Tags wood
RattleheadsA Story by Debby PillitteriA short story about a father and son going out to cut wood one morning so they can sell it. |
An October MornA Poem by Savannah BlyIt is about Robert Wood's painting 'October Morn' |
VornadoA Poem by Jay SteitlerCreated this one in minutes, after witnessing a squall. Words tripped off the tip of my brain, with relative ease this afternoon. |
Engineered Wood Flooring – A Much Preferred ..A Story by Rebecca SmithDesigning the floor is an art and it plays a crucial role for the decoration of any house. |
ResinA Poem by Rudi J.P. LejaeghereReject what you don't want. Get rid of dead wood. Daryl Hall |
Deadwoods CircusA Poem by BattlecryThe Deadwoods Circus is in town! Step right up and enjoy the ride~! |
Deadwoods Circus RecruitionA Poem by BattlecryDare to join the insanity? |
The GamekeeperA Poem by David Lewis PagetI’d brought my woman to live with me In a cottage by Elmsley Wood, We lived on pure and simple fare For my wages weren’t .. |
DriftwoodA Poem by Seamus UnderwoodWhitewashed walls, White tiled halls, Floating weightless, Floating shapeless, I find myself asleep, In a slumber so deep, I lay still, agains.. |
ShadeA Poem by Robert RonnowYour past, your romantic past, is a shadow. Like all towns, Port Angeles was a combination of rain and clouds, sun and mist, with a chamber of c.. |
Nature's Intelligent PartnerA Poem by Robert RonnowThe wood is stacked for winter.One way out of the mind's limitationsis through other minds' contemplations.The books are stacked for winter.Yet even t.. |
Of Judith and InannaA Poem by Robert RonnowFor the accountant, the librarian, on this cold daythere is no revelation. He will go his own wayto the roar of the tinnitus in his ears.About our war.. |
We Like TreesA Poem by Robert RonnowWe like trees.Rocks. Crows.Trees are good.Shade. Food. Wood.If they leave,we'll leave, too.Snow. How comesome there, none here.Sun can killor be fun.G.. |
The Canopy and EconomyA Poem by Robert RonnowSun and traffic�" -- day economy.Six a.m. drive to plywood mill. Too tiredto be angry. Each day a steptoward death. What is being accomplished?.. |
BY JOHN'S POND.A Poem by Terry CollettA BOT SHOWS A GIRL HIS SECRET POND IN 1962. |
Misty NightA Poem by RaccoonyA night walk with my dog... |