maggyvaneijk

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TypeTitleAuthorRepliesLast updated
StoryOf a Saturday Silver Spun Sand236 years 6 months ago
StoryA QUICK POEM TO JIMI HENDRIX skinner_jennifer206 years 6 months ago
StoryI Can't Help Wishing Christopher fatboy74816 years 7 months ago
StoryNothing Ever Really Happens fatboy74326 years 7 months ago
StoryWinding in the River Nolan106 years 9 months ago
StoryBeautiful Fish Kilb5066 years 11 months ago
Storytwentysixteen maggyvaneijk67 years 1 month ago
StoryBye - My dear friend pkroutray57 years 1 month ago
StorySID AND NANCY YaseminB67 years 1 month ago
StoryForgotten Copse Deliberately Ev...167 years 1 month ago
StoryTwo Point Four alexwritings27 years 2 months ago
Storytrifecta maggyvaneijk177 years 3 months ago
StoryCC 63: The Photos of the Future sean mcnulty57 years 5 months ago
StoryDown The Street hilary west87 years 8 months ago
StoryAtomic London Zuku47 years 8 months ago
StoryKnickers winking_tiger47 years 8 months ago
StoryDevil gate drive denni147 years 8 months ago
StoryAnd the Beat Goes On (IP) Overthetop1407 years 10 months ago
StoryMy Poems Overthetop1207 years 10 months ago
StoryLoaded Words blick7747 years 11 months ago
StoryReykjavik 29/3/16 Philip Sidney118 years 1 day ago
StoryBabbacombe Fair Ewan18 years 6 days ago
StoryMy Four Aunts' Voices Jane Hyphen98 years 1 week ago
StoryRetrospective Drawings maggyvaneijk158 years 2 weeks ago
StoryThe Broomstick hilary west58 years 4 months ago

My stories

Gold cherry
Poem of the week

Blue

I’m sliding backwards into memory like a skydive in reverse into the blue of my mother’s robes a mosque’s dome powdered sulfur the spray of light...
3 likes
Gold cherry

"Hi"

Image: 
Tell me that you haven’t felt like this for years way-out high on red wine. Tell me about 2005 and the cycle of time, how you never would have...
Gold cherry
Poem of the week

Things you’d only tell your mother in a foreign language

It’s ten o’clock on a Friday night. You’re pulling hard on my shoulder blades like you’re trying to open me up. Tiny bones of fear block my throat...
Gold cherry

Driving to Whitstable with my father

When people look into our car, they see me a hitchhiker of twenty-three passenger seat, hands on knees eyes fixed on a hole in my jeans. I am too...
Poem of the week

The wanting

The wanting is what I fear the most
 the wanting.

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