Day: January 9, 2020
Make the best of where ever you are ❤️
Give your body the time it needs to heal – another year, a decade or a life time 🌱
“oxymoronic: a nativist who can’t really speak his native tongue.”
“There’s being crude with language, there’s being loose with it, and then there’s being Trump, who uses words the way a toddler does marbles, grabbing the ones that are most bluntly colorful and tossing them into the air just because he can.
Trump is as inept at English as he is at governing. He’s oxymoronic: a nativist who can’t really speak his native tongue.
Too harsh? I direct you to “perfect.” That is how, over and over, he has characterized his telephone conversation with the president of Ukraine, and seldom has a term existed in such tension with truth.
“Perfect” is Nadia Comaneci on the uneven bars at the 1976 Olympics. “Perfect” is Frank Sinatra singing “Summer Wind.”
Source: Human Scum,’ ‘Lynching’ and Trump’s Tortured English / The president needs a thesaurus and a therapist, though not necessarily in that order.
Frank Bruni, journalist
Blogger Recognition Award <3
Hello, my dear readers!
Welcome to a surprise Tuesday post. Much love and gratitude to Tamara Yoncosky, a fantastic blogger and writer, who nominated me for this award. It is moments like these when I remember and cherish each and every one of you who reads this blog. ❤ And in the meantime, please go check out Tamara’s lovely posts at her website here.
It doesn’t seem like this blog started three years ago. I feel like I just started writing, but that’s not exactly true. In 2017 I was a young student on a plane that jetted me from the United States to Argentina. An aunt suggested I write a travel blog to commemorate my time abroad, and so I began this blog as a testament to her good idea. Not only did I fail miserably at keeping up Katie Kay! during this time, but I barely wrote anything at…
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I was busy…
Slipping away slow,
Salty tears stain cheeks,
Slick streaks of sadness
Sting skin known to scar.
Silent sins speak sounds softly,
Sweet sighs might be whimpers,
Saying secrets so sinlessly.
Swords stab with silver slices,
Singing surrender with each swing.
Stripped bare, scared senseless,
Standing still against strong wind.
Sinuous sky rains smothered souls,
Searching for safety or for sorrows,
Suspicious or sadistic, and
Silk that smells like serpentine.
Snow Blankets draping Rooftops
Adding Winter Charm
Snow Flurries rained across the Sky
Trees standing in the Distance
Frozen in Time
The Word of the Day is Turning
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Poetry published in the Ariel Chart
Really excited to be published in the Ariel Chart, a signatory of Pw.org. Really thankful to the editor Mark Anthony Rossy to have given me the chance to be featured.
Please read my poems “Ostracised“, “Divergent” and share your precious comments.