john_silver

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TypeTitleAuthorRepliesLast updated
StoryThe Disciple john_silver214 years 9 months ago
StoryJesus mentality alonso071114 years 10 months ago
StoryInsomnia Luly Whisper214 years 10 months ago
StoryLightning Hairy Dan214 years 10 months ago
StoryTuesday Sonnet: Theatre john_silver415 years 7 months ago
StoryTuesday Sonnet: The Wisdom of the Old john_silver415 years 12 months ago
StoryWhose Ark? jennifer716 years 1 week ago
StoryFriday Sonnet: Silver john_silver416 years 1 week ago
StoryWel I know now... sonic_tonic116 years 1 week ago
StoryTuesday Sonnet: Merits john_silver316 years 1 week ago
StoryThirty Odd Years Myndstorm616 years 3 months ago
StoryFitzrovia in These Times poetjude416 years 3 months ago
StoryMonday Sonnet: Coda john_silver316 years 3 months ago
StoryPinhole Photographer (for Justin) jennifer516 years 4 months ago
StorySnails on the Floor of Heaven jennifer216 years 4 months ago
StoryFriday Sonnet: Enumeration john_silver316 years 4 months ago
StorySplit. indigogold616 years 4 months ago
StoryMonday Sonnet: Sanctis john_silver316 years 4 months ago
StoryBefore I say I Love You MistakenMagic816 years 4 months ago
StoryHow to Fall hadley116 years 4 months ago
StoryThe Red Rose of Palookaville (re-edited) ralph416 years 4 months ago
StoryThe Red Rose of Palookaville ralph216 years 4 months ago

My stories

Rome

Dull centurion, genitor, I’m tired of your dire gates, The journeys East, the plums and dates, I can not fight your sunset war. And you, Cleopatra from New York,

Drunk

My head is spinning. Where are you, And where’s your sweetness now? When will I taste your fallen glow, Or kneel to kiss your hands of dew Which bear the morning light? No: never …

Looking at your old photo

Your face is there, your smile, your ways, Those lovely eyes that you have got, But not the passion, no, and not The searing tenderness which days And days saw burnt like matchsticks in

Aphrodite

First in a new collection called Exodus. Signals a break from my previous sonnets.
Cherry

Sunday Sonnet: Matrimony

Before mature emotions come to plant In me their sense or blindness, I will speak This thought (no doubt condemned within a week). I write this to my wife. Although I can’t

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