Adahla – The Forest Nymph!

Adahla Image

Adahla is a forest nymph I imagined for my forest concept art. This is the concept art for how she would look. I imagine her being very sassy and just loving life and having fun messing with people! Very much a trouble maker this one!

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Concept Art – Forest

A concept art piece for a forest area in which I have made characters for! (Nymphs, soon to come)

ForestConceptArt

Hansel and Gretel Character Redesign!

I’ve just had a fun project in which I got to redesign an already existing character pair! I chose to do a more adult version of Hansel and Gretel. Rather than just candy, it’s… candy flavored liquor! That, and I have a background I’m working on separately in which you see a witch bartender poisoning their drinks. Soon to come once I finish up my final semester in college.

HanselandGretel

No Problem – For my Grandfather.

My grandfather Gordy was my inspiration, my first best friend, my partner in crime during my early years, and so much more. I lost him to cancer in April 2016. I miss him more than anyone can know and I still cry over the loss I feel in my heart. This is dedicated to him, and made for my grandmother.

 

No Problem
At age three,
you introduced me
to your morning tunes.
“Good morning,
Good morning!”
Your cheerful jingle
was less than appealing
for a kid who only wanted
to sleep in. You’d offer
me three things for breakfast.
“We’ve got Cheerios,
cheerios, and cheerios.”
I think you annoyed me
just to bring my smile out
even when I was exhausted.
I spent more time
at your house than my own.
I’d lie underneath
an old, rickety tractor
and hand you tools from
a worn and rusty toolbox.
It was a task you assigned to me,
personally.
My white clothes
would get dirty,
and I’d often lean up
too fast and bump my head.
My mother would panic,
but I would never cry.
All you had to say was,
“No Problem.”
At age seven,
we went camping
with grandma almost
every weekend. I knew
your phone number
before I knew my own.
Dairy Queen was our
common hang out place.
We’d take long drives
and explore,
never getting lost.
Once, on our way home,
it was close to Halloween
and you promised
to get a pumpkin for us.
We chanted over
and over,
“Pumpkin, pumpkin, pumpkin!”
It annoyed grandma to no end.
She pleaded for us to stop,
and all you had to do
to calm her from your
maddening melodies
was turn around, look to me,
and go,
“No problem.”
At age thirteen,
you were nine hours away
from me. We could only
visit during the summer.
The Black Hills
hid you deep within the
slopes of dense forest.
We found our way to you,
and stayed for a week.
My bedroom was home
to a John Wayne cut out
that would stare at me
while I slept. It was creepy.
You laughed at me.
Yet, you picked it up
on the second night,
headed toward the door,
and said,
“No problem.”
At age nineteen,
you were only two hours
away now. Although
I was thirteen hours from
home. They told me
you turned yellow one day.
Someone had taken out
all of your guts,
examined them,
and put them back,
like some sick operator game.
As if taking out the parts of you
that make you operate correctly
would tell them everything
they need to know about you,
and why they needed to keep
you around for just
a little bit longer. So I
could say goodbye
to my first best friend.
Two months later,
it was Christmas.
I came home, finally,
and was tearing up
at the mere sight
of you, as you had lost
the step you once had
from following me around
on our old adventures.
You wrapped your arms
around me. I choked
back tears, and said
nothing. You said,
“No problem.”
I’m twenty-one,
I miss you. You left
us last April, and
it’s close to Christmas.
Once I arrive
you won’t be there
to help me
tease grandma,
eat ice cream,
offer Cheerios…
I still have a bear
that you always
kept in the camper
for me to use consistently,
as yet another way
to annoy grandma.
He dances and sings
Teddy Bear by Elvis.
I sometimes sit on my bed
stare the bear in the face
and press its paw.
He performs for me
a song we often sung together
over and over.
My nose tingles
and my eyes overflow.
I wipe away my tears,
set the bear back in
his dusty place on my shelf,
and say,
“No problem.”

For Tatum – A Poem Never Finished

This is a prose poem in which I keep editing.. it’s a hard topic to touch on. We lost our niece a few years ago and I didn’t know how to respond. I was interested in how the younger nieces would react, and this was what I came up with… I feel like this poem will never be finished, but I had to do something for Tatum.

R.I.P. We love you Big Booty Judy.

 

Big Sissy Tatum is Sick

“Sissy’s sick!” Scarlet’s small figure galloped to us at the door as she pointed to a short casket. I had never seen one before. The air curdled around us as my lungs almost forgot to function. Nora followed, as usual, tripping over her own tiny feet. Her hands reached to me, and I scooped Nora up with a need for her customary smile. They were the youngest of the four – No, it’s three now -And they were only occupied with the idea that everyone was there to see them, as toddlers normally are. My boyfriend, Andrew, squeezed Scarlet to bits and nudged her off to continue running amongst strangers from family photos. Nora pointed to her mom, Amanda, a simple sign that we must go to her. Her eyes were heavy, beaten, and full of fog that masked her family-trait of cheer.  “Hey baby…” Amanda purred to Nora, her youngest, and put her arm around us both. Andrew folded his arms around his mourning sister’s drooping shoulders, I think with fear she’d implode. All he had to do to bring her smile back, if even for a moment, was make Nora laugh. “So will you be the mini Big Booty Judy? You eat like a little monster just like Tatum did!” Amanda breathed a smile, almost as if it was a relief. “We love all you buggers…” I nudged Amanda, and pointed to her oldest. “Even the teenage one.” Bailey was only 12. She had the courage to smile, even when near the dead beat, or what she calls her dad. He’s Tatum’s too. He looked almost lively, but smelled of a music festival, itched of craze, and had eyes almost entirely pupil. The only time Tatum mentioned him was when she couldn’t wait to see him on her birthday. He never showed up, until now. Andrew’s arm gripped Amanda with more stiffness at the sight, and he gravitated us to Tatum instead. We moved with feet of anchors. Scarlet noticed and skipped to us, securing herself to her mother’s leg. Amanda lifted her so she could see her big sister, who modeled a princess crown upon her head. It was fitting of her sassy, yet go-lucky, attitude we dearly missed. Scarlet copied her mother as she trailed her fingers down Tatum’s hair. “When will sissy get better?” Amanda’s eyes grew with a puddle that I may have only guessed could fill an ocean by then. Her response was matter of fact. “She’s our princess. We have to climb the tower for her first.”

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