Jake Shaw's Blog, page 62
July 6, 2017
Fabricate
Silver flakes spark
Off of black pages
Staining pure void
With metal shards
A glint for a split
Minute
Filed under: May Era (III)
Second Clash
Give a way to rise
This self esteem
And let me lift
From thoughts despised
Greed and guilt
Garnished proxy
Find me a way
To set me free
Filed under: May Era (III)
July 5, 2017
Meyer Flower
[image error]
Shot with a Canon EOS Digital Rebel XS; f/5.6; 1/200; ISO-400; 55mm
Filed under: May Era (III)
Missing You Is
Stopping at a gas station
Getting two copies
Of my new favorite drink
Only to come back
To an empty
Passenger seat
Filed under: May Era (III)
5/20
Apartment living
Music ripping
Chilling
Riding my Schwinn
To sophomore year
Glacier cherry
Gatorade
Back in my backpack
Next to lighthearted
Bags of summertide
Turning sixteen in
Washington heat
Never knew
I was new
Had to choose to
Do something with it
With this
First relationships
And apartment
My limit
Downtown Puyallup
I had no idea
That in the next
Four years
I’d go from
A helpless boy
To having no fear
5/20/17
Four straight years
Of conquering
No longer a
Shy teenager in a city
That see...
July 4, 2017
Cottonwood Leaves
[image error]
Shot with a Canon EOS Digital Rebel XS; f;5.6; 1/60; ISO-400; 55mm
This one was taken in a park someplace in Federal Way, Washington. Every year around this time in this state we get an intense bout of the cottonwood trees blooming and letting their seeds parachute to the ground. It’s really quite mystical.
Filed under: Images
Chat
Letters
From far away
To open up
When I return
Wax sealed
In gold
With a heart
Upon ivory paper
Filed under: May Era (III)
July 3, 2017
No More Heroes – Journal 7/3/17
I’ve accidentally just done some math that says if I play my cards perfectly, I’ll have grown to an audience of over 15,000 by the end of this year. With the exponential growth of this place I would still be surprised to, but I’m staying humble. No one got anywhere with great expectations, Mr. Dickens.
There was one time in the second grade I had an idea for a story. Me being a child and thinking that being pitied was the same as being liked, I often wrote about myself being the hero of a sto...
Fireballing the Goldfish
He wasn’t doing
Very well
In his tiny little fish bowl
Living longer than we
All expected
Sinking towards the bottom
Yet putting up a fight
And eating his
Fish flake food
What a boring life
What a tragic strife
To never have challenge
And to die a captive
Wonder wonder wonder
How a fish might take
An upper
Or a downer
Let’s put a shot of whiskey
In his bowl
See what that does
For his aching soul
Filtering through his gills
A shock, to be sure,
To his tiny little frills
To make him breathe al...
