angela weasley's blog
Her face is a window pane,
tears fall like rain.
Her eyes are umbrellas,
with a leak or two.
It’s hard to open them after a few, Read more »
unveiled by the opening of flowers each day,
Sitting on the perch of the dawn,
The sun seems to dwell on,
the moon in the night. Read more »
Ok guys, I was talking with Geoff yesterday and I realized something... Writing is like lucid dreaming. “No the character can’t do that, that’s impossible!” NO NO NO! Here, in the domain of writing we expand our imaginations to their breaking points. Anything is possible! You could write a piece about walking, but it is not just the smell in the air. It is the hovering flowers producing smells of unimaginable places (Imaginable now). So I beg you, to expand yourselfs to the luxury of creative writing. That brings me to another realization. Schoolwork (LEAF, Five hand paragraphs.) They all limit us. They make us believe that there are boundaries in writing. With that pointed out I want to tell you to not be blinded by these formats that they call writing. Don’t ignore it, but know in your hear that writing is infinite.
I am surrounded by crackling dry weeds. A field of them, with only a couple green patches, each one swarmed by an assortment of bumblebees and butterflies. Straying away from those patches (I do not like the idea of being stung) I wallow my feet in the itchy grass. Assuring my toes, and legs that a relief will soon embrace them. My flipflops hang absentmindedly on my fingertips, playing with my legs, and sometimes hitting my fingers in a rhythm. A naive smile was placed on all our faces as we trudged through the meadow. As we neared the steep roughly cut wooden steps, we begun to hear a roaring and the drag of gravelly sand under our feet. Hanging on to the rail and daintily stepping down I shimmy down the steps, eager for what is ahead. As I turn the bend I come to the river. Ah! The cool sparkling river. Without hesitating, I pulled of my skirt and revealed my pink bathingsuit. Swinging my hair into a messy ponytail, I step in. Snapping my goggles on I take a deep breath and dive. This, this is the instant, when time stands still and we open our eyes underwater. Relieving ourselves to a different world, time, and space. This is the magic. Read more »
Annoyance flashes through me. No, I live in annoyance. My “neighbors” tell me that at least I do not feel lightheaded all the time, yearning for a new coat of paint. Annoyance, sighs, and pedestrians. “Oh Mama! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I wince as a little girl with a Winnie The Pooh balloon bounces across me. I grit my teeth as the mother comes bounding behind her, “Honey don’t run across the street!” Why are they all so happy. Stepping all over me all day. They have no respect at all! My least favorite people are the ones that dedicate their life to hopping on us, thinking that it’s cool to jump over the dark pavement onto the white stripes. I wish that I was a person, hopping all over them, lets see how they like that. At night it is still not peaceful. Cars wiz by, and motor oil drips onto us reeking a disgusting smell. But the worst is winter. They put salt all over us in an effort to melt the snow. Read more »
with teardrop silver.
and pampered face.
and something sweet.
The only kind of beatiful, right?
Chapped lips, Read more »
Sleepy and Sneezy snored softly as the wind blew softly around their wooden home. Grumpy lay snoring loudly and groaning in his sleep. Dopey and Happy lay perfectly in the center of their warm beds. Bashful and Doc were up still playing cards. Their glasses of rum were halfway filled, and their wetted beards suggested that the empty bottle that lay on it’s side on the table had recently been full. Bashful and Doc began to snooze of in their seats, the cards slipped from their hands. Two watchful eyes the color of artificial blue peered into the home. Yellow hair hung short on her head and her hands were sticky. The dwarf snuck into the quietly sleeping house and sat down. Read more »
Winters gift comes twirling down,
unwrapping at the winds sound,
Laying down upon the ground.
A fresh blanket of her tears, Read more »
Her dreadlocks lay simply,
entwined with beads and other things.
She raised her voice, Read more »
I am weeping silver tears,
catching them in my golden palm,
Watching them with my green eyes.
I am hurting in my black heart,
and boiling my red blood.
Staring into the abyss of glue,
I nudge one end up gently.
Then squish it down in a frenzy of bubbling.
Taking a handful of glinting sparkles,
I delicately dump them on my heap of white glue.
Smudging my sticky hands on the other side of the paper.
I look up to the teacher,
And announce that I am done.
She looks at my paper in confusion.
''But you have only done a corner.''
I look into her eyes,
oh, she will never know.
Her breath blew out, it hit mottled glass, and recoiled leaving white mist. Her arms ached. Sodden tears slid down her cheeks. This was it. She was hanging off a skyscraper by her hands, praying, hoping, that the person inside would not glance out. It was either they would find her, or she would fall. Her hair draped around her shoulders, some strands sticky with perspiration. She didn't have much of a choice now. She had to let go. Her arms sighed as she let go. She fell, rushing past windows, people, and life. She closed her eyes and hit the ground. Read more »
Should there be same sex marriage legally throughout the states or should the states get to choose? That to me is a terrible question because, we shouldn't be debating it. WE ARE ALL HUMAN! In truth we are all the same. Here in the world we seem to have a problem with things that we don't understand. We didn't respect people with different pigment, we treated them terribly. We did this because we had never seen this, because it was new and we didn't like it. That is what is happening with people in the mindset that gay-marriage is wrong. They are not gay, so therefore they do not know what it feels like to be gay. They don't know how it feels to be treated terribly and have to endure hate, only to have the a law separate their love. Why do we talk about equality when right here there is so much going on that is not right. We talk about world peace, and we are separating peoples true love. We talk about accepting diversity, yet they battle a question that sets us apart? I think that we all should sit back, think about what we are saying. We are telling other people that it is not OK to be with somebody that they love, we are telling them to change something that they were born with. We are telling them to not be themselves. And isn't that what feeds our creativity, sets fire to our imagination? To be yourself, and to love it? It is not up to the government to decide who loves who, it is up to us. Read more »
I erase my words,
but still pale at their shock,
swaying in the secrets,
never to be told.
My pen trembles,
it is another life away,
writing bricks of sorrow into our future,
my mind refuses to budge,
stuck in my poem it launches it self at me,
i fight and I tug,
to escape this story.
but you can never win against your feelings. Your poem is triumphant,
and it writes what it needs,
my secrets unveil.
Hello my pretty.
Hi thank you everybody who put their name up to sign the petition! Unfortunently I talked with the Doug Davis (The person who is in charge of the the food program and even if we make a petition they really can't take it off the menu. I am in the school newspaper and here is the article I wrote about it.
The Jamwich Read more »
I have a few things I do, writing, reading, fencing, dancing, playing viola. But I must say I really do love reading. I know that ''it does not count.'' but I think it does. I consider reading like traveling, your only passport is your mind, that can create the landscape. I started reading in kindergarden. And I have travled to a million different places, meeting people of all different kinds. I feel that by reading I can create a bubble of myself that is not where I started, I'm not lying in bed, I'm in Russia with Ji eating a poisend banquet. That is probebly the reason why when my mom tries to tear me away from my book that I am seriously grumpy. Reading could be my career, bye! I must go get my work finished in Austrailia! I don't know if this is anything special, but when I read, I have taught myself to read so fast that I can color the words as I read. Slowly retreting to the world were my troubles wisk away. I know I know, it's not really something that counts as something that inspires you, but to me reading is the one thing I truly love. Reading is also what inspired me to write. To create worlds of my own. I put reading or my traveling above all other hobbies. I hope that you can understand the way that I feel whilr I am reading. Becasue it is a truly wonderful feeling.
The milky way shivers,
droplets of silver pearls fall,
the sickly yellow light covers all.
Blackness clouds Saturn's mind.
Meteor is tumbling,
Moon's craters seem larger.
The man on the moon coughs, sickly.
The earth fumes black clouds of disease.
The solor system is sick,
abused and unursed by mother earth.
Her thoughts have been taken over.
And now look what we have done.
As summertime comes to play,
Fireflies flit in their own ballet,
And the sea seems to want to spray.
And the bright blue of the bluejay,
Rhymes with the blue of my tea tray.
As the autumn wind blows in,
I know that a slight chill will begin.
And the clothes blow harshly on the clothes pin.
The bright leaves float like twins,
together forever as kin.
As Winters chill sets in our bones,
The trees ice cages seem to moan.
And the snow seems to have blown,
to places quite unknown.
When Springs cheerful glow,
wintertime seems a long time ago,
and you start to mow,
the grass that has started to show,
There comes a time,
when a lot is a little,
and the things that we love,
turn hard and brittle.
The things that we cherish,
start to perish.
The teddy bears,
and yellow dolls.
The stark blue sky's,
start to darken,
with nightmare clouds,
that thrust shrouds of sorrow.
And the one thing that you hold on to,
the stickiness of overdone sweetness.
extracted from lips dripping with sarcasm.
Cowering in corners of the mind, Read more »
If you could creat a pen that was perfect for your writing, what would it look like?
What is your favorite tree? Write a poem about it.
come around the corner,
free yourself in my touch. Read more »
I would love,
a heart to beat,
I would push it to my chest to feel it’s drum.
I would love, Read more »
I love you,
I love you so much.
The thing is it’s blind love,
I love you, but I might not trust you fully. Read more »
Sometimes she sits in the chair,
staring into the complexity of life from an observers point of view.
Her hair grasps her head in short waves,
her fingers riddled with change.
Her eyes a light twinkling blue.
She smells of things that comfort us,
Her arms envelop us in a hug,
made of love and caring.
every particle that was placed.
She tells us of boxes,
that have not limeted her,
but have made her wiser.
her love can follow you,
her love can make you live,
She is amazing,
She is blazing,
She is Addie.
Music is a series of notes,
made by simple hand,
uncovered by us,
and found as,
Music becomes a series of stories,
made by an artful twisting hand,
found by everyone,
it is music.