Tom Friel > Writing | WritersCafe.org | The Online Writing Community

“Your work is cliché” Your teacher told you that Years ago You haven’t changed How trite, how simple Begging for attenti..

They are my babies I feel the bound As soon as they reach the page They are a part of me A gift that I’ve given If to no one else myself ..

The water is cool Softly refreshing Nimble toes Unaccustomed To such freedoms Wade blissfully Back and forth Her body Instinctively moves Wh..

Powers of land Powers of sea Power I hold Divine unto thee Horned hunters of night Follow Dick with their guns Oh dark shining moon It's bee..

(This was an illustration I found in an 1875 edition of Scribner's Monthly. It was titled; "Death-mask".)

John woke to the smell of peanut butter. He woke yesterday to the smell of peanut butter and the day before that. The revolting smell was now stick..

John was sure the sonofabitch was dead. He’d read Larry’s obit. He’d gone to his wake and looked into that pathetic, pale face one..

Larry was feeling out of sorts. His issues with John had taken it’s toll. He was too tired to even feed the birds.What worried him most were t..

It feels like an eyelash Just before you blink You know it’s coming That momentary reflex Of darkness When you close your eyes Much like..

he was salivating the moment savoring it their big tight mouths open to suggestions as his mind floated freely beyond their grasps their on..