john_silver

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TypeTitleAuthorRepliesLast updated
StoryThe Disciple john_silver213 years 11 months ago
StoryJesus mentality alonso071114 years 5 days ago
StoryInsomnia Luly Whisper214 years 6 days ago
StoryLightning Hairy Dan214 years 2 weeks ago
StoryTuesday Sonnet: Theatre john_silver414 years 9 months ago
StoryTuesday Sonnet: The Wisdom of the Old john_silver415 years 1 month ago
StoryWhose Ark? jennifer715 years 2 months ago
StoryFriday Sonnet: Silver john_silver415 years 2 months ago
StoryWel I know now... sonic_tonic115 years 2 months ago
StoryTuesday Sonnet: Merits john_silver315 years 2 months ago
StoryThirty Odd Years Myndstorm615 years 5 months ago
StoryFitzrovia in These Times poetjude415 years 5 months ago
StoryMonday Sonnet: Coda john_silver315 years 5 months ago
StoryPinhole Photographer (for Justin) jennifer515 years 6 months ago
StorySnails on the Floor of Heaven jennifer215 years 6 months ago
StoryFriday Sonnet: Enumeration john_silver315 years 6 months ago
StorySplit. indigogold615 years 6 months ago
StoryMonday Sonnet: Sanctis john_silver315 years 6 months ago
StoryBefore I say I Love You MistakenMagic815 years 6 months ago
StoryHow to Fall hadley115 years 6 months ago
StoryThe Red Rose of Palookaville (re-edited) ralph415 years 6 months ago
StoryThe Red Rose of Palookaville ralph215 years 6 months 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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