Yutka

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Forum topicWhile I am waiting by Yutka maisie220 years 9 months ago
Forum topicA son is home for Christmas by Yutka tcook320 years 9 months ago
Forum topicGreat ABCTalers Anonymous4820 years 9 months ago
Forum topicYutka Anonymous120 years 9 months ago
Forum topicThe man on the train - Pepsoid lisa h420 years 9 months ago
Forum topicThanks Anonymous420 years 11 months ago
Forum topici don't want u to read this anymore AliciaB320 years 11 months ago
Forum topicHaiku competition tcook1620 years 11 months ago
Forum topici'd love to ... ivoryfishbone721 years 2 days ago
Forum topicThe chicken at the door by Megan mykle1021 years 4 days ago
Forum topicSelbstportrait mit Kater by captainmcdan mykle1021 years 6 days ago
Forum topicArt Fart... by Lisa Hinsley pepsoid421 years 6 days ago
Forum topicHo hum... pepsoid3521 years 1 week ago
Forum topicSTOP ALL THIS NOW! Laura Callender2321 years 1 week ago
Forum topicOh Holy Night by Fergal mykle1921 years 2 weeks ago
Forum topicDidn't want to be a priest 2Lou621 years 2 weeks ago
Forum topicA Little Bit Lost Corvus1221 years 2 weeks ago
Forum topicFergals' 'Her Side of the Story' Jack Cade421 years 3 weeks ago
Forum topicLily Green and the Tree Fellers - RachelCoates Anonymous721 years 2 months ago
CollectionBlog rachelcoates121 years 2 months ago

Pages

My stories

The Sculptor

He hates darkness. Light becomes essential. His demand for well-lit space is legendary. Holding the lump of clay he kneads, caresses, strokes it alive, turning an amorphous world into a globe. With iron callipers he measures

The Story of Aimee and her three Lives

What is our life? A play of passion, our mirth the music of derision (anon)

Old Navajo Games

Spider Woman taught string games to keep thoughts in order, yet only in winter, when spiders sleep, or else will she tie your eyes shut. You will learn about the night sky, concentrate on star clusters, find planets

Warped driftwood

A stoppage in the passage of time; warped, drifting, wooden driftwood distorted time, moving in low and high tide from one shore to the next nothing much has changed since birth, since death drifting, floating,

Lost love

It is the dry-boned shape wrapped in a cape of waves, her eye-less stare, her arms, the sea weed snakes that bare without a voice love's sin. Adrift again her beast-like grin, she gloats her blackened time-marked teeth

Pages