Rosalie Baron
I wrote this as a channel for my feelings about a few select thoughts that have been bothering me lately. Though perhaps a fitting metaphor for some situations — and something many of you have probably lived through — this was written with delight and warmth. Enjoy. Oh you, who I chose not to invite,
A poem about writing, inspired by my wish to be an author and an idea to list some beauties of writing. Writing turns struggles into stories sea into land bullfrogs into princes mountains into sand words swirl and spin as wind and rain they swallow you whole and deliver your pain To the author inside
A poem made with a little light, a little love, and a little crazy. The shortened recall of my first experience of aerial silks. In August I stepped into a cold cement building And found it warm I walked through a decorated hallway To a white door With little windows I stepped outside Just for
This poem is about what makes my home my home. Thought of with rooibos tea and linen blankets, inspired by warmth, lint and butter. Home is a place where I sift pomegranate seeds with my fingers, one by one. Home is a place where the lamps burn low in their weakened sockets and cast flickering crests
