This side of my skin only layers

It shows the story of my kin

A story that can't be shown by numbers on paper

It shows my family history, in virtue and in sin

This side of my skin is gold

Youthful and hard to hold

First soft like grains turned to flour

Then calloused in an hour

But even as my skin frays

This story on the side of my skin will stay

(Robert Frost was arguably the finest classical style poet of the 20th century. I would never put myself at his level, but this one does capture a little of the feel of his work.)

To greet the dawn, I crossed a meadow green,

still blanketed in jewels of morning dew.

I sat upon a rock, still and serene,

and watched the sky transform from black to blue.

Even before the silhouettes of trees

defined the border of the unborn sky,

I heard the morning song of chickadees

and listened as a loon bid night goodbye.

The entrance of the sun brought colors forth

in hues that brightened slow from dark to light;

'twas not for me to judge this beauty's worth,

but merely to record the glorious sight,

and then to make my way from whence I'd come,

with miles to walk to find my way back home.

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© 2023 - dustygrein

In my fantasy, I will buy scissors. So many pairs, perhaps a wheelbarrow full of them. A vanload? Way more scissors than any person has ever owned.

In every cupboard, in every drawer and on every surface in my house, you will find at least one pair of scissors. There will be scissors hanging from the walls, scissors hanging from the ceiling. Anywhere you look in any room, you will see scissors...

Then I wait.

I know The Moment won’t present itself immediately. It could take days, weeks even. But when The Moment arrives, oh boy, I’m ready.

Whatever it is, an envelope, a bag of candy, a dangling string… On that day I simply reach out and grab me a pair of scissors. It will be beautiful.

Surely they can’t all have vanished?

#irony #sarcasm #sardonic #everydayproblems

"Good writing is like a windowpane." -George Orwell

Alyssa is and will always be her name.

She wields her pen in sword stance, slays her demons with it and uses their blood as ink to paint a story only she can write. Every stroke of the pen spells a word of her past. It is upon the paper canvas that she will speak her latent testimonies, and breath an extra life into those who listen.

Alyssa's friend Bianca is never pleased: "What have you to gain from writing! It's a waste of time and effort, and you're not even that good at it." Bianca never understood what writing meant. Writing was a doorway for Alyssa to break the inner silence, to speak the unutterable experiences of a past without double. To Alyssa, this was good writing: all writing that was composed of personal experiences. Punctuation and vocabulary are merely secondary to the written experience of a creative soul. An experience, after all, is like a star among stars, each with its own intensity, magnitude and warmth.

A good writer pens a life you've never known before.

Canada is gonna be the one to beat in WWIII.

Hear me out. Trudeau is hot. Hot people are often evil. If you don't believe me, look up young photos of Stalin and Fidel Castro. Just like the Powerpuff Girls, there is a formula for a villian. Charisma, charm, and a dash of beauty and some political chess and you have the next Holocaust on your hands. Now, I'm not saying that Canada is actively killing people or silencing anyone that wasn't a native on the land to begin with, but I am saying Trudeau is one to watch. And why wouldn't you? He's boner fuel.

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