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 11 hours ago
StoryFitzrovia in These Times poetjude418 years 13 hours ago
StoryMonday Sonnet: Coda john_silver318 years 2 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

Thursday Sonnet: Dreams that die

Written on submission by a girl (she suggested the title).

Wednesday Sonnet: To Italy

There is a vine that binds us, made of rose And olive leaves, and figs and spikes of pine; It is entwined with sunlight, grain and wine, The song that is our language lets it close

Athena

The pathway to my heart is tangled. And the hand that brings to me The branch to plant the olive-tree Is blocked by vines – is blocked and strangled. The chambers of dissent and conflict

The Path

There is a voice that’s not of crone Nor crow’s nor rooster’s, yet recites An exegesis days and nights. It speaks to you, to you alone, It stains your every dawn, it soaks

I will

There still is so much work to do, My friend and cell-mate, if our fates Not spell-bound by a state of states Will lead to valleys of the new. I watch my spirit slowly grow;

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