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Literature Text
A watershed of crimson scarlets
Bleeding out on shattered shores
The ocean with its crashing fists
Bruised and battered Eleanor
The shriek of standstill, smearing streaks
A shadow's kiss with concrete cold
In desperate dive she splits the sea
The cascade glimmers, glints like gold
In blinding gaze of blaring eyes
The second split like gaping skull
Drowning, life spills dripping down
Her headlights dim, the hazel dull
The paramedics found her dead, afloat in the ocean of glass.
Bleeding out on shattered shores
The ocean with its crashing fists
Bruised and battered Eleanor
The shriek of standstill, smearing streaks
A shadow's kiss with concrete cold
In desperate dive she splits the sea
The cascade glimmers, glints like gold
In blinding gaze of blaring eyes
The second split like gaping skull
Drowning, life spills dripping down
Her headlights dim, the hazel dull
The paramedics found her dead, afloat in the ocean of glass.
Literature
Bryce
He always stands very close to people when he speaks to them, staring with those huge golden eyes and leaning in ever so slightly, as if he is craving their touch and the feel of their breath and their hands more than anything. This is the first thing you notice when you meet him, the closeness. You ache, for a reason you don't know, to bridge the gap. To touch him. Your fingers twitch towards him but you keep your hands beside you.
And then you hear him speak, and everything else seems loud and bright and harsh compared to the gentleness of him. His lips are chapped and his big galaxy earrings glitter and his hair stands straight up and his
Literature
Jitters
MARTY
Ok. This mess is called Jitters.
Teacher gave me a one-word name
On the first day of the third grade.
She labeled me with my condition
And so sparked a life-long tradition
Of insecurity and anxiety, cyclical
Critical hits dealt to my clinical tics
By cynical pricks so I set adrift
Across a rift between me and every other fucking kid I ever dared not encounter, fearing the ridicule they would pursue.
A few years later we went to the zoo.
A tarantula, gargantuan, yet trying to hide
from our view in a viewing tank
With sandy banks and small cacti
Yet we could not avert our childish eyes.
“True,” said teacher,
“You&r
Literature
The Sculptor
Before he would have harvested a tree,
hacked off its limbs,
skinned it,
torn it from the earth,
shaved one by one its cells - its outer core,
until it was what he believed it was,
no more a tree.
Wiser, he walks deep in to the wood,
underneath a forest giant he stops,
looks up in to the leafy branches, sighs,
climbs and sheds his tears upon its boughs.
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The theme I was working with this time was extended metaphor. I had to add the last 2 lines because people I showed it to didn't get it by the end. I hope it's clear enough. Free cookie to the person who can tell me what the poem is about and what the 'sea' is. •3•
It's a bit descriptive, but I figured it wasn't so bad as to warrant a mature content filter...
It's a bit descriptive, but I figured it wasn't so bad as to warrant a mature content filter...
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the visuals were very strong, the metaphor definitely came through.
very very nice work, as usual!
very very nice work, as usual!