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Unorthodox Juice
How to rhyme an orange
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- 743 reads
A Whispered Psalm For Nature
A treasure taken for granted.
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- 412 reads
Thoughtless Solitude
An early morning hour with a writer distracted.
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- 426 reads
Rats of the sea
A poem a wrote for English class...and imagistic one, at that.
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- 449 reads
"what sayest thee?"
what sayest thee?" where doth thy soul reside, doth it feel mine essence embracing thine pulling mind to mind to dwell on same pillow prithee for another liftime? o! Sahib doest i that thou will be pleased with me that limbs embrace what soul's have long begun. dost thy skin taste mine curl e'en when uncurled 'n' entwined in destiny's destined entwine? thee and i to part, nay. but what sayest thee? `T. Imaan Tretchicovmanicova 01may04
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- 1777 reads
Flowers In His Fist
For those who've flad abusive relationships
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- 1299 reads
K - Made for each other
??dare to share their bold thoughts?
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- 847 reads
Long Time Hope
Take me by the water rushing, sweet caress and bodies raw
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- 1064 reads
Nothing more than words
there is a power in words that beats any blade
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- 891 reads
What good?
What good are these words, that cannot stop wars? What good is this writer who hides behind doors?
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- 1104 reads
Father Down.
Depression is a very serious and terrible illness. It is also one of the easiest illnesses to fake. I?m afraid I know many fake depressives. This poem celebrates the acting skills of one such person.
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- 773 reads
Knowing All About Trains
Well, I thought I did!
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- 1347 reads
Three Years Before
About the death of my 3 year old sister via leukemia
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- 249 reads
Con Man Cometh
The signs are here, the gestures, the infinitesimal movements that you cannot control. I lurk. I know that definite look, that imperceptible twitch, the inevitability of your surrender.
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- 510 reads
Hi, My Name Is Joe
A poem about an all too often an occurance in the streets of the city these days.
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- 431 reads
The Lodger
THE LODGER by Don Flockhart Victor was sitting at the kitchen table cleaning his light bulbs like a nurse cleaning wounds. For each bulb, he opened...
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- 386 reads
After the first night
Speed poem. In Terza Rima but without the metre.
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- 1651 reads
D: April 2004
THURSDAY 1ST Spent the whole day throwing up. Andy may not be able to become a driving instructor - yet. He only renewed his license two years ago,...
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- 423 reads
Only Time Would Tell
A snapshot look at domestic violence and it's consequences.
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- 458 reads