My Poetry

Red Whine

AB. The blood. Blood of his story.   Bandaged. The blood. Blood of his story.   Abrasive. The blood. Blood of his story.   Barbecued. The blood. Blood of his story.   Abused. The blood. Blood of his story.   Ballistic. The blood. Blood of his story.   Abnegated. The blood. Blood of his story.… Continue reading Red Whine

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My Poetry

The 16 Best Songs of John Lennon’s Solo Career

John Lennon would have been seventy-seven today.

Amie the Author.

I fell in love with Lennon in the eighth grade. Not a romantic love, but an admiration. His music has helped shape me, my philosophy, and my experiences. They sometimes just spark strong emotion or send my soul sailing. Today is John Lennon’s 76th birthday, and I am mildly/healthily obsessed with him, so this is my second post today about him. Ha. These are the top sixteen songs of his solo music career, in my opinion. And, it is complete links to the songs on YouTube(which I do not own). Hope these songs take you down memory lane, give you inspiration, are simply added to your list to listen to/try, or make you feel like you’re floating on a cloud like me. Haha.

1. “Everybody’s talking about revolution, evolution, masturbation, flagellation,…”

GIVE PEACE A CHANCE

Obviously this is on the list. It is my favorite, and it is even…

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My Poetry

The 10 Best Quotes Said by John Lennon

Happy birthday, John Lennon!

Amie the Author.

Today is John Lennon’s 76th birthday, and I am mildly/healthily obsessed with him, so my post today is about him. Ha. These are the ten best quotes by him, obviously in my opinion, and I did not include the cliche Imagine quote. Haha. Here’s the ten best quotes complete with pictures (which I do not own).Hope you find these inspiring, heartwarming, relatable, or some other positive emotion:

beatles-list-main1. “Either I’m a genius or I’m mad, which is it? ‘No,’ I said, ‘I can’t be mad, because nobody’s put me away; therefore, I’m a genius.’ Genius is a form of madness and we’re all that way. But I used to be a bit coy about it, like me guitar playing. If there’s a thing such as genius, which is just what? What the fuck is it? I am one. And if there isn’t, I don’t care.” (This one is my absolute…

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My Poetry

The Alien in the Alley

The Alien in the Alley   She is hairy and Abstract and lives on the walls with wings dipped in black.   She’s not a cliché fly. She is a jaw-dropping butterfly.   A goddamn mighty butterfly. With vivid, godly wings that are lengthy like sophisticated words. She,   a spellbinding creature, surrounded by bile… Continue reading The Alien in the Alley

My Poetry

AmethysT

Amethyst; that was her name, and that was the shade of her strut. She’d float down the sidewalk like an apparition, in high-heels sharp like the corners of counters, and force the smell of manually-mashed passionfruit to mingle with the cool air. Click, clack. Click, clack. The heels. Left, right. Left, right. The eyes. She… Continue reading AmethysT

My Poetry

Residency.

He will always be home. The smell of that apple-scented candle lingering through the vents of the house Shoes with muddy tongues lined up by the front door Red, hot stove burners alive on Sunday mornings Scratches and greasy fingerprints cluttering the worn porcelain bowls Battered pillows covered in drool and old make up Wrinkled… Continue reading Residency.

My Poetry

Do Not Touch.

She can wear what she wants. She can walk down the street naked, and you still would not have the right to violate her. If someone leaves the door to their house open, does that give you the right to walk in? To caress their couches, examine their personal pictures on the wall, sleep in… Continue reading Do Not Touch.

My Poetry, Short Stories

Death and Decaying.

First, she lost the waves of strawberry blonde that ended at her waist. Then she lost her mouthwatering skin, a bright and throbbing red like a bed of ripe and ready strawberries in a strawberry field. She used to have a tasty, round figure that everyone would drool over, but now she’s dry, with off-black… Continue reading Death and Decaying.

My Poetry

Grandma Faye.

She was carried down to the earth on the sun on a summer day in May. And she was carried up to heaven on the moon on a cold, dark, night. She appeared in my dream one night, adorned in a purple dress, eating an orange Creamsicle. She birthed thirteen children, six boys and seven… Continue reading Grandma Faye.