I am a poet! I am. I am. I am a poet, I reaffirmed, ashamed. I could not help thinking of the wonders of the brain that hears the music of our skill sometimes to record it.
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The WOW and Woe moments of an irrepressible woman. DAISY DOES HER MASTERS IN CREATIVE WRITING. INTERNATIONAL JAZZ DAY BLOGGING EVENT CHALLENGE. Danger lurks in wild-eyed faces. Thoughts restrained to assuage feelings inverted debases. Danger thrusts a third eye world view,. Of hatred and vomit a careless overlook of blind men seeking to anew. Danger, it hawks in on her.
On December 29, 2016. Indignation constant our soul mould. Faithful rivers age and sooth. Promised lands in eyes gold. As scolded children in forest. To whistle blue, a thrush away. Defeated his cloak in bane. That maroon to being dissolve. Darker treasures in evening evolve. Permeating as if in echoes drenched. Forest to his fullness scavenge. Apparitions to each his word spent. Soot of the black in chase.
A Forum for Divergent Literature. The Writings of Jasper Kerkau. The Whisper and the Roar. Is it supposed to be this way? Hey you. God, why am I. Can you spare a holy smoke? You know the man who said he knew you tried to teach us.
8220;You better be having a party for me! 8221; Mother told me leading up to Christmas. Her 90th birthday was fast approaching. So, we planned a party. My daughters jumped on board, rented a room, arranged caterers and we called the invited guests. 8220;How are you today, Mom? 8221; I asked her the next morning.
Poets bleed from the heart and soul. It is only when you have lost it all That you can see how far you can fall It is only when everything shatters That you see what really matters When all you see is darkness.
Rediscovering my inner badass at 50. Friends of Brave and Reckless. You say my name Reverently A prayer A benediction It is a revelation As if I have never heard My name before Never. Adorned with cold starlight stare.
Radiating through my body, waves of warmth and sunlight battered my internal world but left me sitting still. I looked over and these feelings drained out of me like a smashed bottle. I had been touching her bag.
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I am a poet! I am. I am. I am a poet, I reaffirmed, ashamed. I could not help thinking of the wonders of the brain that hears the music of our skill sometimes to record it.DESCRIPTION
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