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was born in 1830. Image:







ใ‚ตใƒณใƒ—ใƒซ้Ÿณๆบ (ใƒ“ใƒƒใ‚ฐใƒใƒณใƒ‰็ทจๆˆใƒปใ‚ฝใƒญใƒ”ใ‚ขใƒŽๆ›ฒๆŽก่ญœ) / ใ€ŒTAK-YAMADA ๅฎŒๅ…จใ‚ณใƒ”ใƒผใ€20031026 ใ•ใ‚“ใ‹ใ‚‰










10 Dec 1830: American Emily is born in Amherst, . She died on May 5, 1886 also in . She really became famous for her after her death. Only 12 of her ~1800 were published during her lifetime.



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I know you've heard of the sexy, funny, intelligent hot-tempered Obsession ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚ I write the NASTIES (yes I said the nasties) & much more ๐Ÿ˜‰




Octavio Paz was a /writer. He is recognized as one of the major American writers of the 20th century. In 1990, he received the Nobel Prize for Literature













Come on out Friday, Dec 20 to The Potter's House, doors open at 6 & the show starts at 7 pm. $10 entry fee with 30% donated to the Pay It Forward program. 2 awesome hosts. I am your feature







Happy Birthday Emily Dickinson (December 10, 1830 โ€“ May 15, 1886)! - an . Fewer than a of her nearly 1,800 were published during her lifetime. Many of her poems deal with themes of and .










Emily Dickinson โ€œA Quiet Passionโ€ Director & screenwriter: Terence Davies, 2016 : Florian Hoffmeister The film is sheer itself... w/ Cynthia Nixon โ€œThis is my letter to the world that never wrote to meโ€ฆโ€




Reposting : - via The words will come easy to those that can hear all of the secrets being told between a heart to a soul. Poet Richard M Knittle Jr. A Poet's Journey









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Tapi

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Tapi

dans le souvenir d’une gloire surannée

sous l’ombre d’une histoire tracée,

hélas oubliée,

perdu dans ses incertitudes, ses perspectives

d’avenir morne et monotone

son oubli

de tous et toutes

de celles et ceux qui le célébraient,

pour qui il était le centre du monde réel

l'âme de tout,

il attend que s’aventurent entre ses murs deux cœurs vaillants

battant à nouveau pour ses pierres usées,

divaguant dans ses pièces aux mémoires insensées, 

rêvant de nouveaux banquets, d’hospitalité, de vie

au point eux aussi de faire

tapis.

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Polar Poem Part IX

Blinding was the light, that Phil saw as he was pulling pulled out of the car
The surroundings still looked very similar as before, it didn’t look like they went far
A helicopter was spinning nearby being ready to fly out
Soon Phil was going to be far away without a doubt

These men were masked too pushing the bear the aircraft
There were a lot of them, Phil was heavy, this wasn’t an easy task
No help had showed up yet, Phil was still all alone
So a fight he had to put up on his own

Mostly, this whole time, the polar bear was waiting to be rescued
Now about to been flown away Phil realized this thought was skewed
Phil stood up on his hindlegs becoming mightier than he thought
The men were thrown, knocked, and the others were getting prepared to take a shot

The steel cuffs on Phil proved to be rather cheaply made
They broke simply after only two tugs the bear came gave
It was getting away too crazy, these men did not want this to linger
One had Phil in his scope and was about to pull the trigger

In true suspenseful style, before a shot could be taken
Something came behind the shooter and made him shaken
The gun rolled on to the crowd and the snipper was knocked out
It was David, Jenny, and the villagers finally arriving to help

The men had left tracks in the dirt, which were followed by all
Though outnumbered, they were putting up a fight, it became on big brawl
The helicopter took off to get away from the sudden revolt
It stayed up in the air, it did not get away and bolt

Everyone was getting into the fight even Dr. Autumnheart threw a punch
All the bad men were over powered and ended being all tied up
Phil was free from being some type of prisoner
For a bunch of people were very sinister

He was reunited with friends, it made Phil happy as can be
Hugging David and Jenny tears sprouted in his eyes, he could barely see
The bear was so happy his friends he licked, which was the bear way of kissing
After his heartfelt reunion it would be time to get back on this mission

No words were said, all the emotions were understood
Phil had so many he couldn’t vocalize them if he could
Settling down the bear spoke, “I don’t think I want to find others like me
With you guys being here, I realize that you are my actual family.”

Before Phil could gone expressing how he felt inside
A loud bang came from the helicopter from the sky
It flew away, leaving Phil more than a little impaired
Blood was coming from his side, they had shot the last polar bear

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Being Black Is Like Being Hunted 24/7
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Architect

I write in metaphors few will understand.

It’s my dreamland.

The forest is my mind.

The wolf my guide.

Leaning about ancient symbols, seeing history in a different way.

The collective lie can’t stay.

Breaking out of dogma’s and destiny.

I create, you create

We make our own kind of faith.

The architect of our own story

All is just a choice, so why worry?

There is no meant to be, there is just now.

If you can let go.

Structures you made in your mind, destroy , construct.

Create your own luck.

Respect for the universe that’s in you, me and everywhere around.

I wear the moon crown, it doesn’t make me a queen.

I believe in equality.

The duality became a beautiful paradox which I embrace.

Meditation in simple life, everyday.


K.L

💫💫💫💫

The rose on your wrist
does it ever mean a thing
whilst you look me in the eye
the nightfall dropped into a cloudless sky
then all the ocean you left opened
does it ever cross your mind
perhaps the waves surfing every night and day
are counting the regrets i had for letting you in
and letting you go

- ara

i am unfamiliar with heartache

a feeling i can’t describe, a person

who cannot be named 

an ache in my bones and water in my lungs

stinging eyes months after the tears have stopped

cobwebs and dead deer fill my dreams

rather than your red hair and warm hands 

a fetid growth under my skin where affection should slumber

a lack of ill will and an open wound 

your name made of salt

your photos dripping lemon 

your messages stinking of steaming vinegar 

i can no longer harbour my love for you

nor can i nurture our forgotten friendship

stained with old kisses and broken birthday presents 

i am furious, i am hurt, i am upset with myself

for allowing this disease to continue to thrive 

cut the roots. tear them from my throat.

rip the craving out of my fingertips

shield my eyes from your smile

i know you mean no harm, but i will bleed nonetheless

so bandage this old heartache and amputate the connection

put an end to the guise of friendship 

and let me heal without you.

Unbreakable

Don’t try
You know how this will end
You, others
You’ve all tried so many times
Give up already

Can’t you see?
Isn’t it obvious?
Nothing you can do can hurt me
You have beaten me down for so long
That I built up my resistance to you

And now
I face you
Scars covering every inch of my body
More than half inflicted by you
And I smile

Because you could shoot me in the heart
And I would keep walking towards you, smiling
Terrifying, isn’t it?
And you do (Shoot me)
And I do (keep walking)

Now the monster’s scared of the prey.

I haven’t been to see Charlie’s Angels yet. I’m not going to. I am a feminist. And I know that Charlie’s Angels will never be the woman-centric masterpiece I wanted it to be. I wanted blood and sex and women being women with all the gore added but the trailer promised none of that so I’m not going to see Charlie’s Angels. It will never be feminist. Not because of it’s portrayal of Woman versus Weapon but because of the apostrophe. The angels. Belong to Charlie. Can you fucking believe. Three talented, strong, intelligent, capable women who have proven themselves time and time again still have a male superior to report to. God, it aches. 

But it’s true. Men think they rule the world. And that apostrophe lets them keep believing.

It aches but it’s true. I am my father’s daughter. I am my boyfriend’s girlfriend. I am always the subordinate always the apprentice I have spent so many years on this burning planet where is my share of the power? Where is it? So much is dictated for me but I have decided my whole life and I will decide more while bleeding and screaming and I will disgust many but enchant many more I am a woman I am what the Angels are not. I belong to no one, I decided this today.

My mum is on a conference call. They are all Men. And she is talking and making them listen. I have never admired anyone as much as I admire her. She exudes a calm fire, but a fire nonetheless. A blue flame a cold hot. Mine crackles much more loudly. We both burn.

I know he doesn’t listen when I talk. I don’t care. I don’t speak for him. I don’t speak for anyone. I speak for my own pleasure. I love the sound of my own voice. The lilt. The way my tongue curls over the words. I am well-spoken. That makes me a threat. He knows that I am intelligent enough to contest him. So he doesn’t listen. But he doesn’t know that I notice. I notice and I collect every single thing because I am a woman who is meticulous and owned by no one and begging for someone to question that freedom so I can slap his straying hand.

Men think they rule the world. They don’t. At any moment it could be snatched from under them and little things like apostrophes provide a blanket. But I refuse to comfort them as I have decided I belong to no one. I am on my own an isolated flame which sings orange and red. I am beautiful and I know this. I burn like the rest of us.

- Bea

I was going to review Charlie’s Angels for the school paper but I didn’t end up seeing it. I wrote this instead.

Lately I’ve been dealing with an identity crisis .not knowing myself anymore , what I believe in , what I value the most , what I think is right or wrong .. I don’t know if it’s because of turning 18 and stepping into adulthood , that crucial point ..where you’re not a teen anymore , and you’re an independent individual who takes in charge all of his responsibilities . Not gonna lie it’s hard , like super hard on the person at first and depressing at the same time , but that’s just how things are .

If tomorrow you must go,
Then stay with me tonight,
So I can drink you in.
This memory, in my heart I stow,
A weapon in a lonely fight,
Remembering the warmth of your skin.
And if I’m not right for you,
Don’t hide it with words and flowers,
But mourn along side of me.
If it is not I who would give you a kingdom then who?
The one who thinks of losing you and cowers,
Even when I’ve lived a life on stage for the world to see.