So she said,
“Whadda ya doin?”
And I said,
“Anythin’ I like.”
And she was speechless.
So
I said,
“Have you got a problem with that?”
And she said,
“Well. Haven’t you?”
And I smiled,
And she had a problem with that too,
So
We went our separate ways.
This is just a really crap ballad about one of my characters, Amelie Montclair, otherwise heralded as the Fair Lady of Rivenspire.
Cool as a winter mist, she,
Whom flies with the birds so high;
But silently sings,
As she flutters her wings;
Thou'd never hear her thunderous cry.
A dove...
I'm very unsatisfied with this, but it's more of a release of irritation than any true expression of emotion or quality.
Ah, the soft beat of wings,
Flutter so silently, to us;
But for those whose being so small,
Belies a more fierce, thunderous song,
A cry in the dark
Is to...
There is a stillness which is peace.
There is an agitation called anxiety.
There is a moving which is joy,
Then a quenching, impropriety.
There is a nothing window to oblivion.
There is inertia of depression.
There is coldness of indifference.
There is need, and of...
If only kids reorganised the world
Things would be simpler by far.
Common sense would prevail
And no-one could fail
To know what is what,
Where we are.
For instance,
Turkeys would come from Turkey,
Pandas from Panda Monium,
Mustard instead of custard,
Unless you...
I do, at times; but I infinitely prefer inconsistencies when it comes to poetry. The occasional line that doesn't rhyme, is a few syllables too long, or simply does something one feels it shouldn't.
From where I stand, from where it lies.
It must of course reflect the skies.
The skies are blue because they are,
It’s light reflected from our star.
It has to be that way.
Except for when the sun shines pink
But that’s an anomaly do you...
There are no paths in the ocean.
Yes this is so,
And so is this;
That many know their courses.
True, that’s mostly fish.
We surface dwellers set by two
dimensions,
Map out our thoughts,
Write down intentions,
Live to pretensions,
Grasp for inventions,
And when the...
This is a story inspired by my grandmother, and I hope it helps anyone with issues of self-acceptance. I know it helped her. Apologies for any errors; it was written a long time ago, and I only skimmed through.
-----------------------------
Once upon a time, not all that long ago, in a...
It isn't with your legs and arms, and even back
It's with your soul, which bursts up through your spirit,
Then from your heart and mind
And moves you through your back to your limbs and even
To your finger tips. And the vitality and joy dance on into the eyes of those who...