john_silver

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TypeTitleAuthorRepliesLast updated
StoryThe Disciple john_silver216 years 5 months ago
StoryJesus mentality alonso071116 years 6 months ago
StoryInsomnia Luly Whisper216 years 6 months ago
StoryLightning Hairy Dan216 years 6 months ago
StoryTuesday Sonnet: Theatre john_silver417 years 4 months ago
StoryTuesday Sonnet: The Wisdom of the Old john_silver417 years 8 months ago
StoryWhose Ark? jennifer717 years 8 months ago
StoryFriday Sonnet: Silver john_silver417 years 8 months ago
StoryWel I know now... sonic_tonic117 years 8 months ago
StoryTuesday Sonnet: Merits john_silver317 years 8 months ago
StoryThirty Odd Years Myndstorm618 years 2 days ago
StoryFitzrovia in These Times poetjude418 years 2 days ago
StoryMonday Sonnet: Coda john_silver318 years 4 days ago
StoryPinhole Photographer (for Justin) jennifer518 years 2 weeks ago
StorySnails on the Floor of Heaven jennifer218 years 2 weeks ago
StoryFriday Sonnet: Enumeration john_silver318 years 2 weeks ago
StorySplit. indigogold618 years 3 weeks ago
StoryMonday Sonnet: Sanctis john_silver318 years 3 weeks ago
StoryBefore I say I Love You MistakenMagic818 years 3 weeks ago
StoryHow to Fall hadley118 years 1 month ago
StoryThe Red Rose of Palookaville (re-edited) ralph418 years 1 month ago
StoryThe Red Rose of Palookaville ralph218 years 1 month ago

My stories

Cherry

Thursday Sonnet: About Milkshakes

Let’s sum it up; I’m in a break-room, work Begins again in twenty, in which time I barely find the space (or wits) to rhyme, And I am asked to conjure from the murk

Pandora

O Pandora, we have lost, There can be no golden chest, The immortals don’t know best And we know less than them at most. And we will never be remembered, We will never be forgotten

Thursday Sonnet: Paris

Paris, Paris, I have not come to light Or spin you, I’ve not come to sing la Senne, My throat seeks no refreshment from your night And I’m not asking where to go or when.

Spirituality

They slide away, the days of yore, From wood to ash, from ash to flame Like pages turning in the frame Of an old book, and then no more. Look: in this question of our hour,

Tuesday Sonnet: Huzzah!

Scared of me? You bet! I've seen your tragic Castles and the holes beneath your cuirass. Paint me stupid – I am full of magic, Bright like stuff of dreams, as warm and true as

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