lisagrace

lisagrace Jul 20

I stare at my feet
My home where I should be
Magic is dead here
Alagaësia calls me
I speak in the ancient tongue

The fourth and final poem in my Inheritance Cycle-inspired tanka series.
A quiet return to what still calls me—magic, language, and the self I thought I’d lost.
If you’ve read any part of this journey, thank you. It means more than you know.

– Lisa 🐉

#tanka #poetry #inheritancecycle #eragon #alagaesia #magic #reclamation #fantasy #finalpoem #ancientlanguage

lisagrace Jul 20

3. Departure

The ink fades to beige
A voice pulls me from the page
But the boughs and hills remain
Desperately, I muster
My eyes, alight—brisingr

The third poem in my four-part tanka series inspired by The Inheritance Cycle.
That moment when you're pulled back to reality, but part of you still lingers in the story.
The magic stays with you—even after the book closes.

#tanka #poetry #inheritancecycle #eragon #reading #bookmagic #escapism #fantasy #alagaesia #brisingr

lisagrace Jul 19

Words, Not Numbers!

Words make sense and numbers don’t
I try to count, but then I won’t
The digits blur, my thoughts plateau

"What the hell is 9 x 4?!"

Mother says I need to practice,
“Mathematics covers all the bases!”
But numbers never spoke to me—
Static is all my ears percieve

Equations dance and then collapse
I trace the lines, but miss the gaps
I’m nearly thirty (yes, it’s true)
Still count on fingers—calculator too!

But give me words—I’ll make them soar
With metaphors and quiet lore
A single phrase can build a door.

The cash register waits patiently
Just how many twenty dollar notes are these?
It’s nearly 5:30, I wish I were home
Where silence stirs and words can roam.

A funny one about being better with metaphors than multiplication.
Words make sense. Numbers? Not so much.
For the finger-counters, the mental math dodgers, and the dreamers behind the till.

#poetry #mathstruggles #humor #wordsnotnumbers #relatable #languageoverlogic #cashregisterlife #quietfunny #writinglife #neurospicy

lisagrace Jul 19

What's The Opposite of Woe?

My coffee sings a morning lie
I greet the room and get no reply
Still, I talk to myself—at least I try
The walls never say hello or goodbye
Maybe the silence is just being shy...
but we usually see eye to eye
Now it’s time for ham and egg pie

The bookshelf waits. Dust comes to stay.
Unread for weeks. This is the way.
My pile of clothes begins to sway—
A soft rebellion, mild decay.
Necklaces lounge in proud display,
Bright lollipop earrings steal the day,
I dress like I’ve outrun dismay.

Otonoke in my ears, pocketed hands
I don’t need a reason. I don’t need a plan
The clouds clap with a flash and a BANG
I walk like I'm lit by streetlamp spite—
just me and the echo of maybe-I-might

One step, two step, three step, four
I giggle in the face of thunderstorms
Rain, rain, please don't abate
Let me linger in this state
Wet socks squish, but they carry their weight
Wish I had nowhere to be, that'd be great
The clouds and I are late for our date
My umbrella dozes – dry, ignored
Drip-dry dreams on the hallway floor
I hang up my coat and set my plea:
Oh woe is not me

I refuse to droop, to wither, to mope
Not all the time, at least, I hope
Let joy arrive on tiptoe
A spark that only I bestow
A tiny smile for what I miss the most

Because what is the opposite of woe?
If not a blink that dares to glow

Wrapped in fleece, the evening mine
Slow sips of golden honey wine
Just me, and this quiet offering
Where everything small becomes everything

A slightly ridiculous, slightly profound poem about rainy socks, rebellious outfits, and refusing to mope (at least not all the time).
For anyone who’s ever asked “what if I’m okay anyway?”—and meant it.

#poetry #whimsy #healing #selfreflection #rainyday #joy #melancholy #hope #defiance #softrebellion

lisagrace Jul 19

2. Dwelling

He hunts in the Spine
The woods erupt warmth and light
The deer bolts, affright
A blue stone? No – dragon’s egg
She, Saphira Bjartskular.

The second in a four-part tanka series inspired by The Inheritance Cycle.
A quiet moment before everything changes—fear, fate, and something ancient stirring in the Spine.

Stay tuned for the next piece in the series.

#tanka #poetry #inheritancecycle #eragon #saphira #fantasy #dragon #alagaesia #bookinspired #fear

lisagrace Jul 19

1. Discovery

Dust motes catch the light
The world sighs in shades of grey
My hand reaches it—
A blue cover, curled edges
One sharp breath, I turn the page

The first in a four-part tanka series inspired by The Inheritance Cycle.
This one marks the beginning: the moment when everything changes.

Watch for the next poem in the collection if you like—each follows a different stage of the journey.

#tanka #poetry #inheritancecycle #fantasy #discovery #beginning #awakening #magic #saphira #eragon

lisagrace Jul 19

Honey, Lemon and Ginger

I must look ridiculous
to these other café patrons—
just a woman with orange-dyed hair
blinking back stubborn tears,
trying not to cry
into her honey, lemon, and ginger.

But I sit there, half-failing
to maintain my composure.
I look anywhere else—
up at the ceiling,
out the window,
trying not to meet anyone’s eyes.

These tears dare to seep,
but this sadness needs to steep—
not pour.
Or else they'll overflow
in overwhelm.
I must take the helm.

So I take a sip:
that warm, sweet bitterness
rights the ship.
And the gentle calm
soaks back in.
They may glance over and wonder
What must be on her phone
To evoke such emotion?

Oh, don't mind me
I'm just writing poetry
about a silly girl,
and her hopes for understanding
Falling onto deaf ears yet again
and again,
and again,
and again
One more long swill
A sharp intake of breath
They prickle at my eyes,
Again

My teacup is empty -
I think I'll need another ***
For the sake of my sanity
I cannot let them see it pour
For a flood, an empty teacup
Has begot

A poem about writing a poem in a café – literally TODAY, trying not to cry. It's about holding it together when your heart is steeping in too much.
Warmth, near-overwhelm, and one more *** of tea.

#poetry #grief #softness #overwhelm #healing #tears #cafe #vulnerability #warmth #processing