anipani

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TypeTitleAuthorRepliesLast updated
StoryUpon the usefulness of time anipani213 years 1 month ago
Storywalking the dog anipani213 years 1 month ago
StoryProof of inheritance anipani213 years 1 month ago
StorySkyewalking anipani113 years 1 month ago
StoryMoonstruck anipani113 years 1 month ago
StoryLife or death anipani013 years 1 month ago
StoryLight and shade anipani013 years 1 month ago
StoryTime means nothing here anipani413 years 1 month ago
StoryPark benches and red dresses anipani013 years 1 month ago
StoryTribute to Kew anipani213 years 1 month ago
Storytears, no tears anipani113 years 1 month ago
Storytie me down anipani113 years 1 month ago
Storymissing you anipani113 years 1 month ago
Storymorning Rapture anipani013 years 1 month ago
StoryMoving in time anipani013 years 1 month ago
StoryLaundry woman anipani013 years 1 month ago
StoryLiving like falling anipani013 years 1 month ago
Storythe emptiness anipani213 years 1 month ago
Storythe sounds of music anipani013 years 1 month ago
StoryIn time, and place. anipani313 years 1 month ago
Storyit's a matter of taste. anipani113 years 1 month ago
StoryInterference anipani013 years 1 month ago
StoryIn the park with Van Morrison anipani013 years 1 month ago
StoryI'm not selling anipani113 years 1 month ago
StoryI find Keats in Rome anipani013 years 1 month ago

My stories

After a visit to vincent

Look to Seneca and Rumi, and then, turn to your heart,

Encounters in the nighttime

It's years later, I'm meeting you still, in dreams, where only there will I make you come. You're so far away and above me, years and marriages and money stand arm in arm, blocking

Skyewalking

Where can the heart go - here, but be still? Pulled; then cushioned by rhythm of river, rhythm of rain. Pulsing, meeting the beating, thrum and thrust of the living
Cherry

First times

‘What did she say’ -Father ‘‘ I like pink’ -Mother ‘What did you say I said’- Girl ‘I like pink’ -Mother ‘I‘m not going to live with you any more’.- Girl

Why Cry?

Why cry? Now it's Autumn and leaves are falling copiously as tears. Tears will stain the book; ink will run and all my thoughts will be undone. Why cry? Outside clouds rush by,

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