Mary and her Typos

@msamios.bsky.social

278 Followers 67 Following

Mostly tired. She/her https://myveryown-nemesis.dreamwidth.org/ https://a-poem-a-day.dreamwidth.org/

Vanished Roads, by Thomas L Vaultonburg
A knife named Desiree, gifted to my mother, from my Farfar (Swedish for "father's father."
Upside down Stick-Figure-Me
Gorgeous picture of the botanical beasties deck of playing cards, with crows and hares and snakes and frogs and foxes and…
The Young Rebels, a record of the shenanigans of a group of youthful rebels during the war of independence. I remember it as a short lived comedy, but maybe it was more of an adventure?
Me, in glasses, caught between embarrassment and joy as my husband did something ridiculous at my daughter’s wedding.
Ted, upon being woken up for a morning nap, looks at me with a confusion and a touch of disdain.
Krystara and Jenknitstoomuch loving the Korean version of a song I do not know.
Lillian gazes upwards towards Jenet's gif on Homer with a cymbal playing monkey in his mind.
sleepwalking I heard you leave, but said nothing as you walked down the stairs and out the door. I roll over, fall asleep, wondering if this is the time you don't return. 2025.08.08
I miss the raw beauty of feral Jane Jetson. Now, I’m just another empty-nester ready to take her dog for a walk.
A woman, nearly 61 years old, is strangely proud of having bangs which make her think of alternative universe version of Jane Jetson.
Dawn Redwood tree, per iPhone photo search. It looks like it belongs in a fairy tale forest, or perhaps the land of Oz.
Two trees entwined…is this love? Or strangulation?
Tenspeed and Brownshoe
Sweetums and his suitcase, running in the sunset, always one beat behind Kermit and Fozzie.
Return of the Jedi
Hi, this is Camryn from the Jobs2Careers talent acquisition team. Your professional background is impressive, and we believe your profile is an ideal match for our new remote partnership initiative…
the pulse not there I felt for the pulse that was not there. Your breath, no longer labored; your breath no longer. I kept my hand upon your wrist not knowing why I continued to search, not knowing what I felt. I sat with you and waited for you to be carried away knowing you were no longer here. Yet you drift around us, watching us watching you, waiting to appear. I wake to see you beside me golden and beautiful a fleeting shimmer of your eternal beauty. 2025.10.10
Me cracking up at something silly my husband was doing at my daughter’s wedding.
souvenirs Private folds of skin obscure the small red spot. It burns. In Braille, I work to decipher this calling card left by another, but I am not blind. If, once the pain came, I could cut it to the core, find what was underneath, then maybe I could translate it to a common language. I could tell you what it meant. I am compelled to analyze, but my analysis offers you no comfort. You want to know the softness of my body, not the edge of my wit. This small red spot does not repel you as it does me. It does not compel you as it does me. On the phone, you do not see it, but I can examine it with an idle finger, as we speak a strange language of double-entendre and poorly crafted pun. On the phone, I tell you how much I want you, afraid of how I don't need you. I do not carry my souvenirs in neatly labeled boxes or in orderly photo albums. I keep them in the occasional small red spot, concealed by private folds of skin, which you may not touch or examine. I can tell you how much I could want you, but I tell the phone, receiver gently nestled in its cradle, how much more I would want someone to love. 1992
casualties of consecration sacred prostitution has many different casualties depending on the region. caste and consecration define the place and time securing the ideals of past to present form. historians account of shrines and temples practicing sacred carnal rituals. and so here we are bound by our forebears performing for gods we have never known. 03-26-2026
hierodules sacred prostitution has many different casualties depending on the region. caste and consecration define the place and time securing the ideals of past to present form. historians account of shrines and temples practicing sacred carnal rituals. and so here we are bound by our forebears performing for gods we have never known. 03-26-2026
A guinea pig, resting on tin foile, with a pat of butter on their back. Caption: Day 42: The humans still think that I am a baked potato.
Dale Earnhardt #3 Car Phone
Humphrey Bogart
The Hats of Blackadder
Marilyn Monroe working out in jeans
Inigo, Vizzini, and Fezzik
2:30 am Lying on the top bunk, I tell you how I would beat myself as a child, a stick to my ankle, because I wanted to understand plaster encasing my foot. You do not judge. There might have been a time when I knew how many words the Inuit have for snow; I would search for knowledge I could not comprehend. I tell you: at the age of five, I discovered that I was alone inside my skull. Sometimes I wonder if you are real. Lying on the top bunk, I listen to your steady breath, then retreat to my attic lair to bleed in silence. 2025.03.25/1996
4-color Bic Pen with a silver barrel.
A Bic 4-color pen with a silver barrel.
My younger daughter transforming from a maid of honor into a dryad on the dance floor.
outcast you take delicate steps, avoiding the shards between you and your purpose. you watch the others' blood drip from their soles as they trod the path of broken glass. something hidden and strange lifts you without kindness. and tosses you aside in a whirlwind of chaos. and those with bloody feet watch with eyes that have no souls. 02-17-2026
An absolutely stunning long exposure shot captured a meteor streaking directly toward the mouth of the active volcano.
the fire Disembodied hands reach for the sky in the deepest of the dark jungle. Banshee dance, devouring the fear of the lost little body – all alone. Apollo’s chariot flames, touching my soul with fire. I sit in the hot humidity, Waiting. Banshee scream, devouring my patience. Waiting. I stand alone. 1986
water, fire, moon My words are water being poured over someone else's moon. I wash their quiet with crashing waves they do not need. When I am moon, you are fire and I swallow your flames and then drink the ocean to quench my thirst. And my words turn to water once more. 2025.06.26
A close-up image of Amanita muscaria (red-capped mushrooms with white spots), commonly known as the fly agaric or fly amanita,, overlayed with the following text: Me: So why mushrooms as portals? Fairies: Look man, even we don't mess with mushrooms alright? Sometimes they open up a portal to the human world and it's just best to not question it. Me: So wait. You don't the fairy circles? Fairy: No. Mushrooms decide.
Me, laughing and almost hiding my face with my hand as I balance entertainment and embarrassment in reaction to my husband's questionable but silly behavior.
Top 2 Posts of 2025: 1. This reminds me of one of the cavern tours I went on with my kids. It was either Grand or Endless, both in VA. The guide actually named the bats. He was waiting for one to return and was worried that he wouldn't due to an illness that was killing the bats. Best tour of all time. 2. You can pry the Oxford comma from my cold, dead hands.
Bubble chart visualization showing accounts you interacted with, sized by total interactions across all engagement types in 2025. Top interacted accounts: @natania.bsky.social, @toomanymouths.bsky.social, @scalzi.com, @jenetallday.bsky.social, @skulleigh.com (from Anisota's Annual Bluesky Harvest)
Word cloud visualization for 2025 showing your 50 most-used words, sized by frequency. Top 10: "apoemaday" (238×), "universe" (169×), "poem" (121×), "reminder" (110×), "vast" (100×), "brain" (92×), "regular" (90×), "wondrous" (82×), "prompt" (73×), "remember" (73×) (from Anisota's Annual Bluesky Harvest)
A multicolored, avant-garde snail created by my daughter Jenny in MS Paint circa 2000.
the door home Unwritten, the words grow in beauty untainted by man’s hand. The child’s voice speaks of magic; his eyes witness the soul of the Gods. And his questions go unanswered. His tongue is not like ours, his language…not our words. We try to reach back, become the enchantment. We dream and ponder while the child plays in the backyard. the tunnel behind the bushes is the door home. 1984
a cup of milky tea in a large white cup, a slice of peanut butter toast, and oatmeal with slivered almonds, dried cranberries, and cinnamon. The toast and oatmeal are served on my Grandmother's Currier and Ives dishes.
the wind walks between us When the trees reach down and touch me they whisper on the wind. They share their cold appraisal: I am guilty of your sin. It's a long and lonely sidewalk that is walked by many feet. You and I walk side by side; parallels that never meet. 11-24-2025/4-6-09
architect of havoc was it all an accident, this disaster that we are? perhaps a planned catastrophe, designed to fold into the dark. 11-15-2025
paradox bending Voices in circles; wind travels the night; colors of clear gliding in flight. Together apart, faces unseen; together alone, endless aching dream. Searching for something within the soul, a body in winter, extremities cold. Striving to find the magic of logic, then hiding the skeleton in the dank, dusty closet. The whispering trees of the dark world would, but only a wizard -- a dreamer, a dragon – could. Voices in circles, paradox unending, the unbroken rule eternally bending. 1981
unhindered They say I have a lot on my mind, but my thoughts are flowing, unhindered, free. I don’t think of what matters now, only of earth and sun and sea. Divine are the days of golden sun and fresh cut summer grass. Rememberthe love and smiles and skin and the way the winter passed. 1978
Cat, Rimmer, Lister, and Kryten of Red Dwarf
What does the Milky Way look like in radio waves? To better find out, GLEAM surveyed the central band of our galaxy in high resolution radio light as imaged by the Murchison Widefield Array in Australia. As the featured video slowly scrolls, radio light (71 - 231 MHz) is seen on the left and visible
no one in the corner I turn from the corner where your ghost stands There is a word for this. I struggle to peer through the yellowed window; I search for something that might not be real. A cloak of silence drapes your chair; no one nestles within the Queen Anne wings. An immaculate ash-stand poses close by; no one smokes pipes with a lingering balm of cherry Sunlight filters through the yellowed window, unable to illuminate the austere ruins of what had been our home. Hesitant with my comfort, I have the solitude I desired. You have not left me hollow. 2025-11-15
no one in the corner I turn from the corner where your ghost stands There is a word for this. I struggle to peer through the yellowed window; I search for something that might not be real. A cloak of silence drapes your chair; no one nestles within the Queen Anne wings. An immaculate ash-stand poses close by; no one smokes pipes with a lingering balm of cherry Sunlight filters through the yellowed window, unable to illuminate the austere ruins of what had been our home. I have the solitude I desired, hesitant with my comfort. You have not left me hollow. 2025-11-15
A beautifully grilled egg, potato, sausage, and cheese breakfast sandwich. The extra tot on the side is for Ted!
I Voted sticker from Loudoun County--a round sticker with a white border, a blue field, a white silhouette of the state, and a cardinal on a dogwood branch.
the silence after The silence between words, breathless hesitation, is not a pregnant pause nor a spell unspoken. It is a moment to be forgotten between then and now It is the silence after than hangs heavy, hoping for harvest instead of words falling to the ground. The silence after carries on. 2025.10.16/08.29
transition I felt for your pulse; it was not there. Your breath, no longer labored; your breath no longer. I kept my hand upon your wrist not knowing what I searched for, not knowing what I felt. I sat with you and waited for you to be carried away and waited for you to be there. You drift around us, watching us watching you, waiting to appear. I wake to see you beside me golden and beautiful a fleeting shimmer of your eternal beauty. 2025.10.10
The background image is a field populated with wild flowers. The page includes two poems: accuracy words, like emotions melt like the ice of the polar regions if you say them at the right time of day. Tell me to go home and I will. 1984 proverb love, like perennials blooms more than but once. 1984
The repeated layering of a public domain image of tentacles to produce an Art Deco style background. The poem below is centered on the page in an oval frame nestled among the tentacles. cecaelia The shadows of your hair reveal the monster that's inside you With tentacles now bare, remove the mask that shall not bind you. 2025.09.22