Under Lavender Skies

    Hey everybody, I hope you're having a good Monday! I wrote this poem a couple weeks ago and I think it turned out pretty well and I even managed to use a specific rhyme scheme through all six stanzas.  I hope you like it!  Stick around to at the end to read a summary of Dorothy Lawrence's life.   Sick and heavy, the day began,  With noise and bombs and fear  And for some reason, I wonder again, why I am here  Charles is next to me, who’s just a young man  No one deserves this, far or near  I write in my logbook, turning away I can’t show my tears  For I too, only, supposedly am a young man. But I’m not,  I’m a woman who's broken the law,  But the aching in my head is like a claw  That’s tearing me apart so I squat  And squeeze my eyes shut, and gnaw My lip, and draw  My will and mind to a place of peace till my body is not so hot.   It is too easy, in this place  To imagine that the world is ending  Here, with fire, smoke, death, pain, and an ascending  Array of sparks

      Here are two drawings of my cats and I quite like how they turned out!  I used woodless colored pencils and I had to figure out how to blend them and get the right colors on the paper since I only have a set of 12 pencils, and each of them are true colors, no tan or light orange, or anything like that, so you're getting true orange or no orange at all.  But I think, while that was difficult at first, it made making these even better, I almost had to look at the photos and see what true colors were inside the colors of Edison and Clementine's fur.  Even though they don't blend, ideally I like how you can still see some of the colors separately too.   I picked photos of them that show some of their quirks. Edison likes sleeping on my purse, it's kinda scratchy and he loves it, and Clementine occasionally "kills" a skein of yarn and brings it out to us and I caught a picture of her doing it once.   What do you think?  Do you like this style of colored penci

My skin is buzzing Sitting alone, at the dinner table On a Monday afternoon And I feel daunted, But as though I can Possibly Take on the world. If the world, Really the world, is what I get None of this fake  Impersonal stuff  Everyone seems to care So much about, but Something real.  Like clouds, and cats, and trees, and bees, And kindness. But with music buzzing in my ear I'm unable to move forward Or do anything at all. I am not ready To take on much at all. I am just a someone, Who's sitting alone at a table  Who's got too much buzzing, Who's got too much going on inside her head. "Buzzing"