Arts + Entertainment
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A Howl for Help
A journey began, Forest went dark as fire fly's lit up the surrounding area. A wolf cried injured under midnights moon, oh the stars had glistened so bright. But the poor wolf was injured, like the bleakness of night. Hope had dwindled as if struck by headlights, no help to be found within the wolf's sight. The trees screeched, as the winds hissed at the branches. The wolf was caught in a hunter's trap, it was a pelt catching branch. One for a trade, an animal's blockade was this the end for a poor old wolf or would a miracle be sent this wolf's way. The howls kept on drumming, no spirit guide coming, faith was gunned by a poacher in a bush's portrait, but this ain't the closure. The bullet ricocheted, a debt would be paid. A bigger wolf made way, leaving trails of grey, unleashing claw's blade, a new bet was played. The wolf pounced and slayed that poacher to his grave, blood sprayed, a halo was made for fate had been changed for that poor wolf yet to live another day in nature's crusade.
By Morgan McAdam7 years ago in Poets
Between Rage and Blood
Nathan had just left work. He was in his beautiful car of the year, a RAV4 black Cromer 2013. This car was a gift he had received from his wife. On the way, he thought of his condition of life. Barely 48 years old, he had been married for 25 years. He had betrothed his wife Maëlle at the age of 22 years. She had given him two beautiful children. The first being Damien, now 24 years old. A university student, a future surgeon, he had always been a studious pupil and an exemplary adolescent. The blond hair descending to the shoulders, and the blue eyes, he had inherited the build of his father.
By Valérie Hebert7 years ago in Geeks
OMG Ben Affleck's Decided to Be Robin!
My younger brother gets really frustrated at times with regards to news about his favourite football team. To the point that sometimes, me and the rest of my family, genuinely question how much emotion he’s pouring into following a passion of his. But in the past few days, I’ve come to realise that perhaps it’s a little hypocritical of me to reprimand him for his behaviour given my own feelings about my passion.
By Omar Ghauri7 years ago in Geeks
Neck Deep: 'The Peace and the Panic' – Album Review
Pop punk is a strained genre and it has many acts under its umbrella. But, there’s always a shiny gem, a diamond in the rough pushing through for glory. That band is Neck Deep, an act raising hairs with their brand of loud, unapologetic, emotive, sneers. Led by vocalist Ben Barlow, they add a sense of intelligence to a scene which has somewhat faltered over the years. This stems from lacklustre releases and a bloated formula, sounds which imitate, and that’s not good for a genre that should be celebrated for its glittering past.
By Mark McConville7 years ago in Beat
Eulogy for Yesterday
This poem is not about you. It is not about the way the sunshine sparkles in your eyes. It is not about the velvety way you say things. It is absolutely not about the way it feels to have your hair curl around my finger as we lay beneath the stars. This poem is not a reflection of how you've changed my life completely, nor is it a constellation of confusing memories we've shared. It is not a poem of the way you stare. It is not a hopeful wish for our own fleeting story to continue. It is not a dark memory of your feeble attempts to scare me away, hidden somewhere in the back of my mind. This is not me yearning for our something to unbreak.
By Aili Barker7 years ago in Poets