john_silver

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TypeTitleAuthorRepliesLast updated
StoryThe Disciple john_silver214 years 1 week ago
StoryJesus mentality alonso071114 years 1 month ago
StoryInsomnia Luly Whisper214 years 1 month ago
StoryLightning Hairy Dan214 years 1 month ago
StoryTuesday Sonnet: Theatre john_silver414 years 10 months ago
StoryTuesday Sonnet: The Wisdom of the Old john_silver415 years 2 months ago
StoryWhose Ark? jennifer715 years 3 months ago
StoryFriday Sonnet: Silver john_silver415 years 3 months ago
StoryWel I know now... sonic_tonic115 years 3 months ago
StoryTuesday Sonnet: Merits john_silver315 years 3 months ago
StoryThirty Odd Years Myndstorm615 years 6 months ago
StoryFitzrovia in These Times poetjude415 years 6 months ago
StoryMonday Sonnet: Coda john_silver315 years 6 months ago
StoryPinhole Photographer (for Justin) jennifer515 years 7 months ago
StorySnails on the Floor of Heaven jennifer215 years 7 months ago
StoryFriday Sonnet: Enumeration john_silver315 years 7 months ago
StorySplit. indigogold615 years 7 months ago
StoryMonday Sonnet: Sanctis john_silver315 years 7 months ago
StoryBefore I say I Love You MistakenMagic815 years 7 months ago
StoryHow to Fall hadley115 years 7 months ago
StoryThe Red Rose of Palookaville (re-edited) ralph415 years 7 months ago
StoryThe Red Rose of Palookaville ralph215 years 8 months ago

My stories

Saturday Sonnet: Little Proverb

If there’s a name for you, it is pronounced In whispers, in a tongue we speak no more; A tongue that’s only used to write the lore Of sacred things, and books of past accounts.

Friday Sonnet: Monologue

Because I find a glance of yours can raze Me to the ground, as though I were the corn Or rye and you the mother of the storm, I purse my lips and turn away my gaze,

Tuesday Sonnet: Immortality

“When I am gone, I shall not be the dust That licks your soles beneath your steps wind-borne, Nor yet the thread of ash that, shorn of lust And reason, trails the mantle of the storm;

Monday Sonnet: Hope

I’m asked to write of hope, a subject which Resists festoons of metaphor with almost The same propriety as death. Foremost Among the skills that make a poet rich
Cherry

Sunday Sonnet: To the girl who smiled

Here in these streets of judges and police Where we unlace the textiles of our days, I used to search you in the tales from Greece Which speak across the eons, phrase by phrase,

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