Treasured poetry and bargain prose await all who enter here.
Originally posted on Songshine Sounds:
Now that live music is resuming across the globe, we thought we’d mix things up a bit by presenting Where Were You Tuesdays? Each Tuesday, we will present a song linked to a special memory, and invite you to also share where you were when you heard this song play.…
Last week’s Flashback Track Friday #26 was a sizzling summer Dirty Dancing hit and the question: What are you afraid of missing out on this summer? I was afraid to not take a chance and dive in last week, but I realize that the waters are not always warm or calm. Still, I’m always happier […]
MoreEach month, [100 Word Story] posts a photograph as a writing prompt. July’s photo inspired the following flash fiction. Grief is an invasive species, thought Margarite, blowing her nose onto a hand-embroidered handkerchief. They just don’t make things with care anymore. Years of trying to understand her namesake’s death led her to an abandoned graveyard […]
MoreEvery Friday on Twitter there’s a Poetry Battle going down. Last Friday, the topic was “Abyss,” and I was stunned my tweet was chosen as the winner. I’ve linked my winning entry below. This week, the topic is “love.” You can join in on twitter by searching the hashtag #PBF, and adding your response below […]
MoreBlack bags triple tieda mountainside of mistakesstretch-marked sidespuddles of toxic probitypoked free from last night’s leaksrot smell lingers for weekssomeone’s cruel ideaof discreet.
MoreThis poem was inspired from this week’s FBTF #24 Breakaway. The challenge to craft some piece of art involving the names of popular candy. Join us. You arms, my Lucky Charms,Everlasting Gobstopper eyes,colorful layered surprises,Twinkie of a winkie,sweet all-day Snickersthat tingle my knickers.
MoreShe’d been drivingin and out of rainher whole life.The downfalls,the trickles,the heavy flowof water and traffic,the cycle of her yearslike the shifting of gears.
MoreUp the steep stairspainted white by former slaves,you twist the handleas if breaking off grapes.You ask, “What day is it?”but their faces are graves,whiteness a tombstoneamidst forgotten prayers. Because something is buried here,but you don’t know what it is.Do you, Mr. Smith? You look for a chairto rest your wounded knee,the overgrown trailfull of feathers […]
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