MistakenMagic

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TypeTitleAuthorRepliesLast updated
StoryI've got a lovely bunch of limericks ...here they are standing in a row! (I.P.) Denzella1313 years 1 month ago
StoryAghast The Walrus1313 years 1 month ago
StoryVirgin of Winter well-wisher413 years 1 month ago
StoryA Midsummer Night's Dream (I.P.) Silver Spun Sand1613 years 1 month ago
StoryThe boy who stands upon the hill Parson Thru1913 years 1 month ago
StoryBlown away. Highhat2813 years 1 month ago
StoryA picture of you. ScoZen2413 years 1 month ago
StoryNature of the Beast Silver Spun Sand1713 years 1 month ago
StoryThe Gift Beeme313 years 1 month ago
Storyearly sun over Hope Valley JupiterMoon613 years 1 month ago
StoryChristmas Dreams jolono3213 years 1 month ago
StoryPlaces to go Parson Thru813 years 1 month ago
StoryChapter Five: Matthew maggyvaneijk513 years 1 month ago
StoryLady M Silver Spun Sand1013 years 1 month ago
StoryHome Sweet Home iDrew613 years 1 month ago
StoryMerry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence Silver Spun Sand1013 years 2 months ago
StoryHey Joe... Silver Spun Sand1313 years 2 months ago
StoryIthaca MistakenMagic1413 years 3 months ago
StoryYou have to Laugh...Don't You? Silver Spun Sand1613 years 3 months ago
StoryMother Nature's Plan skinner_jennifer3813 years 3 months ago
StoryFate II shoe713 years 3 months ago
StoryHolding On To Nothing jolono2913 years 3 months ago
StorySpirit of Africa Parson Thru513 years 3 months ago
StoryThe great irony Parson Thru1413 years 3 months ago
StoryCherries Are Not the Only Fruit Silver Spun Sand1713 years 3 months ago

My stories

Gold cherry

Dali's Clock

I fear that I loved you so much I made you up. Wrapped in a towel, I look for evidence of your being here; your empty coffee mug on the table, a pound coin on the kitchen floor...
Cherry

Alors, On Danse

We are sitting at a table on the terrace, blowing smoke into our coffee, and throwing our heads back to laugh.

Bad Writing Prize (Inspiration Point)

It was a wet and windy night, though not necessarily in that order...

There Will Be No Other End of the World

And now, what is left after the end of the world? The dark smell of brown sugar in an empty kitchen, my cousins playing cricket in the park...
Poem of the week

Wind Chimes in North America

Prayers return to my lips like a reluctant lover. Now I talk to God the way one talks to a coma patient...

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