is your path to trod.

Weaknesses found, exploited,
bow drawn in preparation.
Are you really different?

Dear, sister, mother, friend,
names that burn the ears,
memories of what was or could be.

Do not stray far from him,
you came into this world as one.
It’s like he’s taking a part of you with him.

Mercy, a balm to guilt,
the healing of a laden soul,
kill to live, kill to save.

Wrapped in furs, friendship, dependancy,
tucked neatly away for safety
against a heart that’s breaking.

Diplomacy and charisma, charm and a wink,
defenses against the dangers ahead,
bow ever ready, trinkets at hand.

Stolen trinkets are the toughest to keep.