Posts
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Wired Fence
I really thought I could do it.
They made it look so easy.
The 5'10" giant with the blue soccer jersey
The 5'8" goalie with the strong jump.
Me. Their short horizontally fast striker. Bench warmer. Which ever. -
Boop. A Tiny Writes Conversation.
Man I love Tiny Writes. A place you can stop by, chat about a variety of topics, answer deep questions and share thoughts. It was great to hear the intriguing spirited conversation in answer to "boop."
boop
beep -
Future Dictations from Dr Ikco #90
Prompt: You get a letter from someone who claims to be you from a different dimension. What does it say? -
Numbered Haiku
Feeling like a cute tired pigeon
Resting in a fruit bowl.
Kinda vibing
It be fun.
Not to fly; but sleep
Feel like a cucumber-
Cool.
Shmerrrp.
Pigeon eat cucumber. Strange dreams.
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Jelly and Marshmellows
At 1:23 each week exactly
Robinson Moroson Georgous Mcclackly
Strides to the store to buy a few things,
And when he leaves the bag he swings
Roninson’s beard is salt peper gray
His eyes are a brown and and blue. -
Silver Rings
I'm wide awake with little pride
I'd rather be asleep.
an yet the voices in my head
for hours had to peep.
They told me stories so intruiging
doubts from in my heart,
they whispered reassuring words
Loves
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Spooky Season
When the air is crisp,
with a chilly breeze,
fall puts a spell on me.
The leaves fall in a wisp,
as an artist weaves-
a portrait of the fiery sea.
Though, it’s not February,
love seeps through the air.
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The Orchestra of Fall
Autumn leaves flutter around my head,
The color popping in the chilly,
Swirling air.
The veins stretch out,
Delicate within the leaves.
They connect,
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autumn's embrace
as fall starts rolling in
and summer slows to a stop
i like to imagine many things,
everything, nonstop
i imagine the sweet, sweet song of hooting owls after dark
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Things to remember, pt. 1
You are not a number.
You are not a letter.
You are not something that can be
measured
on a scale
with a beginning -
My Childhood Home
My childhood home is filled with plants,
plants that we never water
but are somehow still alive.
Its island is littered with junk mail,
different types of olive oil,
stray flakes of salt,
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Thoughts after the fair
I’ve never enjoyed the feeling of being sick to your stomach on a fair ride. Maybe I just don’t have the iron-willed intestines that all of my friends seem to have, because I get sick from going on the teacups at a normal speed.