Thistles are growing,
in its furtive mauve,
a plumsicle sky.
The Aleutian Islands,
are an oceans side shore,
all floating upward.
Acrostic:
Salty air breeze blows
Everywhere, all around me
And makes me smile at the precious memories,
Sweet, memories flood my mind of
Right around the end of Summer
August slowly creeping its way to us
Yet we stay joyful for next year to come.
8 Line Free Verse:
so many choices to decide on,
but what oh what
am I in the mood for today.
Something fruity, maybe plum
but the choice is what matters,
midnight, fortified, or plymouth
none. Grape sorbet is the one I choose.
8 Line Narrative Verse:
"Anchors aweigh" yelled the captain.
"Aye aye Captain," I yelled back.
The island seemed to go on for miles upon miles.
As we stepped onto the sand our feet had to adjust.
I bent down to feel it myself,
such a weird feeling.
A new adventure awaits us.
I like the sailing scene you've captured in that last piece, one I think you could expand on later if you felt like it. I like the bit about the sailor having to bend down and touch the sand to reorient himself after being long at sea.
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