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TypeTitleAuthorRepliesLast updated
StoryOn E-Literary Culture seannelson216 years 3 months ago
Storydefending PublishAmerica against some reviewer(typical small-minded conformite) seannelson316 years 4 months ago
StoryThe Silent God seannelson316 years 4 months ago
StoryMY WORD: "HUMATERNITY" seannelson316 years 6 months ago
StoryNuclear Power is Essential seannelson516 years 6 months ago
StoryPAIN kheldar916 years 6 months ago
PageMore Books by ABCtales Authors admin1516 years 6 months ago
StoryFlowers Don't Take Plastic seannelson316 years 6 months ago
Forum topicOne post one comment Kropotkin383116 years 7 months ago
Forum topicThe Land Of Smiles Mangone8016 years 7 months ago
StoryOn "Liberalism" seannelson216 years 8 months ago
StoryGREAT PHILOSOPHERS ZINGERED seannelson216 years 8 months ago
StoryON PREVENTING TERROR STRIKES seannelson416 years 9 months ago
StoryI Hit the Bar Last Night seannelson216 years 10 months ago
StoryOn Israel's Right to Exist seannelson316 years 10 months ago
StoryOn China and Pinot Grigio seannelson216 years 11 months ago
StoryOregon Coast Haiku seannelson316 years 11 months ago
StoryOn Poetry and Money seannelson316 years 11 months ago
StoryOn Hitler, Nazis, and Democracy seannelson217 years 3 days ago
StoryDown With Democracy seannelson217 years 1 month ago
StoryPizza in America seannelson617 years 1 month ago
StoryFuck Mainstream America seannelson318 years 3 months ago
Forum topicAnti-War Poetry patmac1119 years 11 months ago

My stories

art gallery haiku set

palms on an island inhabitated only by small painted people a dusky artist painted my cup of Java tropical realism a dutchman painted a tranquill, thorny desert
Cherry

wall street haiku set

youthful idealists at the dark labyrinth gates; hopeful days indeed purple thorns blossom by the serene rail-road tracks: vagabond roses flaming cigarette softens my mental daggers

wisdom (I make no claim)

A few generous souls have called me "wise" as one might call water "fresh" before discovering it to be indeed "salt" I used to think I might someday become wise but now I suspect

Daniel Johnston haiku

melodic maelstrom pouring art forth profusely ; his sky speaks in flame

kaleidoscope

one eye open to the world of actual people, beds and carpets, coffeehouses and cramped buses, the other hearing and speaking the language of rainbow light in "tones of home,"

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