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How do you do That?"How do you write poetry?"How do you do That? by BlueBlueFox
I have no answer for that, not really
not beyond staring at my screen, thinking
How do I write poetry?
Taught conventions in year junior
taught the proper forms in year senior
"What about the rules?"
I never followed the rules
Sometimes I rhyme, most times I don't
I have a form sometimes
most times the form is just what it is
What it wants to be.
"Follow the flow."
Those are the only words I can give
the only way I express the
forms? words? poetry?
that I write.
"How do you do that?"
There's no answer to that, my dear
no matter how many times you ask
because to be honest
how I follow the flow?
I don't know.
PhobiaThey say I can't form a phobiaPhobia by BlueBlueFox
that I have to be born with it
They give me those looks every night
"Grow up" "Get over it" "Ignore it"
It's not something you just forget
In the city I heard nothing
except maybe once, the gusts so large
they blew through the screen and howled
for hours and hours
But it was once and never again
Yet here, for years and years
the trees outside grow larger and larger
more and more leaves spring about and more
more and more noise overwhelms all
leading to series of sleepless nights
tossing and turning
They say I fear it only because I love it
I'm in awe
to a degree that's true, twisters and funnels
they enamor me, I watch their movies
for they are the stars I will never meet
nor do I want to meet... ever.
It's not a problem when I'm awake
at least not usually
When alone in my room to think
the sound snares all my senses and
I escape the only way I know how
Of course she gets mad
because it tunes not just the element but her out
the whole world goe
Fishnet AngelFishnet AngelFishnet Angel by xLuckyxFridayx13x
Thin and tall
Born in the filth of L.A. slums
Flooded in neon and tavern brawls
Spiraling down a stripper’s pole
See her sprawled
On the bed of a satisfied customer
No diploma on the wall
Just a crack pipe’s DNA
Watch her fall
To the floor with a pregnancy test
She sits against the plaster wall
Grasping the home of her progeny
Makes a call
To LA’s most picketed establishment
On the form, her name she would scrawl
If not for unsolicited hatred
Stares down the hall
Towards the medicine cabinet
Into hell she hopes to crawl
Until she feels the first fateful kick
Lights a fire
And sets her wardrobe ablaze
Marks an ad, “Waitress for Hire”
She rubs her bursting belly
Makes a vow
As she feels her daughter’s heart
She strokes the head of her newborn joy
And her new life is now to start
Understanding As I try and sleep tonight, two things come into my mind. One is my economics test tomorrow, and the other is about my writing.Understanding by infinitywarriorinc
All I did, had done and will do, revolved around some sort of romantic setting, usually with two different species involved. I knew not why, and for the longest of times, I didn't question it.
So, after a year of animes and mangas, I still find myself preferring romantic settings with different species involved (often nekos, or otherwise.) I asked myself, about two weeks ago, "Why do I enjoy this?"
The questions sprang about in my head: "Is it because I cannot understand what 'love' means?"; "Is it because of my fascination with the possibility of other sentient species?"; "Or perhaps, it just differs from the norm, and it intrigues me more and more?"
Then, I hadn't an idea of what it meant or what it was. But tonight, I think I finally understand. The romance, the Romeo & Juliet, the youkai and the h
1984 Through Music 1984 Through Music1984 Through Music by GoodTiming
Music has the ability to either reflect or inspire with just a simple tune or complicated melody. Whether it comes from an mp3 player, phonograph, or a live band, people constantly turn to music to release the day's stresses and inspire themselves with new ideas. A song has a power that allows anyone to interpret their own meaning and apply it to daily life. For Winston Smith, a Party member in George Orwell's 1984, music allows him to see simplicity and beautiful in a frightening, ugly, and utterly hopeless world. Through songs in the novel, Winston is able to hope for a brighter tomorrow, see respect for the true past, and highlight stronger negative emotions.
Sometimes, music can be used to convey a sense of tragedy or negative emotion. It can reflect a broken spirit through a haunting melody or meaningful lyrics. Orwell plays on this in a scene where Winston sits in the Chestnut Tree Café. He observes three men, J
The Goddess's Forsaken Island - First ContactThe Goddess's Forsaken Island - First Contact by pwassonne
That's it. It should be over there.
Except it isn't.
Actually, wasn't there originally more than one? Like, three of them?
The elevator will be broken, of course.
I haven't been on the island many times, but I remember it quite well, from seeing it through my Goddess's eyes. This time, it will be the other way round. I was repairing my little house, just a normal house, and then I remembered the island. A long time ago, the Goddess left this world. It seems like the island has been deserted ever since.
(And then my Goddess says, I wonder if people settled on it.
That would be fun.
But I'm skeptical.)
The elevator is indeed broken. About half the wooden platform is gone, and there's water everywhere, flowing, I forgot to bring a bucket, there's no way I can get to the basement, never mind, it could be worse. At least there isn't any lava.
I swim away.
The waterfall is right there, and I'm not sure if that's where it's supposed to be. Never mind. It's a long way
Forbidden Fruit"What are you doing?"Forbidden Fruit by mirz-alt
He was standing behind her and she could hear gentle movements, like shifting of cloth. Suddenly soft fabric fell across her eyes. She could feel it tighten around her head as he pulled and knotted it behind her.
"I don't understand?" she asked. She wasn't scared, but a bit of apprehension was creeping into her bones.
She could feel him move in front of her. He was standing close and his hand brushed her cheek. "I want to kiss you," he admitted, his voice both nervous and self-assured.
"But..." she argued, not sure what to say beyond that sole word. She knew she couldn't. She knew she shouldn't.
"See no evil," he murmured.
She didn't understand, but she trembled as he moved towards her.
"It's not a sin if you don't know who's kissing you," he whispered.
As his lips met hers, her heart raced, her arms pulling him close.
"The sin is not in the kissing, " she countered softly, as he pulled away. "The sin is in the wanting it."