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The worn out stuffed bunny

Rested on the center of the bed

My childhood best friend

No, he didn't have a beating heart

But he was there from the start

I called him Butterscotch

Warm eyes, soft fur, pink nose

With a white little tail

He accompanied my cheers

And caught all my tears

Butterscotch  trailed behind me as I drug him through the halls

He even shared a spot at the table

Safe and sound we were together

Never left my side

Little me took pride

Now that old ragged stuffed bunny

Seventeen years later stays rested on the center of the bed

Warm eyes grew loose, soft fur matted, pink nose changed in color

With a stringy little white tail

Butterscotch may now be frail, but he has never failed

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Old Stuffed Bunny with a cute ribbon sitting in the center of the bed

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I Heard the Banshee Screech - while I walked -    L.H.

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I Heard the Banshee Screech - while I walked -    L.H.

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An image of an endless prairie with dark grey skies. There are figures in black, hidden in the tall grass. There is a woman in victorian era clothing, kneeling in the field, A woman wearing black is in the distance, she has long black hair. The wind is blowing gusta through the grass.

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 I Heard the Banshee Screech - while I walked -       L.H.

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 I Heard the Banshee Screech - while I walked -       L.H.

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Emily Dickinson Mirror Poem   -   Loralei Hollis   -   Creative Writing (1)

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I want to see washington-

Visit the monuments so national

Viewed in American Pride.

Seen as symbols of freedom.

Take a fashioned gander

Stopping through the historic streets,

Imagining the many battles and decisions

Taken to decide our countries fate.

Stop by the avenue

On which the house of white stands,

And looking beyond to see the fortress

Atop capitol hill

Visit the high fashioned neighborhoods

And the low fashioned slums.

Visit the memorial of 16

And look at the monument of one

Watch as the flag

So plastered with stripes and stars

Flies high above the sky.

Symbolizing our true meaning.

Jackson Cupp

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sword, ruby stones in handle, blood, grassy field, painting, laying on ground, flowers

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I heard a Clock ticking - when I knocked on Death’s door - HP

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I heard a Clock ticking - when I knocked on Death’s door - HP

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I heard a Clock ticking - when I knocked on Death’s door

The Blinding white of the room -

Like an eerie calling from Beyond -

The ghost of many Battlefields lay at my eyes

Six eyes glued to me - shifting anxiously between Another

The silent flapping of the Curtain - keeping me exiled in this well trekked war

Beeping - footsteps - and whispers Drowned out by one noise -

A Ticking - loud and colorful drowned out all other

On the Wall laid a Clock - the only decoration on the Wall

It stared with its lack of Eyes - eagerly Counting aloud -

Ticking down the time till it took from Me -

Dragged to Reality - the clock still ticked as I was brought to Death’s Door -

Even brighter lights Blinded my eyes - shone as bright as a Porch light

I lay in my coffin unaware - my light counted down by men in white

The Ticking resumed as the light was snuffed out - blindness overtook me -

In the darkness of my tomb - came a simple Knock

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A clock hanging on a bland white wall seen from a hospital bed bed

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The Prince's silent departure - through memory- JL

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The Prince's silent departure - through memory- JL

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The Prince’s silent Departure - through memory -

The room of Glass left to be Forgotten

The Once room filled with light -

Now Barren with a faint Glimmer

Outside the halls ring as they hear -

The hall echos with footsteps -

The prince Walks to the Front-

The Main glass glances at him with hatred

The prince stills walks while -

His glass Stand there silently

the small glass watches him leave -

The older glass looks away with loneliness

As he gets closer the other glasses

look at him with disdain

The door opens as the last glass watches with Regret-

he walks Past as the glass Shatters and the door Closed-

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The Prince's silent departure - through memory- JL

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The Prince's silent departure - through memory- JL

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 young royal teen prince (model walking alone) through a stain glass castle's hallway full of pictures of family members covered like deceased people 

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I heard water splash—when I won—
The winter breeze in the air
Was like the cold waves of the lake—
Between the pressure of loss—

The Boat around—had been covered in water—
And Nerves were being calmed
For that first trip—when triumph
Was met—on the boar—

I put my trophy—tucked away
My heart turning down
Nervous— back then i was
There laid a memory—

With silver—wide slimy texture—
Between the win—and me—
And then the the trophy slipped—and then
I could not feel to feel—

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I heard water splash—when I won—_The winter breeze in the air_Was like the cold waves of the lake—_Between the pressure of loss—_The Boat around—had been covered in water—_And Nerves were being calmed_For that firs

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The prince's silent departure-through memory- JL

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The prince's silent departure-through memory- JL

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Let it consume you

Allow yourself to melt—

To become one with the very dirt you came from

Listen to your mother, hear her song

Feel as her breath blows with the trees

Forgive all that you know and release yourself

Find your solace in the moss you lay in, the water you bathe in, the light you see in, the night you dream in

Embrace the warm youth that still lives in you

At once you are at peace, feel the life in each limb of your body—thriving, reaching out—like the limbs of the trees surrounding you

Touch your skin to the Earth and inhale the rich air

Speak to me—

says the birds in the trees and the fox in the den and the bugs in the ground

Speak to me—and I will listen

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pretty forest at night moon light woman laying in distance 

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a cow pasture with black angus cows grazing, white fence, yellow daffodils in the field and a 6 year old girl sitting in the grass petting a bunny

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The strands of the rope wind round and round each other

as if trying to climb back up to the tree

to escape the Ominous water.

The ends are Frayed just like the memories

of laughter and summertime love.

Cokes on the banks

and bags of chips-

Cut-offs and bikinis

dropping drips.

Four wheel drives

and old Firebirds

And Eagles’ lyrics

could usually be heard.

Inner tubes -

the old black kind

Chicken fights

and wasted time.

We saw him swing

but his foot didn’t drop

And in that moment  -

summer Stopped.

We loved that rope –

he loved it too

of tragedy –

we had no clue.

Each time I drove that old lake road

and saw that rope still swinging

I swear I heard those tragic screams

from Terry’s friends still ringing

That swinging rope

stirred by the wind

Would not be touched

by the hands of friends

A lonely place now

even in July

When the kids are home

and the sun’s in the sky.

Thirty years later

the rope’s finally gone

But the story still hangs there

on my drive home.

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a large rope with knots at the bottom hanging out above the water from a large oak tree on the side of a lake