Tretchicovmanicova

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I have 779 stories published in 31 collections on the site.
My stories have been read 619698 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

"woman unknown"

pour forward from the pregnant cup swollen with the whispers of trickery listen as they sizzle with deception watch as they splash upon the lips of honesty slowly stripping his desire oh! dark lady draped in gown's deceit strangle your dishonest throat purge your little voice pure to witness his heart fall speechless thru its lining onto crimson carpet, her crimson carpet called desolation exhale her soul, spitting its choking skin against the fire of her burning eyes smell the flames lick her presence making her now a distant past a voice unheard, a woman unknown. `T. Imaan Tretchicovmanicova 15mar04

"regret"

oh fleeting moon how hauntingly you do...

"deaf as concrete"

secretly slide your fingers between the many branches of the weeping willow hush, and listen to her lament. she cries the tears of busy world that do not know how to hear; they have forgotten more important things have replaced the quiet world of the willow. do you like my car, did you succeed yet again in claiming an expense you did not incur? the simplicity of the swaying branches of the weeping willow sharply contrasted with the backdrop of the inhuman concrete city in which we live or is it exist? moving to the face on a watch rather than feeling the time of the sun. constantly hurried by that watch face but in a hurry to do what? or even to be on time or late with yet another good lie which some think will be another adequate excuse. do you think some do not see the lies of men in a hurry to go no where with no one save for the one's that blindly ask a/s/l for the thousandth time. so lonely they would not know a world without their solitude. why? because what then will they use for attention. we have come so far from the morals our ancestors learned from the sun, the weeping willow, the wind to become a people so absorbed with self, gossiping, taking advantage of anyone we can that man has become as unfeeling and deaf as concrete. `T. Imaan Tretchicovmanicova

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