Posts
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This Year's Golden Rule
We're gonna stop waiting for things to happen to us
we're going to make things happen.
We won't be compliant and go with the flow
if we feel there is something that we want to do
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A Space Among The Stars
To live in a space among the stars
I'd have to get binoculars
To see the dentist on the moon
And find the next Uber at noon.
To live in a space among the stars
I'd have to float to school in cars. -
A quiet midnight celebration
I am 19 years old today.
Crazy.
I'm a bit nostalgic because woahh, I'm old.
And there's a twinge of sadness because
COVID has prevented the gathering settings
that I love.
But,
it's okay. -
Frost
Its fingers were hot
and cold and
sweet and dark.
All at the same time.
Sleeeeep.
It whispered in her ear.
Her petals shivered.
Its breath ran slowly
down
her stem and
tickled a leaf. -
A fly's purpose
So this fly kept bugging me today.
It swirled around my head and zoomed near my eye.
I swatted it away and it retreated.
Then it reappeared by my left elbow.
It would spiral up my elbow to the flower on my shirt, -
Tiny Writes Group Poem (Blue Hill)
Group Poem by Treblemaker, GreyBean, Stargirl, Yellow Sweater, The Lone Cat, El, infinitelyinfinite3, Geri K, amaryllis, Wag it off
In replacement of blue candy there's a sunrise on the hill.
Loves
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HW
Take my hand,
And let your other hold on to a kite that is a
Shooting Star.
The harvest moon will rise above us,
as we fly,
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The Lonely Beetle
The green lonely beetle tracked long through high rivers and the underpass.
By 6 pm it delivered a little girl with crooked cut bangs to a little tan house.
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They need to stop this awful theft
No money, no pay
And no were to lay
They steal our wages
Were locked up in cages
They need to stop this awful theft
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Behind the Crown: The Story of the L.A. Garment Workers
L.A., the golden city of dreams, where singers and actors come to achieve
L.A., the catwalk of fashion and style, all advertised with a Cheshire cat smile
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The Lonely Wanderer
As the sun sets, and the dusk sinks into the world just like any night, the lonely wanderer treks up his mountain, once again. Nobody knows who he is, or where he came from. He’s essentially a folk tale, a ghost story.
