laurabean

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TypeTitleAuthorRepliesLast updated
StoryConfession laurabean011 years 8 months ago
StoryBut we take it all so well... laurabean011 years 8 months ago
StoryAutumnal Haiku II laurabean011 years 8 months ago
StoryAutumnal Haiku laurabean011 years 8 months ago
CollectionHaiku laurabean011 years 8 months ago
CollectionAdult Poetry laurabean011 years 8 months ago
CollectionHumerous Poetry laurabean011 years 8 months ago
CollectionChildren's poetry laurabean011 years 8 months ago
StoryWhen one accidentally catches sight of one's reflection in the window of the train home... laurabean011 years 10 months ago
StoryPoetry Plead laurabean011 years 10 months ago
StoryThe Season Exhales laurabean011 years 10 months ago
StoryThe View From My Garden laurabean011 years 10 months ago
StoryThe Barley Fields laurabean011 years 10 months ago
StoryThe Wooden Bench laurabean011 years 10 months ago
StorySaturday Morning laurabean011 years 10 months ago
StoryOde To eBay laurabean011 years 10 months ago
StoryMy Dog laurabean011 years 10 months ago
StoryThe Breakfast Song laurabean011 years 10 months ago
StoryI Weep as I Try to Deserve You laurabean011 years 10 months ago
StoryHaiku III laurabean011 years 10 months ago
StoryJonathon James laurabean011 years 10 months ago
StoryDinosaurs laurabean011 years 10 months ago
Forum topicSum it up in a sentence markbrown2019 years 8 months ago

My stories

Poetry Plead

Remember rhyming schemes can seem overly keen And religion is rather contentious. A limerick's too light and a little bit trite And free verse is somehow pretentious. Haiku is not only for trees

Confession

The magnetic pull of absolution leaves me scrabbling for a faith that isn't here. An ache that cannot be eased by the bliss of the box. Dark, cool wood scent cannot wash away the stain which mars me.

I Weep as I Try to Deserve You

Each small oblivious act of grace bestowed upon me Is both a joy and a pin prick. As conscience needles; the day blackens, And your kindness gilds a hopelessly tarnished soul.

But we take it all so well...

You call it 'not Art' without malice; just effect

The Season Exhales

The World creeks like an old clock as it cools and slows down, Rested light lingers and thinks of nothing.

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