blighters rock

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TypeTitleAuthorRepliesLast updated
Blog entryInfinite Sky by C.J. Flood - out now! tcook412 years 2 months ago
Forum topicPunctuation blighters rock1412 years 2 months ago
Forum topicThe Land of Decoration VeraClark512 years 2 months ago
StoryApril blighters rock412 years 2 months ago
StoryThe Art of Good Listening Pixie912 years 2 months ago
StoryOh Love Street In The Rain oldpesky2412 years 2 months ago
Forum topicMargaret: The Death of a Revolutionary blighters rock912 years 2 months ago
Forum topicThatcher: Dead scratch13912 years 2 months ago
Storyburnt, flimsy a.lesser.thing612 years 2 months ago
StoryShe is One Hundred and Five luigi_pagano1212 years 2 months ago
StoryThis Exploding Girl maggyvaneijk1512 years 3 months ago
StoryProbably start a poetry night mcmanaman412 years 3 months ago
Storythe vitality of a vessel a.lesser.thing1112 years 3 months ago
StoryJust waiting for the president blighters rock1112 years 3 months ago
StoryShe's Mine - Part 2 of 2 Suzanne Hamblin712 years 3 months ago
Forum topicHow's this for a Rip-Off? karl_wiggins1012 years 3 months ago
StoryDistant to guilt Highhat1712 years 3 months ago
StoryI have this dream... IsntLifeBrilliant612 years 3 months ago
StoryThe Brightest People Pixie412 years 3 months ago
StoryMarch blighters rock1712 years 3 months ago
StoryThe Myth of Narcissus Silver Spun Sand1212 years 3 months ago
Forum topicCalling FTSE ItsSteveDave212 years 3 months ago
StoryPoem Unread Silver Spun Sand1012 years 3 months ago
StoryMy Mother Pixie812 years 3 months ago
StoryLost In Hollywood ton.car512 years 3 months ago

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My stories

Cherry

To those who understand

When a whistle sounds like a wailing baby and rain in the car is a crash of white noise, it’s time to wonder if I’m all there and remember that I’m not.

April

Effortlessly spreading butter from the dish without mulling over which knife to use the joy that there’ll be no doleful waiting time for the stuff to melt sufficiently on the toast

Just waiting for the president

I hardly recognised the place bowls of boiled sweets fresh flowers and open doors a novel fifties corner dreamt up by a colourful volunteer to celebrate ye olde tea shoppe
Cherry

March

As soon as I arrive at her chair I kneel down and kiss her forehead and then her hand. As I look up at her I play with the idea that she will awaken from her illness
Cherry

January

Again I sit here, as I have every morning for months, waiting to hear singing birds in my mind, but the bee just won’t budge.

Pages