Posts
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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
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stop. drop. roll.
stop.
stop running.
stop worrying.
stop everything.
drop.
drop to the ground.
drop your possessions.
drop everything.
roll.
roll anyway from the fire.
roll away from your fears.
Loves
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To Dance
To dance is to soar
To feel what it's like for the birds
To be free in the air
If only for seconds,
Because in your mind, it will last a lifetime
To dance is to be electric
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everyone has discarded their jackets again
it is finally finally finally
warm - kind of,
sunshine / soft rain / sixty degrees with a brisk step to it
that makes me think nobody but Vermonters who miss the days
of tap step / crocuses / daffodils buried in snow
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Everywhere
There's a climate rally
okay let's go
to that
I'll make a sign
But now we're making the signwith the markers
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It's enough to make a girl cry
I need to write so badly because all this anger and fear are sticking to my skin like an anxiety sweat
and yet I can't seem to make any phrases and stanzas that are understandable outside of my head
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four years
i sit and stare out the window
stare out the window at the brown dead grass
the dirty snow melting into muddy slush
the mud that is criss-crossed and destroyed with ruts and tire tracks
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Poems from Third Grade
Usually my poetry
sucks
and it will often be horrible
but that may just be my poems from
3rd grade
where we were learning online
and no one had any secrets in their family.