Wrightings

 Teachers Molding lives in knowledge and curiosity..  Will artificial intelligence replace us?  Not until emotions are no longer needed.

  Siblings  Nature has decided on states of being as three, solid liquid and gas space measured in length width and height while atoms are made of protons, neutrons, and electrons. From red, blue, and yellow all the hues are formed, and dinner is served with a knife fork and spoon, decisions made with rock, paper, scissor games show threes the magic number. There should always be three like the musketeers, one for all and all for one,  or the stooges, why I outa because every family needs an oldest, a middle and a baby.

 Ars Poetica Words matter,  words are matter  each letter formed  in atoms of thought a concept,                                                           an image, an idea brought forth  in a format that share is art. A live  painting sometimes watercolor others  times heavy oil often a tapestry of quilting  or a loom filled with yarn, rope, and plastic refuse.  Poetry is an art of ambiguity, the beauty of beats.  Announcing emotion from outrage to empathy.  Poetry evokes awareness.

 Metaphors and definitions Ancestors are dangerous. They share  their DNA strands that strangled weaker  links, a viper coiled to strike and constrictor  coiled around. Familiar landscapes not trees  but bushes rotting in a swamp. The fruit small  and imperfect. Long hair swinging in the lust  of msn, you are not their invitation, you are comfort  and ease of care. Brush and twist with no worries.  Strength is standing on the edge of the fifth story  school roof looking down at the parking lot below  thinking whose car would be crushed by the fall.  Being human on stage with an audience of five  hundred peer advocates listening to poetry  about homelessness beats the ancestral drum.  Lub dub, Lub dub, Lub, dub. And we are family.

  She hunts at night Palmetto bugs, those creepy crawlers  natures recycler and your worst nightmare roaches the size of cigar butts that can fly  She smells them Their acrid pheromones  Through walls where they nibble  On moist paper or food crumbs They’ve gathered to save for their egg sack of young that will hatch soon She finds and kills them my Cheweenie-terrier is an exterminator  but as they lay dying she invites me along wakes me in the middle of the night to gather their belly up bodies and flush them down the toilet so we can go back to bed https://www.planetnatural.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/05/palmetto-bug-920x518.jpg

listen to the white noise a  high pitched buzz like the sound of little boys playing with their toys whispering about their fuzz Listen to the white noise girls maintain their poise play about what life does Like the sound of little boys discovering all the joys listen to the white noise what girl or boy outdoes like the sound of little boys that hums beneath what no one was listen to the white noise like the sound of little boys of bodies waking just because one day each may destroy the static swells, a steady noise