| Deviant Login | Shop |
 | Join deviantART for FREE  |
Take the Tour  |
The House on Farrech Hill: Chp 2The school was too small to have a proper cafeteria and designated seating, so students were allowed to eat wherever, on the stairs, on the benches by the basketball courts, by the playground, and around the field where a ball wasn’t kicked. The tuck shop sold small treats which, though they weren’t quite filling, made up the lunch of most of the children. They weren’t yet at the age where sitting and talking in groups was the preferable choice, and just about all the kids were running around being active.The House on Farrech Hill: Chp 2 by ~Tarese
Doris reached out, just missing the tennis ball, which went whizzing past her hand. It bounced twice on the concrete be
The House on Farrech Hill: Chp 1On the last day of August, a day that was both a Saturday and filled with stunning weather, the beach was packed with people of all ages, swimming, sunbathing, playing and shouting. Most were there with their friends and wearing colorful and revealing clothing, though some were dressed more modestly, with their families. The ocean was calm; many boats bobbed leisurely in its waters and more than the few daring swimmers ventured further out. Not far from the beach was a small playground populated by parents and young children.The House on Farrech Hill: Chp 1 by ~Tarese
"Whee!" Dayna cried, and gave Toby another gentle push on the swing. "Whee!"
Toby gave a delightful laugh as he swung
PoetryUncomplicated language, formingPoetry by ~Tarese
rigid structures,
Clumsy stanzas with
painful, forced rhyme,
A set amount of words,
lines, syllables,
To simply put down
whatever is seen as fitting,
Without moments of anxiety about
connotations, subtle
Hidden meanings and
purposeful techniques,
Just little pencil pictures
by unpractised hands, like the
Sunlight on shallow waters,
Butterflies gliding over low meadows,
Laughter and tears never more than skin deep,
A confined method,
limited expression, yet a
Different kind of
free
That was what it used to be about.
That was what it once meant to me.
Here 
. 
Sta.sh
. 
