laurabean

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TypeTitleAuthorRepliesLast updated
StoryConfession laurabean012 years 11 months ago
StoryBut we take it all so well... laurabean012 years 11 months ago
StoryAutumnal Haiku II laurabean012 years 11 months ago
StoryAutumnal Haiku laurabean012 years 11 months ago
CollectionHaiku laurabean012 years 11 months ago
CollectionAdult Poetry laurabean012 years 11 months ago
CollectionHumerous Poetry laurabean012 years 11 months ago
CollectionChildren's poetry laurabean012 years 11 months ago
StoryWhen one accidentally catches sight of one's reflection in the window of the train home... laurabean013 years 4 weeks ago
StoryPoetry Plead laurabean013 years 4 weeks ago
StoryThe Season Exhales laurabean013 years 4 weeks ago
StoryThe View From My Garden laurabean013 years 4 weeks ago
StoryThe Barley Fields laurabean013 years 4 weeks ago
StoryThe Wooden Bench laurabean013 years 4 weeks ago
StorySaturday Morning laurabean013 years 4 weeks ago
StoryOde To eBay laurabean013 years 4 weeks ago
StoryMy Dog laurabean013 years 4 weeks ago
StoryThe Breakfast Song laurabean013 years 4 weeks ago
StoryI Weep as I Try to Deserve You laurabean013 years 4 weeks ago
StoryHaiku III laurabean013 years 4 weeks ago
StoryJonathon James laurabean013 years 4 weeks ago
StoryDinosaurs laurabean013 years 4 weeks ago
Forum topicSum it up in a sentence markbrown2020 years 11 months ago

My stories

Poetry Plead

Remember rhyming schemes can seem overly keen And religion is rather contentious. A limerick's too light and a little bit trite And free verse is somehow pretentious. Haiku is not only for trees

Confession

The magnetic pull of absolution leaves me scrabbling for a faith that isn't here. An ache that cannot be eased by the bliss of the box. Dark, cool wood scent cannot wash away the stain which mars me.

I Weep as I Try to Deserve You

Each small oblivious act of grace bestowed upon me Is both a joy and a pin prick. As conscience needles; the day blackens, And your kindness gilds a hopelessly tarnished soul.

But we take it all so well...

You call it 'not Art' without malice; just effect

The Season Exhales

The World creeks like an old clock as it cools and slows down, Rested light lingers and thinks of nothing.

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