richhanson

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TypeTitleAuthorRepliesLast updated
StoryCourtiers of Time richhanson012 years 4 months ago
StoryAt the Gravesite of Richard Mentor Johnson richhanson012 years 4 months ago
StoryAn Apparition of Spring richhanson012 years 4 months ago
StoryA Portrait in Love's Gallery richhanson012 years 4 months ago
StoryA Longing to Disappear richhanson012 years 4 months ago
StoryA Little Sheepish richhanson012 years 4 months ago
Story"When You're a God..." richhanson012 years 4 months ago
CollectionRich Hanson's Short Stories richhanson012 years 4 months ago
CollectionRich Hanson's Poetry richhanson012 years 4 months ago
StoryRemember Me Then richhanson012 years 5 months ago
StoryMrs. Draper's Christmas Letter richhanson112 years 5 months ago
StoryTime to Tender an Apology to Joyce Kilmer richhanson012 years 5 months ago
StoryThe Clumsy Elf richhanson012 years 5 months ago
StoryThe Autograph richhanson012 years 5 months ago
StorySaint Francesca of Assisi richhanson112 years 5 months ago
StoryThe Slaughter Plant richhanson012 years 5 months ago
StoryThe Empty House richhanson012 years 5 months ago
StoryOld Men Drink Scotch and Water richhanson012 years 5 months ago
StoryThe Mute Takes a Beating richhanson012 years 5 months ago
StoryEmma Goldman's Siren Song richhanson012 years 5 months ago
StoryEmily Dickinson Attends a Poetry Slam richhanson112 years 5 months ago
StoryFestivals of Light (A Nocturne) richhanson012 years 5 months ago

My stories

Remember Me Then

A wistful little love poem of no great pretentions

A Portrait in Love's Gallery

A love poem brimming with wonderful imagery, yet turning at the end upon an ending that can be read in a couple different ways

Emma Goldman's Siren Song

"Inciting Revolution successfully can be an art form in itself," Emma mused dispassionately as she watched two of New York's finest shove their way up to the podium to pull her away from it. The first cop, a burly, bull-necked tough whose breath smelled of whiskey, grabbed one of her wrists and snarled, "we don't want your kind here, you anarchist bitch."
Cherry

Mrs. Draper's Christmas Letter

"I may as well get it over with," she sighed. She was as devoid of inspiration though, as the frost-wrapped tree branches and the snow-covered landscape were of any sign of green life. She bit her lip and sat silently for a few moments, trying to harness her thoughts to the happiness that she used to associate with the holidays. The Draper Christmas letter, poem or whatever you wanted to call it had been a family tradition for close to twenty years now. Finally, she began to write.
Cherry

Time to Tender an Apology to Joyce Kilmer

The author recalls a college instructor's savaging of Joyce Kilmer in the light of his own experiences.

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