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morseismyjam Jun 10
Summer fills me with nostalgia in a way that I cant explain. But when the air hears up and the black ants crawl all over our house I find myself remembering when we covered the window with sheets so we could sleep when it was still light.

Most years I was alone, friends not good enough to contact outside of school.
I stayed up late in bed reading every night. It was during summer that I stumbled on my first podcast, on my first ****** novel, on my first question of gender.
In the heat of summer I sought change. Alone, I struggled with questions of college and career and the future. I despaired, sobbing into my pillow until I fell asleep.

Summer is full of possibility, of the past, of the future.
I caught fireflies out on the lawn, I put cicada husks in a jar and kept a tally, I invented games for myself and my sisters. I work late nights and come home to a warm house. I eat cereal for 3 meals a day.
The rules don't apply to Summer.
noon bell
for rain of pinks
old stereo
Simon Apr 21
Intuition at it's finest when feeling the seasonal changing of its metamorphosis is coming ahead. A foreseeing truthful measure of action (over the wonder of its own inevitable evolution).
Feeling of observance is nothing without attitude (in it's very self to bear alone), when it's never alone... Except, when all in not well within its favor, because that's when things change in the way it's ought to be. And not because it's an entire consequence (all on its own little lonesome), without truthfully knowing of the very actions that surmise the difficulties straight out from under its own opposable..."developing pleasures!"
Every year,
Like autumn leaves I shed my friends off these twiggy bones
Because they grow too tired

Every year,
This depression it addicts me, a cycle Id rather forget
But it keeps me guessing

One of these years,
I will be found dead, hanging from our garage.
I’ll lay a tarp, I’ve written my will, it’s all put together.

Because every year,
they give up on me just like the years before
I isolate all the same.

Maybe some year,
They can reach out, and see through all my fog
I swear im not boring, just scratch my surface
You’ll see

This year,
I’ll live, to tell the tale, of losing my seasonal friends
But next who knows, I might be alone
I’ll write you when I’m gone.
Just me and my revolving cast of friends
I am.
I am a cold, crisp autumn field.
I am a plush scarf in the breeze,
I am omnipresent, and yet never near.
I am a crackling fire in a winter freeze.
I am crumbling, cold, and free.
I am encumbered by the slush and snow.
I am waiting toe-to-toe.
You have seen me,
slouched, burdened, fatigued by the stress of the day,
waiting in the back of the bus bay.
I am all, and I am more.
https://www.instagram.com/wutheringsbronte/
Molly Shewan Mar 6
Our last Christmas as a family
the day I'll always reminisce
they robbed you of your innocence
there's so many things i always miss

Our last Christmas as a family
before the drugs took you away
I saw the way you smiled
I wish i had screamed at you and said

Our last Christmas as a family
was the best we will ever get
as i know your still abusing
you're too difficult to forget

Our last Christmas as a family
i saw the look inside your eyes
i saw the future of the pain
they had already taken over your life

Our last Christmas as a family
i held you in my arms tight
for if you knew the pain i was in
would you have put up a harder fight?
1234
I am in my own old
Town of almonds
In my orchard
Taking pictures
Of the apple  blossoms
Cherry blossoms
It is early spring

1234
I am in my element
Clicking pictures of my
Favorite flowers
In my parents garden
It’s late spring

1234
I am walking around my neighborhood
Looking for unique
And funky things
To take pictures of
It’s summer


1234
I am in lanark
Trick or treating
With my friends
More like click or treating
With my phone camera
It’s late autumn
Thoughts of summer occupy my mind while I watch the bleak gray sky and flurries of snow

False memories fill my brain of better times that didn’t exist


A warm sun and fields of flowers shadow days of silence and lonesomeness


Bluewater from crystal pools gently lap and wash away bad memories of fleeting friendships,

and the desperation of trying to keep a few of them to stay.

I always think I’ll be better in the summer


I suppose I’ll never be fully content no matter the season.

But in the meantime, I’ll keep myself busy with dreams of unrealistic nights inspired by movies

And worry that I’m wasting the few good years I have sitting at home alone;

Writing these poems.
Paul Butters Jan 21
Sing out long and loud
Feel the joy around
Spring is on the way
Dawning of the day

Dawning of the year
Daffies nearly here
Thrusting through the ground
No longer earthbound

Bluebells and snowdrops too
With crocuses coming through
From bulbs hidden in the soil
Life is on the boil

The rhythm of life is changing
Always re-arranging
Looking to the summer
For winter made us glummer.

Looking forward with hope
Rose tinted telescope
I can hardly wait
For now I just anticipate.

Paul Butters

© PB 21\1\2021.
Inspired by "Times Like These" song, originally by Dave Grohl (of The Foo Fighters).
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