Latest Submissions

The seven stages of love

It starts so easy and so pleasant – you start in paradise and just enjoy it. Then the long way down begins. The second stage is still an easy crisis, when communication fails and is replaced with gradual mistrust. Then comes the third stage and the real crisis, when deceit has formed and one is made a victim while the other enters on the path of dubiousness. The fourth stage is the melancholy limbo, when ...
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/ / Poetry / 1 Comment on The seven stages of love / 194 words / /

Spiritual amputation

It's nothing you will ever do yourself. No operation can be more involuntary. Others certainly will do it with no mercy ruthlessly and without anesthetic, and no physical infliction can do greater harm and hurt you deeper with more lasting scars for life. It may be just an accident bereaving you of your beloved, some political disorder cutting off your roots, exiling you for life, the importuning of authorities and some bureaucracy that turns you ...
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/ / Poetry / 4 Comments on Spiritual amputation / 105 words / /

Masked identity

Let me keep you hanging in the air in blind incertitude of what I am and where for the suspension of our love to keep it up in view of all but beyond reach just for the fun of it, in order that you must not lose it out of sight. For love, like any baby, needs untiring attendance and demands more energy than anything in life; for it is life itself in its most ...
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/ / Poetry / No Comments on Masked identity / 89 words / /

Tailor writerr

I write poems, I can do nothing else. I cut, add and thread those lying linen lines so it looks all smart, sometimes divine. Flat on the ground, or anywhere around, I try to measure the meters, It irks me when I err; For then, I’d need to do it again; At times, I feel helpless, For ideas and style I look at the meadows and the sky. Like a tailor, I stitch clothes of ...
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/ / Poetry / 3 Comments on Tailor writerr / 212 words / /

The Judgement of Paris

An old myth updated ...
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/ / Mythology, Poetry / 4 Comments on The Judgement of Paris / 205 words / /

The Killing Time [working title]

Intro: This is the beginning of my 1st DS Greaves novel in rough first draft. I've not yet edited it but hope it's readable enough to invite your comments and critiques. Thanks ...
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The sweet pain of nostalgia

What matters all the pain of our memories, since we have them together, suffering together all those losses of friends lost and gone and ever brought to mind to never be forgotten? It's the sweetness of our memories that counts in ever warmer and more beautiful nostalgia and not the pains and pangs of heartaches, since all hurts are only there to vanish and to ever be forgotten as superfluous to life. The colours of ...
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/ / Poetry / 1 Comment on The sweet pain of nostalgia / 126 words / /

Fortune’s Fool

Another one that had its origins in a prompt from my face-to-face creative writing group. The prompt was 'Luck' ...
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/ / Fiction / 5 Comments on Fortune’s Fool / 986 words / /

At Dawn Came Love Part I

The street appeared at dawn, spread with a soft alluring morning hour’s gleam upon well worn brick, no longer pristine, historically the place for wheels and hooves. The alley’s fate was to see olden lovers alight from carriages, bankers and investors striding forward gently in high hats, chimney sweeps and lamp lighters in worker’s caps and boots as use-worn as the street bricks and sewers. A horse's breath challenges the rising mist ...
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/ / historical, Poetry / 5 Comments on At Dawn Came Love Part I / 67 words / / UKA PICK!

Getting Cross At Easter!

Why Easter isn't Christmas, and vice versa ...
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Mam’s Best Brooch

I found Mam's dragonfly brooch today and it brought back to mind this poem - and lots of memories ...
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/ / Poetry / No Comments on Mam’s Best Brooch / 48 words / /

She lives in my house

She lives in my house, As if it wasn’t my house, And it became her dearest house; She occupies my favorite side of bed, And reads the book I haven’t yet read, However, I like what I lose, And the odor of what I feel, When into my mirror she stares, And wears the towel I use, Or walks in the room without a skirt, wearing my only white silk shirt, And tells me about ...
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/ / Poetry / 1 Comment on She lives in my house / 117 words / /


It’s actually a superstition and a prejudice above all: you ban what you don’t understand and shut out what you can’t confront by labelling it anathema and make communication and all dialogue impossible. It happened to all bold initiatives of progress and development in history, like christianity in the beginning, the free thinkers and first scientists and in our own age protest movements such as neo-nazism, satanism and even flower power of the hippies fifty ...
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/ / Poetry / No Comments on Demonization / 152 words / /

In The Dead of Winter

Leaves silently decompose beneath the cold mulches of ice patches and snow patches preparing soils of spring; manufacturing more dark earth in the dead of winter. . Dormancy reigns and sleep covers the slumbering corners in frozen withering rest only sustained sunshine can expand following the frigid quiet  of undisturbed crystalline patterns made in the dead of winter. . As awesome array of infinitesimal lives preserve themselves inside autumn's eggs dreaming of motion and wet warmth, chilled winds ...
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/ / Nature., Poetry / 89 words / /

Wholesome irresistibility

  Sensualism is the most unavoidable inevitable part of life, as you can’t live unless you love, your output being your account book, which should but consist of credits. I am not ashamed of how I always went too far in love, experimenting wildly, never tiring of committing myself utterly to whomever I found worthy of my love; and I confess that I made terrible mistakes, but they proved the best lessons of my life ...
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/ / Poetry / No Comments on Wholesome irresistibility / 148 words / /

At Dawn Came Love (Part VII)

She accepts the hand of her escort and enters the great staircase that ascends to their box at the opera. Glittering like a single diamond, or strings of pearls at hidden throat, she dangles at the ears insured to the hilt. The poor are not allowed to see her except by an importunity that lasts the impoverished sight thief until death. Transport her ladyship to this hour, this year of a warmed globe and melting ...
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/ / historical, Poetry / 135 words / /

Centrifugal Force

musings while waiting for Brexit! ...
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/ / Poetry / 2 Comments on Centrifugal Force / 68 words / /