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Daily Archives: January 11, 2014

Relationships With Writers …

Happy Holly Project

OK, not that I am in a relationship right now … but for those of you who are … and for anyone who wants to hang with me later … I just thought a few ground-rules might be in order.

I would suggest paying real close attention to numbers 4, 5, 9 and 10.

Especially 10.


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Music Life – Promote Yourself









Whenever your heart beats like adagio
Do not forget that we’re all legato
You’ll get through your problem, poco a poco
Call a friend, and you’ll feel allegretto

Nothing is wrong with crying fortissimo
For that’s one way of being expressivo
If you need to go down like decrescendo
Go! For it would be a nice start da capo!

When you climb the hill like crescendo
Climb it slow, perhaps moderato
You may hop and hop to do staccato
But keep in mind the right tempo

 Shevaun Lemieux

Twilight Tree – Promote Yourself

Hey poets at Poe Tree Creations,
Let me begin by saying that you all offer a fantastic service and I feel so lucky to have stumbled across y’all. I am a senior studying poetry and fiction at the College of William and Mary in VA. I am hoping to gain some exposure so that I can pursue writing with momentum coming out of college. I am from a very small rural town in Virginia and I feel that leaves me with a nostalgia for the countryside that comes through in my writing. I copied two poems at the bottom. I am not totally sure how linking works (very new to blogging), but I think it should look something like this: <a href=”“>A Writer & Virginia Gentleman</a> . Again, thank you for this service.

Happy New Year!
-Morgan Hensley








Twilight Tree

(Watching the amassed lightning bugs set fire to an otherwise unnoticed Magnolia)

I had my eyes shut tight
enough so that their effulgence
could just squeeze between my reluctant eyes
but not pass, forever forgotten,
through the sieve of my memory


Wankopin Creek Field Trip 

We straddled the rocks like

My left foot on the same rock
as her right foot
and my right foot
on the damp sand
that somehow found its
way into my Wellies.

We panned through
the silty microcosms
like forty nines. Finding
small winged things
and aqueous worms.

I picked one up and showed
it to the girl I like-liked.
Later that week she asked
me to dance
at Cotillion—
I said yes and gave her
a sweaty palmed foxtrot.

Morgan Hensley


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