blighters rock

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TypeTitleAuthorRepliesLast updated
Forum topicPunctuation blighters rock1411 years 9 months ago
Forum topicThe Land of Decoration VeraClark611 years 9 months ago
StoryApril blighters rock411 years 9 months ago
StoryThe Art of Good Listening Pixie911 years 9 months ago
StoryOh Love Street In The Rain oldpesky2411 years 9 months ago
Forum topicMargaret: The Death of a Revolutionary blighters rock911 years 9 months ago
Forum topicThatcher: Dead scratch13911 years 9 months ago
Storyburnt, flimsy a.lesser.thing611 years 9 months ago
StoryShe is One Hundred and Five luigi_pagano1211 years 10 months ago
StoryThis Exploding Girl maggyvaneijk1511 years 10 months ago
StoryProbably start a poetry night mcmanaman411 years 10 months ago
Storythe vitality of a vessel a.lesser.thing1111 years 10 months ago
StoryJust waiting for the president blighters rock1111 years 10 months ago
StoryShe's Mine - Part 2 of 2 Suzanne Hamblin711 years 10 months ago
Forum topicHow's this for a Rip-Off? karl_wiggins1011 years 10 months ago
StoryDistant to guilt Highhat1711 years 10 months ago
StoryI have this dream... IsntLifeBrilliant611 years 10 months ago
StoryThe Brightest People Pixie411 years 10 months ago
Forum topicI have some news! alibob1711 years 10 months ago
StoryMarch blighters rock1811 years 10 months ago
StoryThe Myth of Narcissus Silver Spun Sand1211 years 10 months ago
Forum topicCalling FTSE ItsSteveDave211 years 11 months ago
StoryPoem Unread Silver Spun Sand1011 years 11 months ago
StoryMy Mother Pixie811 years 11 months ago
StoryLost In Hollywood ton.car511 years 11 months ago

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My stories

Cherry

To those who understand

When a whistle sounds like a wailing baby and rain in the car is a crash of white noise, it’s time to wonder if I’m all there and remember that I’m not.

April

Effortlessly spreading butter from the dish without mulling over which knife to use the joy that there’ll be no doleful waiting time for the stuff to melt sufficiently on the toast

Just waiting for the president

I hardly recognised the place bowls of boiled sweets fresh flowers and open doors a novel fifties corner dreamt up by a colourful volunteer to celebrate ye olde tea shoppe
Cherry

March

As soon as I arrive at her chair I kneel down and kiss her forehead and then her hand. As I look up at her I play with the idea that she will awaken from her illness
Cherry

January

Again I sit here, as I have every morning for months, waiting to hear singing birds in my mind, but the bee just won’t budge.

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