Father. Academic Advisor. Musician. Writer. My real name is Jesse Balogh.
I was being a bit of a mope, until my dear friend Cope, stopped by to bring me Reese's peanut butter cups and a kaleidoscope!
By Rowan Finley about a year ago in Poets
Bow your heads for the reading of our will… our will to live as long as we possibly can. Age 120, year we come!
You discovered the radiating truth tucked into the fiction. Yes, the entry was mine, but never did I commit the described crime.
Author’s Note: If you haven’t read part one written by Komal, then please be sure to do so via the link below before reading this part two.
By Rowan Finley about a year ago in Fiction
Rose rubbed her eyes, squinting at the bright sun. “A dream?” She asked aloud in utter shock. Her heart sunk with heavy defeat.
Creativity, it flows from our veins, we can’t keep from holding it back with reins. It just has to burst up like a geyser of wild water free,
Author’s Note: Marvelous Michael recently wrote a poem that inspired me to turn it into a song. To read her powerfully crafted poem, follow the link below:
Wildly, he chased the geese up the hill, they bustled and set off in flight. He looked on, as if he still might have a chance at catching just one.
Fair only spins on Ferris wheels, and how can one control one’s deepest churning feverish feels? Fair only spins on Ferris wheels,
I feel my heart speeding on the highway of your hands. World’s endless, taxing demands, they didn’t even matter anymore,
Hexagon flies flitting, cool, damp night, simply sitting. Head spinning from week’s drama, while I worry about my next comma.
Samuel and Patricia took a fast look at one another. “Stop!” Patricia yelled at the squirrel with the half knitted shirt or pants or whatever it was starting to look like now. Samuel started jetting towards the squirrel.
