July 22, 2016
After studying FDR's tree plantations, what metaphors can you draw between forests and the writing process, or about forests and courage?
July 22, 2016
Today we were on a tour of FDR’s House. After exploring the bottom floor of the house everybody moved upstairs. As I looked through the rooms I came across the lift FDR uses to move between floors. I took a step on it causing the lift to fall below the bottom floor crashing into the void below. I ended up falling down with...
July 22, 2016
Holmes...
Lawrence...
Rowley...
These are names hanging off nails and loose memories. No one remembers the servants from the Roosevelt house. Sure, people know that they existed but they were never wondered or asked about.
Do you ever wonder if that will happen to you?
Do you realize that you could fade away without a single mem...
July 22, 2016
Constantly dispelling
Continually reforming
Never quite here or there
Intangible but perceivable
Look closer
Deeper
Beyond the facade
The gaudy colors are nothing more than illusion
The blackness is real
The darkness stands tall
Nearly hidden but always present
The facade is of no use
As good as a twisted soul behind a pretty face
Look
D...
July 22, 2016
“Help”
I come to a place
seeking guidance.
I find more than that.
I find help and new-found knowledge.
Friends worth talking to and sharing with.
I mainly found courage to start writing again.
I hope others do more than me,
even more than I can imagine.
Special thanks
to the “Courageous Writers”.
“Happiness”
Sometimes I hear
People say...
July 22, 2016
Drip, Drip, Drip
Squeak.
Drip, Drip, drip
Squeak.
A memory of
A rainy day with people
Running for cover
Is all that is left
Besides
Squeaky floorboards and tattered sheets
Long ago the stories that are told
Were stories that were lived
Long ago glass windows
Didn’t exist
Barring you from entering the room
The dusty ghosts of the past
Whisp...
July 22, 2016
A forgotten friend lies, reunited with former glory.
A winter night, rain pattering on the roof, like an old friend calling, reminding you of forgotten days.
An aisle, fit for a bride, clothed in lush, leafy emerald. Cream and saffron dotting it all.
A forgotten friend lies, reunited with former glory.
A winter night, rain patt...
July 22, 2016
Strong willed
True hope
A new light
Our freedoms horoscope
Fought strong
Freed us from all of our wrongs
A brave man
Who kept true
To all of his promises, through and through
Now he lays
Under stone
Only footsteps from his home
Wind roaring, country crumbling
Starvation growing, Poverty soaring
A new deal, he did create
To free our countr...
July 22, 2016
Many things to explore; many things to see.
The Vanderbilt garden is where I’ll hold onto the idea of peace.
The shadows of the trees that hover above me;
With towering leaves that sway.
The petals of the flowers embark a sense of purity.
Whether sharp or round.
The lavished sound of silence is wonderful to hear.
It gets me caught...
July 22, 2016
Dear Mother,
I miss Sweden. It is too hot in Hyde Park. If I had known about how drastic the change in weather was in America, I would never have left. My minimal knowledge of the language hasn’t been helpful, either. At least the Vanderbilt house is nice, though its insane size is a bit overwhelming.
It’s also a bit over the...
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