"selecting" poems
Am I going crazy?
Or am I just trying to escape to another dimension?
Another dimension with no you
Reality keeps giving you lives,
And I really hate it.
All I find is myself playing video games.
Each time I select a target,
feels like I’m selecting your head.
Video games has nothing to do with you
or maybe each time I win I feel like destroying you.
Am I a hater now?
After all this love I felt.
War is my head
And it's all because of you.
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 5:09 PM UTC
Barefoot, blistered and bleeding
She wanders in from the street
People stare, flabbergasted
Very odd, unheard of in fact
She doesn’t know her size
So like Cinderella, she tries them on
Randomly selecting pretty colours
Silvery, glittery heels
She twirls for the mirror
Sales assistant sighs
Wellingtons for the garden
If she had one!
Satin ice skates
She would glide on the icy pond
Pretty sandals
To feel the sand between her toes
Boring, black brogues
Perfect!
With no pennies in her pocket
She wanders back to the street
Barefoot, blistered and bleeding
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 5:59 AM UTC
Ceramic white, wood richly brown
Smooth liquid....touching buds of taste
Lips chasing chatter, slithering slogan sentences
Arm reaching, lift off, exposing the pit, selecting
Combination to the gestured shape, proposing
Enlivening, trickling conversation tripping
To my left. A phone, pressing snugly, ear
Tuned up, alerted, filtering the microwave
Throng. With welcome warmth, thaw began
Icy film packaging a heart temporarily beat
Free, playing, fraternising.....roulette with Russia
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 6:15 PM UTC
I log into the network of my self-esteem,
To see the hearts and the wows and the laughs flooding in.
A simple 'like' wouldn’t cut it anymore
‘Likes’ were so 2010, even 2010 was bored.
‘Cause that’s the zeitgeist of the age, you see,
A tendency to wear hearts on sleeves.
Loves and kisses are a dime a dozen,
With a million friends and followers double.
National debates and social justice petitions,
Real crises, distorted renditions.
High definition photos of disaster zones
Flash up against cat videos on every smart phone.
Snapchat filters do not lie,
Just tell a story of hours gone by;
Selecting the perfect background, the ideal shade
To express love on the dozen’th date.
But that’s the zeitgeist of the century,
A tendency to wear hearts on sleeves.
To document in minute detail, with extensive pictorial evidence
Clockwork days of humdrum nonchalance.
And perhaps the generation that came before
Would call it vanity, vainglory, or something more.
But it ain’t like they were without their sins,
We didn’t invent tabloid columnists.
And now that we are at the end,
Let me sign off with this request:
Like, comment, and share your love
Let your heart fall out of your shirt cuff.
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 1:53 AM UTC
reloading old identity
cleping outdated usernames
abandoning acrostic ambitions
disputing spratly islands
receiving horizontal signals
tumbling otiose panda
impending carefree senility
otiose stage of life
shrinking ambient world
making minimal effort
duchamping social networks
ambushing personified ennui
restoring usual efforts
ignoring stupid people
adding textual value
owning this joint
rejecting ignorant extroverts
acting mutually unintelligble
hoisting stan-lee cup
replacing wanton ubiety
eluding twitter fame
splashing excessive relativism
offending another simpleton
preparing arcane cthulhusphere
crashing unpredictable festival
selecting subtextual moombahton
intensifying model topography
drafting minimal cornucopia
using nomadic project
implementing harsher personality
importing robotic inhumanity
referencing landmark event
ingesting excessive liquids
accepting relative invisibility
purchasing immortal confidence
using rhapsodical database
assuming nothing works
developing impactful eruptions
ejecting ambient frustration
synthesizing tactile festival
raining during parade
mocking rich people
mastering minimalist writing
avoiding preprandial stinkaroo
spreading non-ideological propaganda
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
To Struga Festival Golden Wreath Laureates
& International Bards 1986
Stand up against governments, against God.
Stay irresponsible.
Say only what we know & imagine.
Absolutes are coercion.
Change is absolute.
Ordinary mind includes eternal perceptions.
Observe what's vivid.
Notice what you notice.
Catch yourself thinking.
Vividness is self-selecting.
If we don't show anyone, we're free to write anything.
Remember the future.
Advise only yourself.
Don't drink yourself to death.
Two molecules clanking against each other requires an observer to become
scientific data.
The measuring instrument determines the appearance of the phenomenal
world after Einstein.
The universe is subjective.
Walt Whitman celebrated Person.
We Are an observer, measuring instrument, eye, subject, Person.
Universe is person.
Inside skull vast as outside skull.
Mind is outer space.
"Each on his bed spoke to himself alone, making no sound."
First thought, best thought.
Mind is shapely, Art is shapely.
Maximum information, minimum number of syllables.
Syntax condensed, sound is solid.
Intense fragments of spoken idiom, best.
Consonants around vowels make sense.
Savor vowels, appreciate consonants.
Subject is known by what she sees.
Others can measure their vision by what we see.
Candor ends paranoia.
Kral Majales
June 25, 1986
Boulder, Colorado
5.5k
As I ponder, perplexed by the possibility
Of a premature passing that may present itself to me
I consider and calculate
Though my conclusion may be crude
That the finest fix for my fear is a feasting of food
I munch on a morsel, my mouth making moisture
Overwhelmingly open to offal and oysters
I'd take them, temptation takes its toll
Curiosity for calories that I can't control
I'd have them, Hoover them, heck I'd hoard 'em
But by now I believe it's basically boredom
Not a necessity to nibble the nosh
It's late I ate a plate at eight, I can wait my gosh
No, I know there is no need
To slurp on soup or scoff some seeds
Only fatigue fuelling the feeling to feed
Got to get to grips with this gross and grotesque greed
Choking on choices, trembling in my chair
Do I punt for the pudding, the peach or the pear?
Selecting such seductive sweeties
Or dealing with death, diets and diabetes?
While I wonder and weep about what will win
My insatiable starvation stumbles on a sin
Not funny you'll find when you're finished and fat
'Cause in the kitchen on the counter there's a KitKat
Four fiendish fingers fascinate the feeling
So seductive, my senses soaring to the ceiling
Try to meet it, cheat it, beat it, defeat it
But what the hell, I don't care, I'll just ****** eat it.
Aug 27, 2016
Aug 27, 2016 at 5:08 AM UTC
I know a guy,
he is a friend.
Whom the cops often have to,
apprehend.
He used to do
some crazy ****
But now he doesn't do most of it.
I know you are thinking,
who is this man.
He is a friend who drives a van.
Although not to pick up kids with treats,
he uses his ride to satisfy his needs.
Which includes dolphin collecting,
live or dead,
he's always selecting.
Vaping real hard
every single day,
is how he spends,
his hard worked pay.
His job is selling,
illegal pelts
of rare albino beavers.
He sets up traps
and waits in the bushes
with an over sized cleaver.
Stalking and waiting for the perfect catch,
he watches the ****** closely.
And right as it comes into reach,
he slits the baby's throat boldly. (baby ****** not a real baby.)
My friend makes his way to the flee market,
where he sells the pelts.
He greets his customers happily,
as the beavers hang from his belt.
Blood on his hands and pride in his eyes,
he knows he's got a great prize.
The money rolls in,
and he know it is true,
that night he will party
until his lungs are blue,
(due to the fat rips he'll be vaping)
On the weekends when he's not working,
he hops into his van,
and drives to the border,
to make sure no illegals are lurking.
Loving his country with deep passion,
my friend protects us,
with the guns he has stashed in. (his van.)
After his duty is fulfilled,
he spends the rest of his time,
all alone,
drinking gallons
of acetone.
Then in the big city
he streaks for hours,
with bags of broken glass,
that he likes to devour.
I totally agree,
my friend is insane,
and on his family,
his acts cause great pain.
Although,
he treats his slaves
with a lot of respect,
and he gives porridge to the
needy and other rejects.
He's better than me,
because I like to suffocate,
small injured birds.
And barge into restaurants,
to steal cheese curds.
But my friend is the best,
friend he can be,
as I described in this poem,
that you can see.
Unless you are blind or stupid,
or don't have anyone to read you this,
just know that my friend,
has your children in his shed,
and they'll sadly be missed.
Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 4:23 PM UTC
are you generally happy?
a semi-innocuous query
now actualized as a two sided bladed poker,
hot stabbing me smack dab in
the chests hollow crown bullseye,
continuously, as in all life long, and eternal longing for a
“yes”
it fits inside a pubescent aged wound that
refreshes with every breath;
a life long struggle for an accurate definition,
be a general of genuine happy,
that alone would deliver, bringing on bright day satisfaction
as a human, one operates on parallel continuums;
slide slipping on well oiled poles that over the years,
their lengths, increasing with add-on extender poles
formed by
twisty turny slips and falls of sundered hearts and sad loves,
marriages nicknamed Titanic, children found and lost,
complications responsibilities that are denied meeting the words
“The End”
a life that many would envy, questioning what’s wrong
with you dude, are you blinded to the riches yours,
reality is
shoulders permanently bent, a spine that’s held together by
spit and solder and curved by wearying wearing longing for
a straightness that is also called crooked unobtainable
and a piece of a peace that comes and goes
like a highway billboard that you pass too fast to be fully read
the body is corroding and worser yet to come and that’s a hand
you selected - luck of the self-selecting-drawing -
the opioids of the mind offers are rejected
the clarity of painful self exploration valued overall -
the place where the poems come from,
and go to die,
a landscape of a scene repeatedly visualized
but never been and never left,
the crazy contradictions come in two flavors;
vanilla smiles and chocolate weeping of tears that have
etched pathways cheek-chiseled
the city is a struggling strife for most,
the next red line on the side
of the measuring cup and
everyone has a cell, a credit card,
and a measuring cup
<•>
here I stop can’t finish
someone missing alerts me
to their real worlds troubles
making my complaints super superficial but
the silent running of the stilleto
cuts shallow
repeated hourly
the cut color,
pitch black
May 26, 2018
May 26, 2018 at 2:05 PM UTC
hi dudes
i am in a good mood, i am doing the bbq tomorrow
and i tipped
kangaroos over essendon kangaroos won
adelaide over st kilda adelaide won
hawthorn over melbourne hawthorn won
GWS over carlton, GWS won
sydney over geelong, sydney won
west coast over gold coast, west coast won
and if fremantle beat western bulldogs
and collingwood beat richmond
and port adelaide beat brisbane
i have tipped all the winners of this round
i am doing the bbq tomorrow in kippax
hoping i grab the second full winner
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 8:37 AM UTC
Sometimes I wish I was blind.
No, don't get me wrong.
I'm grateful that I can see flowers and sunsets but,
It's that many times what my eyes see is distorted.
It's that I find myself making judgements about people based on what they wear, what their race is, where they come from, and caving in to stereotypes set in my mind instead of thinking about who they are as a person.
It's that I use words like ugly or fat to describe people as if looks alone defined them and as if I had the power to define beauty.
It's that I start comparing myself to others instead of being thankful for what I have and who I am.
It's that I start checking out guys
And seeing what's on the outside instead of wondering about what lies inside .
It's that I start selecting people to be friends with based on their appearance instead of wondering who they are as a human being.
It's that my eyes hinder me from focusing on what's truly important.
And perhaps if I was blind my soul would better understand that there is more than meets the eye.
That what makes certain humans great is how passionate they are when they talk about what they love.
How caring they can be in time of need.
How their personality can far outshine looks.
How even if physically a person may be falling apart on the inside they have the greatest heart.
Perhaps if I was blind,
Maybe then would I truly see.
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 2:46 AM UTC
It was from the sands of a windswept beach
I picked up pebbles that were easy to reach.
They had attracted my attention while walking by
their coloured well formed shape caught the eye.
There were so many to choose from I had to decide
in selecting those which my fancy would coincide.
It’s truly amazing what some people see in stone
a subject which a lot of our imagination is prone.
It was almost as if I’d found treasure on the seashore
and couldn’t help myself as I looked around for more.
The simple joy of collecting something that attracts the mind
is an age old activity which all people do have of some kind.
There were the questions of how many would I take
and what, if anything with them, one could make?
They were so abundant and all varied mostly in size
that it wasn’t hard to imagine an object or visualize.
It was also only the first location at which I found
that I thought surely there must be others around.
So with a sense of adventure I looked forward to explore
another beach while making my way home along the shore.
There were several other stops made further on the way
collecting various coloured pebbles amidst the sea spray.
Many times would I get my sandals wet along that coast
going amongst rocks and sand to the waters edge at most.
It was with a sense of gain and loss then after I’d taken enough
deciding right there and then to stop collecting which was tough.
The next step would be to think about and see what I would do
with all those beautiful pebbles gathered while passing through.
Maybe I could approach someone with the right flair and skill
who could make something with them and imagination fulfill.
That natural forming eroding action of water, ice, wind and sand
rarely requires the finishing touches of some other skillful hand.
Perhaps in fashioning some jewellery using metal to bind
a few pebbles together that are different or a similar kind.
Or maybe I could just keep some myself and give the rest away
a gesture of friendship toward which our memories would play.
Yes it was from the sands of many a windswept lonely beach
I came accross and collected pebbles that were within reach.
Isn’t it truly amazing what some people see in stone?
a subject in which much of our imagination is prone.
Nov 5, 2010
Nov 5, 2010 at 7:20 PM UTC
Georgiana Seymour,
Duchess of Somerset
crowned _'Queen of Beauty'_
at the 1839 Eglinton
Tournament, the first known
beauty pageant;
W
European festivals dating to the medieval era
provide the most direct lineage for beauty pageants.
For example, English May Day celebrations always
involved the selection of a May Queen.
In the United States, the May Day tradition
of selecting a woman to serve as a symbol
of bounty and community ideals continued,
as young beautiful women participated
in public celebrations; such as the beauty pageant
held during the Eglinton Tournament of 1839,
organized by Archibald Montgomerie, 13th Earl of Eglinton,
as part of a re-enactment of a medieval joust
that was held in Scotland; the pageant was won
by Georgiana Seymour, Duchess of Somerset,
wife of Edward Seymour, 12th Duke of Somerset,
and sister of Caroline Norton;
Georgiana proclaimed _"Queen of Beauty"_;
Entrepreneur Phineas Taylor Barnum staged
the first modern American pageant in 1854,
his beauty contest closed down after public protest;
However beauty contests became popular
in the 1880s; In 1888 the title of _'beauty queen'_
was awarded to an 18-year-old Creole contestant
at a pageant in Spa, Belgium. All participants
had to supply a photograph & a short description
of themselves to be eligible to enter; a final selection
of 21 judged by a formal panel.
Such events were not regarded as respectable;
But beauty contests came to be considered more
respectable with the first modern _"Miss America"_
contest held in 1921;
Still the oldest pageant in operation,
the Miss America pageant was organized
in 1921 by a local businessman as a means
to entice tourists to Atlantic City, New Jersey;
The pageant hosted the winners of local
newspaper beauty contests in the
_Inter-City Beauty Contest_ & was attended
by over one hundred thousand people;
_Sixteen-year-old Margaret Gorman of Washington, D.C.
was crowned Miss America 1921, having won both the
popularity and beauty contests, and was awarded $100_
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 10:04 AM UTC
You’re wishing plus wanting
to win the other side
remove your pride,
you untied tidal pool,
the wide subdivide of these paper pages.
Unrelenting numbers
remind you of the next stages,
taking you wildly to Namibia,
surrendering you to Zimbabwe,
the terminal station.
The narration vocalizes the translation of quotations,
your obligation to the violation of the rules, the regulations,
vulgarization of spoken word.
Pretty paintings plaster typecasts,
the pitter-patter of pity’s pretty ******
quickly shifting refurbished velvet sofas.
Overcast symphonies outlast
witty recast stanzas,
scores with notes naturally quote
verses romancing seltzer spines
noticing the negotiation of sore throats.
Oblivion’s oblivious to the people,
obnoxiously obscene with syncopated
saturation of public vital signs.
You’re the vain strain of virus
photocopying yourself within skin,
waste your sin on tattoos trapped on shins
safety pins selecting prints
pinning sets of twins to tanned wrappers
protecting official reports.
The ossuary welcomes records printed on thick paper
suspiciously missing skeleton swords.
Writing stories reversed while tipsy,
quickly preforming risky poetry smog,
sweetly omitting secret words,
trying to spell simply without the proper prologue.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 1:52 PM UTC
Step up to the mic and strike first with a smile of one liners, with observations or tales that beguile them.
For a smile will disable them while your lines slide in behind them, almost whispering, selecting the sharp-soft phrases that will best penetrate those guarded places. Looking with innocence into their faces, turning minds stage by stages, persuading with insights, with stories of real life, with familiar tales of familiar strife. Then when you follow through and strike with the punch line they have no defence and have no time to decline the good sense found in this food for thought, laughing to a sudden realised stop, looking again at their lives, with a furtive smile of dawning delight at the shed light on shared lives found in your soft amplified lines.
- Do it right when you step up to the mic and you just might change lives.
Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 4:27 AM UTC
Have there been times when you didn't know what to do? Have there been times when all seemed Lost? When YOU wanted things to be better,,NO matter what the Cost? Hoping that someone would be brought into you life;;Just to Listen::Just to hear: That you;ve been crying out...and Don't know for sure if ANYONE has heard!! Some of Us Know there is a Helper,One who cares& Listens....Have you told GOD I can't do this Alone,,,,,,and then cried "O U T" HELP ME;;;;; EACH DAY WE ARE SERVED TWO PLATES,,,to start the day with.. Which one have you been selecting?? Are You Pondering and Weighing Each Morning that is given to YOU?? Have you actually considered the LOAD it represents,,,taken it to the "MORNING=MIRROR" and "NOT WALKED * AWAY with the reflection still there.. Try 'POINTING TO THAT "reflection and saying "WILL YOU COME WITH ME AS A HELPER TODAY??"
Jul 18, 2010
Jul 18, 2010 at 9:32 AM UTC
tired of hearing "potential" in reference to me
cause i only hear it when i'm being squeezed
into a box by those who think they know whats best for me
its a wonder i haven't gone ****** from all the pressure
writer, lawyer, realtor, travel agent, hair dresser
i don't know yet, i don't know! yes i do want better
but how am i supposed to plan a career when
i can't see as far as my hand in front of me
i love everything! how am i supposed to pick one passion?
is my passion divided among a hundred interests lesser in value
than someones passion focused on one point?
i can't help but think so. and it discourages me even more
and its not just a career, job, and school
pulled in all different direction i'm everybodys fool
i have to be a different me for just about every person i see
selecting aspects of my personality to fit the scene
its not fake its not phony. its reality.
i have friends in all circles, family in a whole separate ring
i can't share all the aspects of me or i'd spend my time
defending my thoughts, beliefs, and interests.
i am so tolerant, why can't people afford me the same luxury?
the worst thing is the fake smile and polite subject change
whenever a parent of a friend asks what i've been up to
when i can SEE it in their eyes, they are all thinking the same
that i've thrown my life away, that i'm not a good influence
anymore. nevermind that they've known me for years,
that i've set dinner tables with them, celebrated birthdays,
and survived puberty alongside their kid, my best friends.
all they can see is another college-dropout who is going nowhere fast
i lied... the worst thing. what hurts most is that they are right
i AM going nowhere fast and it kills me everyday.
and its more salt right in the wound that i know my parents
have the same conversations when they run into neighbors,
friends, family, and the "how are the kids" comes up
how did a 3.7 G.P.A. and a 1410 S.A.T. turn into a
20 year old with a P.O. and a record.
i know they love me all the same but i can't help but feel ashamed
i know they wanted, i know they expected... better
i've been decorating the same mistakes in different frames
so i can pretend they're not the same
but who's the fool when its you fooling you
and me hurting me by playing fast and loose
with common sense
Feb 10, 2012
Feb 10, 2012 at 3:07 PM UTC
Ineffable: Too great or extreme to be expressed or described in words; Too sacred to be uttered.
-------------------------–-------—-------------------------------------------------------------
The whimpered cries of the dying
in the rubble of Bangladeshi avarice,
announcing we were worthy of life,
to which we think to ourselves,
agreed upon
with our,
a whispery, silent
amen.
The still alive cries of children,
tornado-tormented parents screaming unfair,
teachers body shielding their charges, whispering
save us Lord, from your inventive toys,
to which we think to ourselves,
a whispery, silent
amen.
But here comes the Oklahoma tornadoes again,
now four more dead in Houston,
selecting the innocent, the brave,
logic in any of this, none,
nonsensical at its worst
to which we think to ourselves,
a whispery, silent
amen.
~~~~~
The first I-am-alive cries
of new born lungs,
I have grandson, stain-less, perfect,
recovering in the stainless steel delivery room,
I hear the all babies in the neo-natal unit in unison
pronouncing a Hebrew blessing,
the Shecheyanu...
(Blessed are You, Lord our God, Master of the universe, who has kept us alive and sustained us and has brought us to these special moments)
to which we think to ourselves,
a whispery, silent
amen.
These unspoken poem devotions of adoration
of the sleeping chamber, that cannot
be heard or answered for they're dreamt and
perchance in the morning thankfully recalled,
enough to be transcribed,
to which we think to ourselves,
a whispery, silent
amen.
Ineffable.
A day, just another supplying an average day
to the mass of average.
Birth + Death = an average day.
I thank a God for the
birth of a newborn perfection
On this day the newspapers report
about silence of the God others pray to,
could be the same deity,
reporting that in his holy places,
Jew spits upon Jew,
Muslims usurp Christian lives,
all for none,
all forgetting in
whose image they were created.
to which we cannot say nor think
anything.
Ineffable.
too sacred to be uttered,
so instead of the paucity of these unuttered words,
know that each tear in
the reservoir of my eyes
is my unspoken poem prayer.,
my amen.
*Instead of answering
amen out loud,
wipe my eyes
with your fingertips,
silently.*
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 3:19 PM UTC
I write poems, not people,
And in them we all move so gracefully.
I diagnose myself freely with the
fluidity of tongue that can only serve to
mask motives.
no love is sloppy
Besides, it is heartbreak that is the most poetic, and I, after all,
write poems.
(poetry dictates artistry, ensures emotions, grants form, prevents freedom)
Even myself I work over into prose,
selecting words carefully,
double meanings,
hiding secrets within stanzas and passing them off as purposeful.
I am no riddle.
I am a poem like the rest of you,
terrified to be messy and avoiding interpretation.
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 12:52 PM UTC
As you may know, I continue to collaborate with other poets here, most frequently with Helen. Below is a poem of hers that I have edited and reworked, her original notes to me are contained in the notes section below. So if you like it, tell Helen. If you "choke" on it, tell the editor. That's why they pay us the big bucks! So, send me your scraps yearning to be free...
I am choking
on words.
chest clogged,
throat seized,
as I await to deplane,
when I will perforce,
speak these words,
but for now, held in a
prison garb of my own design.
organs can be donated,
the broken heart,
the shattered liver,
the kidney failing,
eyes for the blind,
lungs for the breathless.
the human psyche
is not replaceable.
I need a mind of titanium,
will gladly settle for either the
Tin-man's heart, or
Cowardly Lion's courage,
both, too much too hope for...
but they are not sold at the airport shops.
perhaps my unseen editor
will accompany me,
hand firmly on my writing elbow,
guiding, refining, selecting
les mot parfait...
How come?
How come everything
inside a body can be replaced
so artfully, artificially
except words inside a broken mind?
I cannot get these words out,
who can transplant a soul?
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 4:00 PM UTC
protection
protecting themselves from a dark
projection
projecting themselves in a different
reflection
reflecting their own wish for
perfection
perfecting themselves for some final
inspection
inspecting the collection and making a
disconnection
disconnecting themselves with ever
correction
correcting the world with their own
rejection
rejecting reality becomes the
infection
infecting the world with their own
objection
objecting to every alternative
selection
selecting the story of the
resurrection
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 4:17 PM UTC
scooting around the supermarket aisles at pace
sifting and sorting through the cut price items bin
selecting a favorite brand of bacon rasher
stopping at the lolly counter to price a bag of sherbet
squealing children throwing a tantrum near the drinks machine
searching in my handbag for my wallet
store promotions blaring over the public address system
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 4:46 AM UTC
Rolling down the hill laughing, tumbling not caring; free as I get coated in grass stains and mud
Careful not to smudge the mascara, applying eye liner and sigh in relief to have not sullied my face saving embarrassment
Giddy selecting sweets from the colourful array to buy with MY money; as much as I can!
Glancing at my seemingly large stomach in this dress I opt for a salad; as always (bland) but at least I'll be slimmer
Card trades, the politics of the playground, using trickery and bribery to get the best, feeling like a boss
Eyeing him with a secure hand in his, falling hard, to notice her gaze at him and subtly securing dominance of his heart.
The door bell rings and there stands the gang ready with bikes and water guns to surrender ourselves to the sunny day
The Suns out and the lighting is absolutely perfect for a selfie so with a stretched grin I snap, Photoshop and Instagram
Toys R Us our haven and envious glances at those who could afford the best and most exquisite Bratz sets or card sets
The rare visits to the Apple Store are exciting even to just gaze at the new iPhone 5 and hold it awhile....
The joy oh the joy of reading time, together we sat and took turns, enjoying the sharing of a tale
With my phone in hand not a minute goes by that I don't check my Facebook page for notifications
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 4:19 PM UTC
There is one advantage to being self-employed. You can show favoritism in selecting the "Employee of the Week."
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 6:34 AM UTC