Tretchicovmanicova

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I have 779 stories published in 31 collections on the site.
My stories have been read 624390 times and 21 of my stories have been cherry picked.
1 of my 44 comments have been voted Great Feedback with a total of 1 vote

Tretchicovmanicova's picture

as whispered windows all aglow,
the crescent moon now falls with snow,
the sound of tiny reindeer paws
that pull a sleigh with santa claus,
one sack in red pushed in between,
a night of snow when all does gleam,
his suit of red and beard so white
yet feet so small that make him slight,
a pair of specs rest on his nose
like one small drop of rain that glows,
the day draws nigh as tiny tots,
curled in their beds or wooden cots,
will spring to life to rush downstairs
but first, `tis time for christmas prayers!

©`t. imaan tretchicovmanicova

https://poetrypoem.com/whispersofpoetry

My stories

"as time begets time"

violin tears drawn across your bow create &; fill a pool spirit within your eyes lament a song but do not weep for us weep for time its minutes its hour its ticking hand its inflexibilty, in its drive its motion. strike a key dark or light light or dark resonate her you, the key in which she strikes uniting time &; sound. she has learned your rhythm well please, allow her to play for you her composition of surrender to the tick, tick. the sweep of your minute hand carves time upon the keys of her piano, as she creates for you, her metronome, her time signature her conductor. `T. Imaan Tretchicovmanicova "as time begets time" 4apr'05

"creating language"

snow covered chalet two people dance on the page of piano fire ~ full round notes, she plays they pin themselves to the room fall inside, they do ~ the whole now half notes touch the outside from within symphonies untold ~ liquid sound music slowly drown the five senses rise to the baton ~ conduct the fire tongues unheard scream from her mouth creating language `T. Imaan Tretchicovmanicova 15mar'05

"sonnet7"

upon the green, i find a tilt save for the hellibore does wilt, the slender brown mixed inbetween the proud of place amidst the green. the flexing mind in its repose is beckoned softly in her prose; the unsaid words but heard on ear in time are spoken in voice clear. the pawns are slowly moved ahead as thoughts are wondered in one's bed. listen! hear the green brown face as oftentimes they leave no trace. once on the lips, the wind does carry those priceless threads it does marry; however, on slim occasion, one does hear without persuasion. `T. Imaan Tretchicovmanicova 11mar'05

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"heart bleeds a crimson carpet"

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