Today I wrote a poem.
You might not like it as a poem,
But at least poem rhymes with poem,
And it works well for a poem.
Time is all I've gotten.
Though I have not yet forgotten,
How to make poems begotten
And with luck they won't be rotten.
Rhyme is the key -- remember,
One cannot write without an ember
In one's mind that makes November
Christmasy, like 'twas December.
Every good things have to end.
I do not want to make you blend
Thoughts and writings into an
Rhymeless piece of shite.
The end.
They were sleeping when the lights came through their window. They were not blessed with great wits or the gift of logical thinking. What they were given was great eyes instead: they had a condition called abnormal tetrachromacy, which meant that they had limited infrared-vision. When I learned about it from them I, as I have been always fascinated by colors and color deception, had to ask...
This is chronologically the first short story I publised in English, even if it wasn't the first I began writing.
Days have turned into nights that then turned into dawns and days again countless times since I saw L'amore d'Agna. It was the truest form of love, the purest source of happiness, yet there are no evidence that it ever existed; all I know is based on observations and experience, not on the nowadays preferred written way...
Posted on 14th of June, 2020, just after Light in the dark
average 107 226 kilometers an hour
the Earth's moving, spinning, rotating, dour
and just moves forth and further away
from the core
from the base
from the center of the milky way...
Lil' Jesus is coming to the town.
And he have brought some gifts for us!
But there was a wee bit
O' misunderstanding,
Because he bought the "Gift" in Germany..
Welcome there, child,
Don't be scared of me!
I'm naught, but a wild
Demon, a hero of fate!
Take my hand now,
And follow me please!
I'm gonna show you
What's worth to be seen!