thewestlondonletterwriter
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| Type | Title | Author | Replies | Last updated |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| Story | Parisian Haikus | thewestlondonle... | 2 | 12 years 4 months ago |
| Story | Illumination | thewestlondonle... | 4 | 12 years 9 months ago |
| Story | Looking Through Windows | thewestlondonle... | 0 | 12 years 9 months ago |
| Story | Beyoetiful | maggyvaneijk | 23 | 13 years 5 months ago |
| Story | Lilac Wine | Silver Spun Sand | 23 | 13 years 5 months ago |
| Story | Reading Virginia Woolf | thewestlondonle... | 4 | 13 years 5 months ago |
| Story | Marks on the Horizon | thewestlondonle... | 3 | 13 years 6 months ago |
| Story | False Springs | thewestlondonle... | 3 | 13 years 6 months ago |
| Story | Self actualising individuals | Parson Thru | 4 | 13 years 6 months ago |
| Story | Some Kind of Philosophy | thewestlondonle... | 4 | 13 years 6 months ago |
| Story | what happened, when? | thewestlondonle... | 5 | 13 years 7 months ago |
| Story | Vanished Rooms | thewestlondonle... | 4 | 13 years 7 months ago |
| Story | Pont au Double, June Morning | thewestlondonle... | 4 | 13 years 7 months ago |
My stories
Keeping Shtum
The ability to cross the road is all you can ask for these days and hope the flags don't get in your way. They can blind with impunity and keep you rigid at your desk, working to deadline,
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- 608 reads
Marks on the Horizon
It's all coming together it seems, as we walk through the Victorian Age freshly appreciative. Except high rises on all sides fulminating against us, clinging like sheets
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- 3 comments
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- 889 reads
Illumination
It comes to be seen in all this travel, this migration, as if a shadow falls, and us left to make do, and lost circumstances. There was a sense of belonging at some point
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- 4 comments
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- 1142 reads
Looking Through Windows
We walked along the river as cars zipped by, honking at nothing, lights blaring. The bar across the road (used to be a cinema) way back in the 1950s – or something
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- 731 reads
Because I Do Not Hope to Turn Again
And I’m moribund to watch you regress Through ages and ages to youth again; Youth reborn, a child without form, the loss The end of us marks, and is beyond ken:
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- 512 reads