from Students at Wharton County Junior College,
English Composition 1302-22187
—a luna moth— on a broken bottle.
(D. G. Smith)
We look around; everything is beautiful.
We smile, breathing in the aromatic air.
Peace is what we feel as we feel the rush around us.
Streets bustling with life, the shoving of shoulders.
We are screaming, so we write it.
The mind's eye witnesses that which blooms plentifully, a sudden unison of limbs approached the door, that who watches assists their passage and notices the stray reminder hobbling behind—
Spinning fans, the equivalence to running thoughts. But a reflection of yourself is just a piece of glass where a person can see themself. Looking at the base of a statue, before one looks up, how will you know what the rest of it looks like if you don't keep looking up?
Ideas are lurking in raw images such as mother nature herself. She provides inspiration to a poet, such as my photo of a flower and the fly. Both are creations of God and mother nature. Inspiration is the key to create a rhyme or a story. It could be different colors, shapes, objects, or even sizes, the outcome can be as strong as the winds of a hurricane.
A tree holding on to existence,
from the rigors of its creator.
Flowers closed to the eyes of the world, as
a car abused by its brother.
I always get my hand dirty,
I devour the Earth and make anew.
There's many of my kind, but some of us take hours
and some of us take days.
We sing as we work to make the time go by and we start to rhyme, but that's what they want.
Sometimes it's frustrating, I give them what they desire and I get criticized anyways. Only my brothers on the field can relate.
I am ugly and boring to look at,
But once dug deeper people fall in love. A beautiful creation comes out of me, when people pour their emotions out.
It begins with the roots, they need water and nutrients to grow, but some leaves and flowers do not bloom like expected. Not all flowers reach their full potential, but that might be the beautiful part to it.
A table, a spot for a young woman full of emotion and allure, to bring
forth an expression of herself to her peers.
A blossoming network of life,
Radiating outward metamorphically
Cycling through each new sunrise brand new.
The energy flows downward,
Touching everything and bringing light.
Different shapes, colors, and sizes.
Inspiration for something magical
But lost like a dog in a forest
And strong like a man of faith.
unsrcrewing the cap of a bottle, the ocean water flows out and water will contaminate— but with the cap, your body guard will protect the water from getting out
In a world full of greens and blues,
Man creates an alien structure that, stands taller, metallic, sharper,
It stands out, opposing natural thought,
Combining two forms of two different cultures, becoming one stage.
A color of sun,
A source of happiness,
The water makes me alive!
I can seduce you with my soft hands,
As well, put you in danger with my sharp thorns.
It is a foundation which connects things whether they are big or small.
It is the soul of a larger organization, which continues to grow stronger each year.
They evolve as time goes by holding onto their true form of Mother Nature.
A yellow bloom speaking sounds of love
Unfolding it'a silk petals in rhythm
Expressing feelings surrounding its green nature
They come in many different shapes, sizes and lengths,
All sorts of different colors may defy its outer beauty,
However analyzing it throughly may show the inner beauty,
Over the years, seasons change and they evolve and go through the cycle of life and death.
What rocks do I see?
There are gold, brown, gray and white rocks on the ground.
There are beautiful and pleasant.
What are they made of that I could think?
They are all made the rocks harder than the sponges so I would not be able to touch with my hands outside.
How were they reflected?
The rocks were reflected so bright and well organized, it can be valuable over the hot sun what I have been understating them so well.
I go against mother despite whatever she says— I'll protect you because mother is a moody woman, I'll defy her for you through a sea of similarity. I will make you unique— mother may try to change us but we will remain different
Nature is the expected and the unnatural and synthetic is poetry. A fountain is powered by pumps and chlorine keeps it clean. Yet, the unnatural and the natural coexist as one.
Which seat do I choose?
The emotions coming down, deflecting the sun from my reflection.
The angles all vary.
Different viewpoints to help think louder, breathe softly, and get a sense of belonging.
Which seat do I choose?