New Blog!

Well I did, at last, decide to publish a new blog featuring my poetry and writing.
Check it out and follow me if it interests you! I will still be posting over here about my life and other personal adventures and revelations, but over at The Ground At My Feet you will find new posts almost every day!  Thanks for being interested in anything I have had to say!


Ah poetry.  Little can be said better than through the words of the poet.  Having the opportunity to focus on poetry for a whole semester (and get a grade for it!) has left me stumbling happily between Kinnell, Poe, Basho, Plath and Ginsberg among others.  Probably the most fantastic aspect of this class however, is exploring those graphic images of my memory, sucking out the emotions and meaningful moments, good and bad and undecided, to create something that is more than just writing.  A major assignment this semester will be my portfolio.  Although I won't share all my poetry via the blogosphere, there are times that I think I will, like today.  I may even eventually create a new blog just for my poetry - stay tuned for that - I'm still not sure about it.  In any case, the following narrative (and un-rhyming!) poem is one that I wanted to share.  I wrote it for an assignment as my attempt at narrative poetry. I'll let the poem do the talking.  Feel free to comment or question.

Eesti Vabariik (The Republic of Estonia)
by Megan Dinan

My eyes vacation on idyllic images of Tallin
Pressing on my retinas-
St Olav’s Spire piercing an empty Baltic sky,
St Catherine’s Passage full of those verified talents
And cobble stones unevenly pave the way to
Churches for St Mary, St Michael, St John,
St Simeon and the Prophetess Hanna, and two for St Nicholas.
The Holy Spirit Church’s clock indicates the time
I board the train to Keila.

My eyes sift through the rummage
Of over-occupation,
The remains of 90,000 german-murdered,
Innocent citizens unable to speak but managing
To visit through the blur of the train passing by.
Concrete ghosts stand gaping like dead men,
Remnants of crumbling communism-
In effigy of Stalin.

I step off the train onto rickety platforms,
Driven in an old car to the pretty, quiet camp.
I read a verse from my Estonian bible and
The empty hearts of Estonian youth drink
This spirituality from a cold river of relationship
Where western tourists believe that they have brought
The beginning of religion to a freshly democratic fairy tale.

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