harrietmacmillan
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| Type | Title | Author | Replies | Last updated |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| Story | The Pilgrim Soul | harrietmacmillan | 0 | 10 years 10 months ago |
| Story | The Plague | harrietmacmillan | 1 | 10 years 10 months ago |
| Story | Heart Library | harrietmacmillan | 1 | 10 years 10 months ago |
| Story | Hailstones | harrietmacmillan | 2 | 10 years 10 months ago |
| Story | Gold and Trinkets Glitter in the Flame | harrietmacmillan | 0 | 10 years 10 months ago |
| Story | The Lake | harrietmacmillan | 5 | 11 years 1 month ago |
| Story | Spinothalamic Tract | harrietmacmillan | 1 | 11 years 8 months ago |
| Story | Oxford, | harrietmacmillan | 3 | 12 years 1 week ago |
| Story | When We Were Seventeen | harrietmacmillan | 3 | 12 years 1 week ago |
| Story | Half-Asleep | harrietmacmillan | 2 | 12 years 1 week ago |
| Story | Unquestioning | harrietmacmillan | 10 | 12 years 1 month ago |
| Story | Magpie Mile | harrietmacmillan | 2 | 12 years 1 month ago |
| Story | The Cailleach | harrietmacmillan | 3 | 12 years 1 month ago |
My stories
A Heavenly Land
The sea rolls its tongue against the sand, Cat-licking its way up to the green, Surely this is a heavenly land? Swathes of sea colour are slowly fanned, Turquoise, jade and all in between.
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- 2 comments
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- 374 reads
Long Distance Running
She dreams, she says, of running up stairs. I wonder what she believes she would discover, But I can see her, losing the weight of her years. The motion would smooth away her wrinkles,
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- 3 comments
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- 389 reads
Round Table
What does it mean to be solid? It is only, he says, a linguistic certainty. We've decided what it means to be, that thing, Solid and so it is. We are all solid. This table- It's solid too.
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- 1 comment
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- 356 reads
Charlotte Corday
Charlotte Corday I can see you now. Pale, With hair like a breathing cloud, Accumulating beneath The cummulus of your cap. Swaddled, like an expired bride. Hands, white lily pands
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- 5 comments
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- 972 reads
Catatonic
I think I know where you buried him. Where he always used to be, When the sun deigned to shine, Or feigned a glow- In the grass you often forgot to mow. Underneath red rings of berried rowan,
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- 7 comments
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- 1967 reads