 |
Paint roses, blossoms, and vines on your jeans.Dance on a picnic table in the rain.Read Plath, Frost, Salinger, and Kerouac.Ask a butterfly to sit on ..
|
|
This too shall passAutumn fields with chestnuts strewn,Resound October's chilly tune,Spreading down through dirt and grain,Touching roots of sugar can..
|
|
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ I''ve said helloTo those I pass,But none can do the same.~And though I knowWe're a different class,To each I cannot blame.~Perhaps toda..
|
 |
Those mighty trees that spread their armswere once as tall as you.And none have felt the sweeping strokesof what a saw could do.Yet underneath those s..
|
 |
Inside a laundromat's luminous, sleepy window,among the low-pitched, hypnotizing humof stainless steel washers and dryers,he sits in his usual dull gr..
|
|
When you’ve been markedand filed awayand blades of grass replace legionsof euphoric fans,the only unfettered applause leftwill be the rustling o..
|
 |
The Little B*****d~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Iwish I'd seen him in Fairmountwith a Stetson hat, blue jeans, and boots;or with his collar turned up on a ra..
|
 |
A Story by Relic
I remember rain tapping at the diner window. The smooth white table we sat at held ketchup, salt, and her mournful face cradled in the palm of her ha..
|
 |
Once in a while,as though pulled in by some desireor force,some decide to take a ride backto Writers Cafe.It's not always a long visit, yetthey still ..
|
 first  prev 1
|
|
Profile
Writing
Friends
Share This