Cherrypicked stories
The Story of the First Eclipse and How the Stars Were Born
A very long time ago before there were people on the earth, the Gods were sitting in their palace on high, and out of their boredom they created the Sun and the Moon to fill up the empty sky.
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- 604 reads
Bright like Quartz
The white points of her knuckles are bright like quartz sticking out of heather where she’s holding on so hard and I think about her little skeleton underneath that rosy flesh.
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- 3 comments
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- 1623 reads
Peter Pan Poems
They are Peter Pan poems; they refuse to grow up!
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- 6 comments
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- 7175 reads
dddk 4 - plums and bums
The rise and fall of Dame Nellie...
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- 1 comment
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- 969 reads
Your Country Needs You
The Great (or not so great) War
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- 13 comments
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- 4366 reads
Morpheus (Roman god of sleep and dreams )
Incubus (a male demon believed to have sexual intercourse with sleeping women)
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- 2 comments
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- 4259 reads
Etching The Surface
04.
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- 4 comments
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- 2567 reads
Keeping up Appearances
Inspiration Point...spider and a red dress....
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- 8 comments
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- 3356 reads
Greenwood Tree : Prologue
Pagan gods don’t walk away just because you stop looking at them. The Gronny Patch sleeps; perhaps it dreams. Let it . .
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- 1225 reads
A Cup of Tea
You were forewarned and when you are lost Remember the tragedy I promised.
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- 9 comments
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- 2951 reads
3 boys
Three boys tired to sell me a Christmas tree for one pound, As I walked along black ground in January dusk.
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- 2 comments
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- 683 reads
The Return
The opening of something longer, meaner and perhaps a little scarier. Aimed at a young-adult audience. How do people feel about the tone?
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- 3 comments
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- 1623 reads
Redress
This week's IPOW... The writer's revenge: writing about old hurts.
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- 3 comments
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- 2238 reads
Whose Ark?
Inspired by a Postsecret card.
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- 7 comments
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- 3237 reads
The French Dresser.

The beautiful antique dressing table seemed like a bargain. But its true cost would not be paid in money. It came with a very unpleasant history. And a long memory.
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- 4 comments
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- 3230 reads
BESIDE DORCHESTER, NB poem
It is a terrible experience to visit your son in prison. To see him locked behind barbed wire, with guards monitoring every movement. We still love him.
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- 5 comments
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- 2965 reads
Friday Sonnet: Silver
No wine these grapes of hurt set free, No coin is bartered for their taste: my lover, My friend, you do no longer look at me… The forging of my fantasies is over:
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- 4 comments
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- 1428 reads
These Make the World Smile
"I bet you can't make me cum," she said. "I bet I can, my tongue is magic," I replied, the taxi driver staring at me in the rear view mirror. "No-one has ever made me before."
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- 2 comments
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- 2359 reads
Silence
There was silence. She looked up at me, her eyes huge and trusting, her lips trembling slightly, bitten red with panic. I caught her hands in mine and pressed them to my lips.
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- 1 comment
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- 831 reads


