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The Palace burned
not a cheery little number - nor fancy for a palace. An edit..
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- 1706 reads
Home Sweet Home
I have been living on my property forty-five years today. I moved here on February 25, 1977. When I moved on my property, I was only five years old...
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- 279 reads
The King of Sulaco
This poem's title is the name of a character from Nostromo by Conrad, but it has nothing at all to do with the novel. I just liked the name. Image is free for non-commercial use from piqsels.com
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- 697 reads
Surrender
Within a scene of chaos dipped into a Sunday beach sunset sharing sky with retreating tide an ocean of wrinkles. Silence on the beach and golden...
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- 528 reads
Forthcoming-Cont
(This is a revision of the first post [Still not my satisfied complete]) This is an excerpt of a story in my works. Please give your harshest/...
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- 301 reads
Rituals of The Lenten Season
In an Irish-Catholic neighborhood like South Buffalo the Friday night fish fry, served during Lent, is a ritual as unbending and as regular as Sunday...
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- 551 reads
Orbiting (a tonal drawing written in poetic form)
then is when and when is then and now is always ever being Orbiting (Scared!!! addicting in the serpentining jaws of just begging to be seen) we're...
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- 252 reads
Finally, Freedom
Stuart was desperate to get there, desperate to get anywhere in fact. He had spent the last six years in a maximum security prison in the town of...
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- 551 reads
GAR2 RGI1 AEP2 Y922
Monday had started out like just a normal day. I was at work and had been very busy, so it was a nice shift. After I finished work, I went straight...
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- 1234 reads
Parables of Clippety (9) - The Big Match
They linked arms and walked through the turnstiles. The crowd was already singing, the din of thousands of voices bouncing around inside the stadium...
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- 818 reads
Hope
Hope is you struggling through another day with faith anchored in your soul scorching my fears into smitherens Set alight by each undiminisible coal...
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- 330 reads
An Unpublished Story
A Fibonacci poem.
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- 6 comments
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- 1381 reads
When I was a log
When I was a log When I was a log I used to lay on the ground and folk would trip over me. The leaves would nestle around me in the woodland floor...
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- 658 reads
When I was a car
When I was a car, children sat in on my seats Laughed, cried, dropped conkers and sweet wrappers Lost scarves Small ones threw up over me on long...
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- 368 reads
February Song (after Auden)
Now the bombs are falling fast...
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- 301 reads
On visiting the Van Gogh exhibition, Salford, February 2022
Advertised as a sensory experience but failed to show his mind, his desperate letters to his brother Theo, self-mutilation and suicide?? His ginger...
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- 250 reads
Parables of Clippety (8) - The Flying Car
‘Oh and how I want to get my hands on him,’ Clare said, holding her fingers out, grabbing onto thin air, ‘I’m so excited now, Marni. Does my hair...
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- 899 reads
School Certificate
This is a flash about one day in lockdown, thinking about the past.
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- 970 reads
‘Twinkle, twinkle … what?’@102
At 102 she can’t hear well and is confused and forgetful, but likes it when her grandson plays hymns and songs on his violin that she knew in younger days … and for his young daughter he plays, ‘Twinkle, twinkle little star … …
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- 1655 reads