The day, sunny this morning, has turned cold and dreary, like any good holiday in the city. No snow here, though. I doubt half the residents even know the word. There's been such little communication from outside cities for so long that knowledge of other climates has passed beyond common knowledge. I know what it is because Tessian, Nemus's father, took it into his head to give all of us orphans what he considered a proper education. From him, I know that snow used to be expected on this holiday, though even the holiday's name has been lost to time. People still celebrate, though.
This is a poem from the perspective of a baby's crib.
WARNING: Profanity/Vulgar Language
This poem came to me while I was helping a friend edit their book. It took some exploration of the idea, honing what it was I wanted to say, but ultimately it fit into a project I had already started. I’m writing a poetry collection exploring the different ways people view or experience death. Each…
Monday--a poem about being sick.
It's another poem. It’s short. Go on and read it. :)
The mind is a dangerous place.
A prompt for the summer season.
Poem about a runaway that plays off the Red Riding Hood story.
The third part in my series of short shorts about loving but not needing coffee.
A poem about finding a place in the world.