There was once a time that I wanted an inground pool. Not the silly floating abomination which was a large plastic tub and the epitome of disguised poverty in the 90s, rather a lunchables and snack packs kind of pool made for kings (and queens) who sat poolside in floaties because we could hardly swim; …
wotd. iii
The Beginning of It All Amelia lifted her leg and struck the side of Jackson's foot with her boot, having found him exactly where she thought he'd be. The stable whistled with modest sound, as the horses snorted in their sleep despite the daylight, having long grown used to the schedule of their owners. Jackson …
wotd. ii
The Beginning of It All "Enter." As always, the air in the study was damp. She could feel it cling to her, a prickling coolness that settled darkly on her uniform and skin. It was a quiet enclosure, small. There was nothing more than an aged map, its leather curling at its sides, resting upon …
a poem
like a tree upon the waters whose shadow is cast before the reeds the damp sod hardens into cool, red clay beneath its roots and moss, settling upon the wise tree bark as though an armor— I stand with the cattails; amongst the blue grass, the dandelions, the whistling ferns winds meandering past in pursuit …
Robert Frost
I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. The Road Less Traveled
Hesed
when I lay down to sleep how should I know that I will wake? and yet, I believe so never have I feared that strange darkness the circus of arcane dreams; how jealous I am of my sleeping self, that I should trust the world to be as it was when I left it I …
prognosis
i stand alone under the fig tree bathed in patchwork shadow, the mosaic of flies humming in my ears a libation; for miles there was but the sands and this refuge, a lonely fig tree an iambic confection at times an oracle yet others, quietly eroded by time; i contemplate its parables. firstly, the barren …
Langston Hughes
I've known rivers: Ancient, dusky rivers. My soul has grown deep like the rivers. The Negro Speaks of Rivers
ghosts of the sea
the smell of sea-salt lingers on the wind, a memory tugs sort of painful but im grateful for it somehow. the bright white restless sand plucks my eyes and in the recesses i recall... the you that doesnt exist anymore smiling at me who doesnt exist, anymore. eight years of wisdom poured into a sweaty …
moth gitana
me dicen que soy plaga invasora en esto yo no creo ¿quién me trajo a las afueras de mi tierra y me abandonó en las profundas de me ser? pues está roto el barco de mi reencarnación la crisálida no puedo volver— no puedo y me dicen invasora; que tuviera alas que me lleven al …
The-Bleu-Bivouac 