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Runs

runningxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Never seen anything quite so free
Runs for fun
Runs because she can
Hair flowing
Legs going in every direction
My breath catches with every step
In case she falls
Nothing I can do though
I have to let her run
And for her to know
I’ll be there
To pick her up.

Gabriel Denver

The Wheel


It started right here, we didn’t think it was real
In 6400 BC man invented the wheel.
In 1839 the bicycle arrived
Experimental two-wheeled vehicles,
To be powered by human legs.
It had two wheels,
One at the back and one at the front
Then the French and the English
Built a bicycle just like this one
In 1493 that Leonardo De Vinci designed.
The bike had now arrived,
It was the only way to travel
Now there was Henry Ford
Who was working for Edison Illuminating Company,
When Ford saw the light.
So instead of a bicycle he built a car.
He called it the model A. Ford,
Then he added a T. which became the famous
Model T. Ford nicknamed the flivver.
850 Dollars to buy
So with the invention of the wheel,
The bike and the car,
Came the opportunity to travel afar.

By Thomas Sims

To The Ugly Bride-To-Be

You are beautiful,
The old men find you irresistible.
The men, well dressed,
Leg crossed,
Sitting in their shops,
Whistling as you take stops.
You catwalk,
The pussy cat never again walk.
Guys watching, your hips twisting,
East to west.
Who will woo you first?

I adore you,
But give me all fortunes, I will refuse you.
Painting hands and lips are your morning duty,
Abuse words only you know, yet you claim beauty.
You are so caring,
Little needs of your youngers are frustrating.
You detest men with leg-edes-benz,
And even toy with those with Mercedes-Benz,
Robbing them mercilessly.
Making men meditate meaninglessly.

As the clock ticks,
So, does the page of the day flicks.
People are not getting younger,
Everyone and so should you have got wiser.
Be respectful and obedient.
Love your man and learn to be patient.
Be caring in all situation,
And never give your man examination.
Behaviour, if you ask me
Is beauty, beautiful bride-to-be.

By

Toheeb Tiamiyu

Cold water sea change

Unending and bland as the day I was born

And my mouth twice as dry,

With withered digits, buried legs,

And two good front eyes, flat.

But you can tell I love you by the words I say…

Why there is no where to go but up.

You can tell by my tone.

You can tell by the time I spend spend spend

With you.

My God, look at my hands…

Look down at my hands,

You know,

If I were a more sensitive man

I could run around, wild, and we could fix this

City,

By God, it could be a paradise.

My God, look at my hands

And how the blood pours out,

What is it that all this means to me?

What is that it needs from me?

But there I stand in the kitchen, knife in hand,

A silly Jew, slating the beef,

Draws out the blood,

Degenerates the essence

But I’ve said that before.

What good it does…what good it does.

Drawn,

Talk about drawn,

Thin,

Why I can barely feel my hands and feet, up to my elbows

Up to my knees,

Numb…

A phantom pain, maybe, but what good is a memory?

My God

My God,

Is this really me?

A thousand miles down,

Alone, at the bottom of the sea?

Is this really it,

What does your mother tell you?

Is this really all the bother?

A scrap of dried cloud/cloth

To smother out the rest?

A dried up utopia,

Just add water

Brine

Soak it overnight.

Is this really me?

A thousand miles down,

Alone, at the bottom of the sea?

Jesse S Mitchell

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