Posts
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Seasons
I. -
June
The blue sky soars with promise
hope
inspiration.
School can barely even count as school
and before I know it
it's over,
an end
and yet a beginning all the same.
And then it's full of
jumping into the pool -
Embers
We have been left the embers
of a fire
for us to burn.
We have been left to create
future generations
who will never see snow.
We have been left with a circumstance
that is the doing of our ancestors -
Your poem
We each stood at the front of the classroom in turn,
voices stumbling over the words of the poem
we were forced to recite,
hands twisting, feet tapping,
excited to be back at our desks, where we were
alone
unnoticed
safe. -
a normal day
Dark purple creeps into the black of night
when I first pry my sleep-filled eyes open
wishing I could remain within my warm cocoon of blankets
one second longer.
My head pounding with fatigue,
I arise -
Blue Eyes Chapter 2
Note: This is the second chapter of my novel Blue Eyes. You can find the first chapter here:https://youngwritersproject.org/node/46146
PHIE
Loves
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A Day To Remember
The play begins at a school auditorium with Harley, Mei, and Grant working on their lines on stage, Harley practicing dialogue to Mei and Mei responding with the two standing on upstage right, Grant is testing his sound cues he made
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Post
I know you went running
yesterday
and your kids had a great
first day of school
picture, anyway,
I wore overalls too
but everyone will think
I was copying you
won't they didn't they
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this is not about water
it was like a sink that was overflowing, built up and up and up.
then it was drained; the pipes rusted over; the slight drip and drip and drip.
tantalizing.
then the water rushed like geysers do, hot and momentarily solid.
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i am a poet
i see things that no human ever should:
the intricate coding of life
an emotion held by the gaze of one person to another
a tear falling silently that helps grow a daffodil.
i am a poet
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Come On
Come on,
just another step.
Come on,
just another breath.
Come on,
just another swallow
of the pain that makes you hollow.
Just one more sweet smile
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generational
My grandmother never cut flowers with scissors, raised her nonexistent eyebrows plucked beyond all veins of recognition, blinked one eye fishlike & said a knife was all she needed.