markashley

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TypeTitleAuthorRepliesLast updated
StoryForgotten Day markashley012 years 9 months ago
StoryDid You Think? markashley012 years 9 months ago
StoryDrowning markashley012 years 9 months ago
StoryFists markashley012 years 9 months ago
StoryEmpty Spaces markashley012 years 9 months ago
StoryForgotten markashley012 years 9 months ago
StoryG) Evidence markashley012 years 9 months ago
StoryEpitaph in Red markashley012 years 9 months ago
StoryEnd Game markashley012 years 9 months ago
StoryFour Thousand Dreams markashley012 years 9 months ago
StoryDo I Still Believe markashley012 years 9 months ago
StoryEmpty Road markashley012 years 9 months ago
StoryFroppington Gore markashley012 years 9 months ago
StoryFireside Song markashley012 years 9 months ago
StoryG) EFL Student Love Song markashley012 years 9 months ago
StoryEating Russia markashley012 years 9 months ago
StoryF) Telephone Travels markashley012 years 9 months ago
StoryG) Day's Journey markashley012 years 9 months ago
StoryE) Silver Steel Siren markashley012 years 9 months ago
StoryF) In one blink the eyelid closed markashley012 years 9 months ago
StoryG) Casting Shadows markashley012 years 9 months ago
StoryE) Days in finite circles markashley012 years 9 months ago
Forum topicABCtales and The Big Issue tcook1119 years 7 months ago

My stories

Poetry is Dead

I hate the way each phrase or rhyme Has been worn out by popular verse, Every little thought and spark Is echoed by a stale grey page. I can't wander...

Old Poetry

Recently I dredged up some old forgotten rhymes Just to read and re-discover those old and happy times I remember people seemed to think the stuff...

Little Green Men

drawn, light pencil. etched with acid. "abandon all hope" with acid. beating slowly, behind, inside the wall, behind, slowly. bright golden flowers...

Thoughts taken from the 6 o?clock news

this shale hallucination glowing sparks of mercury filtered through wet sand clothed in brine a glass tower of shame fractured in the salt wind...

Winter

in summers golden fragrant mews the winter hides his weary head and whispers to the autumn mists while icy fingers wake the dead

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