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Today I will live like Billy Collins
This morning I woke to the sound of voices tossing an argument to and fro on the radio. Education Education Education. Within seconds I was covered...
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- 1195 reads
I Am Reading My Old Diary
A Poem (Workshopped at Eratosphere)
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- 533 reads
Kittens
The mother cat finally pulled out all the kittens.
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- 1191 reads
What Goes Around Comes Around
My first ever short story
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- 925 reads
Mammary Mandy
Poem to make you smile
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- 937 reads
Mutter G?ttinger
an old, old lady.
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- 1417 reads
The Taxi Driver's Eyes
Julia cadged cigarettes from men as she inhaled the smoke came from their ears. She keyed her number into my phone the next day I retyped her name in...
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- 1332 reads
The Cut
Pride comes before a fall and afterwards...blood. If it hadn't been for a group of passing brownies I would have been buried under the falling snow like a toddler's dad at the beach. I had a cut on my face the shape of a frown. The Brownies gave me fifteen stitches, and waited for me to regain consciousness so they could pose for a photograph to show Brown Owl and pass their first aid badge. By the time I got to your house dinner had been ruined you ate the lasagne yourself made a salad from the saut?ed potatoes to take with you to work for lunch. You said you weren't angry just worried and when you saw the stitches you brought my forehead to your lips. The pain seemed to disappear and when I looked in the mirror the cut had gone septic.
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- 1306 reads
Happy Birthday Dad
Sarah stepped out of her office.Cool breeze crawled on her face.She percieved that the streets of Singapore had just been dampened by a rain. The...
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- 615 reads
Inspiration
Who do I find it easier to write in my bedroom, not my study?
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- 654 reads
On "The Nelsonic Reply to Shakespeare's Third Sonnet"
Sonnet #3 Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest Now is the time that face should form another; Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest...
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- 1565 reads
Nineteen and the Mermaids
Found on the stormed beach by a walker out on his own after a Christmas lunch for one was a sand letter and three pairs of shoes which were in truth...
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- 1304 reads
Cafe a la Hotel de la Mad
An odd poem. Paranoia.
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- 553 reads


