Posts
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Our Ending is Bittersweet (a graduation sonnet with my friend Celia)
Our ending is bittersweet
Our past set in stone but our futures untold
A doctor, architect or athlete
We have yet to know what our older life will hold
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This Time It's Real
This isn't a "see you in three months"
Because I'm not coming back
This isn't a "goodbye for now"
At least not all the goodbyes are that temporary,
This is a "I'll be back on Alumni day"
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Memory Lane
I dig a hole into the ground
To get to my old height
So maybe all my childhood friends
Would speak in more than just short texts
Before I knew they talked behind my back
I gather rocks and stones
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The best part about summer
The best part about summer
Is the nothingness of it
Lying on a blanket in your back yard
A book on your chest
And iced tea in a mason jar
The best part about summer is the Fourth of July
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A Silent Witness (a writing challenge idea)
Write a fiction or non-fiction story in poetry or prose about the lifetime of an accessory, (a bracelet, watch, favorite pair of shoes, anything you wear every day) from when you get it to the time you must throw it away through this object's eyes
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To Be a Poet
To be a poet is not to write poems.
No.
Most anyone can do that.
Most anyone has done that,
for school, maybe.
To be a poet is to see a tree
Loves
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Summer Lemonade
It's 9 o'clock on a Saturday- 9:00 AM, that is, when Mom made lemonade for the annual summer party at our house. Fresh-squeezed lemonade. It is sitting in a cooler on the small table in the tiny house in our backyard.
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Home Is The Place
It's been two years
Since I moved here
One year
Since I called it my home
Home is the place
With more dirt roads
Than paved
And the dirt roads
Carry the name
Of your friend's grandfather
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P.E.
Today
We had P.E.
I do not mind P.E. -
I do not care -
I can play sports like any teenager
If not a little better.
There would have been no problem
Except
You had to create one, didn't you?
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Chicago Audition
I used to walk into a theater and it was salvation.
Stage lights and people who filled up a room,
I was happy to watch them for hours.
I wanted to become some part of that
some part of the instant admiration
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somewhere between midnight and june
Lying awake at midnight, watching as each blade of the fan spins around, one by one. My bed absorbs me as I think, "hey, maybe I should write something".
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Growing Up
She used to listen to the snow and think about how beautiful the world was, how magical.
How perfect, pristine, like a flower curled in a tiny fist.