loquaciousicity

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TypeTitleAuthorRepliesLast updated
StoryThe Poet loquaciousicity37 years 4 months ago
StoryPrimary Colors imaniisfaith77 years 10 months ago
StoryThe damn dog rap Deliberately Ev...87 years 10 months ago
StoryCharlie Chaplin Feet Sooz00687 years 11 months ago
StoryWhat would you like me to say? Rhiannonw107 years 11 months ago
StoryHow like Orwell’s “Nineteen Eighty-Four” has our society become? markihlogie18 years 1 week ago
StoryPassing Time london_calling79128 years 2 weeks ago
StoryCurrency down the drain? (IP) Rhiannonw68 years 2 weeks ago
StoryYo Dominator! (Poetry monthly) Deliberately Ev...298 years 2 weeks ago
StoryMountain Spectre skinner_jennifer218 years 3 weeks ago
StoryWhere Will We Run To ? forest_for_ever38 years 3 weeks ago
StoryScrooge … (IP) Rhiannonw48 years 1 month ago
StoryThe Time Saver's Wife Bee58 years 1 month ago
StoryFlaw mrpeterjthomas58 years 1 month ago
StoryA Passing Thought (Poetry Monthly) Silver Spun Sand108 years 1 month ago
StoryA tick in time (Poetry Monthly) Rhiannonw118 years 1 month ago
StoryWanna - (poetry monthly) Bee218 years 1 month ago
StoryMan of Iron skinner_jennifer118 years 1 month ago
StoryThe Tenth Circle of Hell Silver Spun Sand88 years 1 month ago
StoryI Need Me a Forest - A Rant hudsonmoon148 years 1 month ago
StoryA busy mozzie’s buzz Rhiannonw148 years 1 month ago
StoryLucy's in the Sky (Poetry Monthly) Silver Spun Sand88 years 1 month ago
Story'All That Jazz' Silver Spun Sand108 years 1 month ago
StoryNuthoused EB168 years 1 month ago
StoryPainting the Homeless Godly Silver Spun Sand188 years 1 month ago

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My stories

Love Without Hope

Above, the blushing blood moon vexes silken ebon space with shadows in the mournful mist recalling, pale, a wistful trace - her farewell smile I...

Rat-A-Tat-Tat (Poetry Monthly)

The typewriters tap, with a rat-a-tat-tat, like a fourth estate rap to provide us the pap (that serves as a snack with a rat-a-tat-tat) in a...

The Stone

The Tale below was carved one night, upon the Stone, by candlelight...

In An Old Cathedral

She knelt upon a plank, plain oaken (sable cloak, her mourning guise), and sensed the breath of distant sighs, pale shades of pain behind blue eyes…...

Neanderthal

This screed has nothing to do with the noble Neanderthal (whose brain size exceeded our own). it has nothing to do with' times gone by' (though who knows what future beings may think) it has nothing to do with anything… and even less to do with something… unless of course, you think it might…
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