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Literature Text
The golden sand upon the shore,
The salty smell of sea.
The water lapping at our feet,
The sea spray in the gusts of wind.
The crashing of the water,
Beating on the rugged rocks.
All this I can know of,
Standing by the mesmerizing sea.
The trailing lengths of slender rope,
The smoothness of the fabric,
The utmost joy that lifts my heart,
As I watch the brightly coloured kite
Flit across the crests of waves,
In that turquoise ocean.
All this I can feel,
Standing by the midnight blue sea.
I watch the little kite
Skim across the sky,
Ride along the currents,
Dance among the soft white clouds
And waltz partnered with the breeze.
All this we can witness,
Standing by the deep blue sea.
Then suddenly the rope snaps;
The kite becomes a bird
And gets carried
Away with the gentle wind.
Oh, how I long for freedom,
The freedom of a bird.
All this we can yearn for,
Standing by the sparkling sapphire sea.
Oh how I wish I had some wings
So I could flit among the cotton clouds
With my little bird.
The salty smell of sea.
The water lapping at our feet,
The sea spray in the gusts of wind.
The crashing of the water,
Beating on the rugged rocks.
All this I can know of,
Standing by the mesmerizing sea.
The trailing lengths of slender rope,
The smoothness of the fabric,
The utmost joy that lifts my heart,
As I watch the brightly coloured kite
Flit across the crests of waves,
In that turquoise ocean.
All this I can feel,
Standing by the midnight blue sea.
I watch the little kite
Skim across the sky,
Ride along the currents,
Dance among the soft white clouds
And waltz partnered with the breeze.
All this we can witness,
Standing by the deep blue sea.
Then suddenly the rope snaps;
The kite becomes a bird
And gets carried
Away with the gentle wind.
Oh, how I long for freedom,
The freedom of a bird.
All this we can yearn for,
Standing by the sparkling sapphire sea.
Oh how I wish I had some wings
So I could flit among the cotton clouds
With my little bird.
Literature
This Heat
This heat is not a temperature
It is a weight, a drag on ones bones.
It settles around ones shoulders, limply hanging.
It is a slope towards shadows and places of rest,
A climb up level open cliffs called parking lots.
One steps inside, and over the course of long minutes
It uncoils and falls away in thick salty layers.
To go back and take them up again is herculean.
Literature
If you can read this, you can do arithmetic
“I can’t read!” I bet that’s something you don’t hear people say often. Everyone has enough knowledge of the English language to string together a text message. So why is it acceptable to suck at math? More importantly, why is it acceptable to suck at arithmetic?
Recently, I found myself in a classroom full of Grade 12 students. I wrote a simple, two-digit multiplication problem on the blackboard and asked who could solve the equation without the aid of a calculator. In a class of almost 30, only a few students raised their hands. Not only was this disappointing, but it was somewhat frightening too, bec
Literature
aches
my body twitches chest cracks cracks
eyes water wrists rolls shoulders fall in tense up
please is not enough
you will not understand any better than i do
why this place smashes a hole under my ribs every passing day
bars my arms in
and nothing is enough but
leaving
is impossible
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So yeah. This was a poem that I wrote after thoroughly bending, twisting and somewhat mangling the criteria for my North Shore homework. I honestly couldn't write something moderately good about something I don't feel anything for at all, namely a random starfish or a man with a girl (probably his daughter) flying a kite by the sea. It was supposed to be exactly that, but I changed it a little. Okay, a lot. Luckily, my teacher found it in herself to still accept my poem, even giving it an 'A', which I was rather pleased about.
Enough of my rambling! Enjoy, and please comment if you can. They are all read and appreciated. Thank you for stopping by.
Enough of my rambling! Enjoy, and please comment if you can. They are all read and appreciated. Thank you for stopping by.
© 2012 - 2024 DarkestNocte
Comments6
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Seriusly. People should read more poems. But instead they only look at perfectly drawn pictures, MLP and big breasts. And all those well written stories and poems go under...
Oh, what a shame.
Oh, what a shame.