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Sometimes I Write Poetry

Sometimes I write poems. Not really. One time I took a poetry class and that poem, an ode to be exact, was published in an art and literary magazine. A few of you were asking to read that poem. Here it is!

Ode to Boots

My grandma gave me a pair of boots

chosen by herself especially for me.

Two durable covers smooth

as saddles.

The mustard colored leather

keeps a firm grip

on the ground.

They promise to carry me anywhere.

I showcase the gift the way

I imagine Cinderella modeled her

glass slippers.

My boots appoint me

a royal adventurist.

With wool socks,

my feet become two durable vehicles

with the power to bring me to

any destination my heart

so desires.

They smell of asphalt and dirt,

of course gravel ad dark mulch.

Sweet grass and dust.

They have danced down

empty hallways and bustling stairwells.

Kicked dead leaves and hopped puddles.

Many steps are left in their lifetime.

All I know is where I have been,

not how far I will go.

The path ahead remains a mystery.

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Rhymes With, Writing

Ode to Boots

Mark Sebastian, Creative Commons

Mark Sebastian, Creative Commons

 

Ode to Boots

My grandma gave me a pair of boots

chosen by herself especially for me.

 

Two durable covers smooth

as saddles.

 

The mustard colored leather

keeps me a firm grip

on the ground.

 

They promise to carry me anywhere.

 

I showcased the gift the way

I imagine Cinderella modeled her

glass slippers.

 

My boots appoint me

a royal adventurist.

 

With wool socks,

my feet become two tough vehicles

 

with the power to bring me to

any destination my heart

so desires.

 

They smell of asphalt and dirt,

of course gravel and dark mulch.

Sweet grass and dust.

 

They have danced down empty

hallways and bustling stairwells.

Kicked dead leaves and hopped puddles.

 

Many steps are left in their lifetime.

All I know is where I have been,

not how far I will go.

 

The path ahead remains a mystery.

 

-Kayla

P.S. Do you have any adventures planned?

 

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Rhymes With, Writing

Some Days It Rains

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There are days when bus stops are no fun.

But still, you drag yourself  on and on.

Lectures are taught when the sun is  behind shrouds of clouds.

The coffee isn’t strong,

And your tea  is not hot, but nonetheless, you step out the door to whatever lies

Beyond.

Sweaters are too bulky, particularly around the cuff.

Parking lots are still empty,

Some students seem tipsy.

Your brain is still fogged–

It shows right there on your blog.

Words not coherent ‘n’ all that good stuff.

Socks aren’t quite long enough,

and rain-boots too squeaky,

You find yourself thinking of your trip to Waikiki.

It’s the first week of classes, don’t forget your school passes, bus passes, or glasses!

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A Little Rain

anonymous

There is so much truth in these words. If we expect to go through life without at least a few scratches and scrapes, we are in for a huge surprise.  I found this quote off of Pinterest-I know, I know BIG SURPRISE there- and I decided to do some background research. I wanted to quote the original author. When I went to look, I found many other people looking for the same person . So far, no one has been credited with these words-although Marilyn Monroe was known for her many different variations of this phrase. This quote reminded me of all the anonymous people who pass in and out of our lives and make a huge impact. Many of them never take any credit for doing so! We may miss the opportunity to thank them IN PERSON, but why not pay it forward? If someone known or anonymous to you took the time, talents,or treasure that he or she had, and used it on you, I’m sure you can do the same. Don’t wait for a reason to be generous, go bless someone this week!

Rhymes With

A Little Rain

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