Poetry

Cinquian:

Mother.

Nuturing, Kind,

her tender touch

enveloping all around her. 

Mommy.

Nature

Beautiful noise.

Those nearby listen

to the lovely concert.

Music.

Book.

Crisp pages

always an adventure,

Where will you go?

Journey.

Rain

softly falling

forming small puddles

ground soaking life in

spring

Diamontes:

Earth

dry   still

setting  waiting  longing

soil  clay            wet   spray

flowing refreshing dripping 

cool    blue 

Water

Love

young alive

caring embracing holding 

passion affection detest despise

fighting cursing beating

hostile painful

Hate

Free Write on given subjects:

Barefoot adventures, the damp grass between my toes. My fingers grip the bark as I climb higher and higher, escaping everything. Nature is a part of me, the branches, extensions of my hands. The wind sways me and I feel alive. 

This is me.

Prowling around at night when I can't find sleep. I slip silently through the halls, checking on small bodies to see if they still rise and fall with breath. When sleep runs from me I run from fears. 

This is me.

Listen carefully. What do you hear?

You might hear harsh words and snotty remarks, but i hear pain and a desire to fit in. You may hear "I'm fine" and "leave me alone", but i hear "I'm hurting, help me. Please.". We need to search beyond what we hear and really listen.

This is me.

A neat freak, I know. Every piece, perfectly put in place. Every picture, perfectly straight. My room has to be spotless or I panic, I am a freak. A neat freak, I know.

This is me.

What this city needs is more individuals who wish to be different, who don't care about fitting in, they have a goal and are set on reaching it no matter what people think of them. We need to set good examples to the people around us. We need to shine in this city of darkness. Stand up for what we believe.

This is me.