Submissions still closed. Pieces added to the gallery only at my request, based on nothing more than the whim of the founder.
Oh, the pent-up frustration. I'm feeling better already.
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7.34mmA simple measurement7.34mm by pseudometry
can make a man
lose himself; a blurring, no more
than a grainy smudge
a scant 7.34mm long
this rice-grain, seven weeks old
with one hundred and twenty nine
heartbeats per minute
all this, from a mere sesame-seed of a heart
Water For TeaHe was glossy with sweat,Water For Tea by riparii
he was streaked brown.
He was unexpected.
Something simmered on the stove-
I turned it down for he was there,
in the half-light by the door;
I think it was water for tea.
The air went thick and fathom blue.
There were fingers in dark curls,
there was wet and bubbling warm,
there was bread with butter for tea.
He grew like mystery, like turgid weather.
I drank him like hope, he left pearls on my lips.
There were fingers in dark curls,
there was water for tea.
In the heartIn the heart by RichardLeach
In the heart, doubts
In the doubts, a small room
In the small room, a table
On the table, a map being soaked by rain
On the table
In the small room
In the doubts
In the heart
Question and Answers"Where did the time go?" you asked me.Question and Answers by RichardLeach
Oh so very many places.
Some to the vinyl of an LP record
you may never play again but would
not part with, and if you played it now,
side one then two, and let the needle run
in from the last groove of music toward the label,
to rest there as the record spun,
you would hear time tick.
Some learned to play the guitar and is in a subway
station in Boston playing and singing with an open
guitar case at its feet; most people pass by,
but some listen briefly and toss money
and a few stop to listen for a while -
it is then time plays its own songs
and you can hear time sing.
Some has never left your side, it goes with you
where you go and when you go to bed at night
it lies down on the floor beside the bed
to rest its great head on its immense paws
and watch over you without sleeping -
if you woke in the night and listened
you would hear time breathe.
Some made its way to the last page
of the last book in your bookshelves,
and it will always be on the
Phantom Limbs.I believe in trash. In plastic, in orange peels.Phantom Limbs. by claytonwoolery
The bit of waxy wrapper stuck to the chocolate.
The gristly fat, the wasted bits.
I worship garbage bags bulging, their black skin pushed out
By metal hangars and tree limbs.
I am controlled by the shadows. The shifting
Leaves leave them on my face and my lamp can't
Quite get them out of corners. They hide under everything.
I am older in the dark.
I pray to ghosts.
I've grown a phantom limb.
Inside, the hurt of nothing being where it once
The regret of it. Crushed hearts and soda cans on
The side of a oneway street, eternally forked.
The broken promises and beer bottles cutting into
The soles of feet, leaving gashes to ooze out
Dark, dark bloods. I never want to see again a
Pristine lover or car, they wreck and cause sore
I killed my emotions, flying in white sheets
with chains clanking. The prison of prisoners.
Predicting and stopping the wind.
Putting a falle
the villageI am raising a 2 year old, I am raising a childthe village by sunshinegypsy
on medications and checking for all the exits,
I am raising us up on what I know which is we are all
in immediate danger or
being damaged, I am raising a girl on
fear and the taste of metal on the back of your tongue,
it takes a village and I play all the parts, today I am
your keeper, your arrow-fletcher, your philosopher,
today I am your
|15-Minutes-of-Fame: A llama-free, drama-free zone for "fame worthy" literature written by grown-ups of any age.|
We aim to feature high-quality literature that you might not stumble onto otherwise. Join us; watch us!
We’re tough graders. You know the drill.
(1) Members are allowed one submission a month in Poetry and Prose each.
(2) The usual rules of grammar, spelling, punctuation, et al. apply. Please proofread your work. More than once.
(3) With prose, shorter is typically better, although six-word stories won't be accepted. Pieces must stand alone; chaptered stories will not be accepted.
(4) Pieces in the Featured folder will be selected by the founder.
(5) Pieces in a large number of groups -- say, 20, or even more -- may be declined, though some discretion will be shown. We're looking for work that might not otherwise be seen.
(6) Rhymed works are tough to get accepted but will certainly be considered. Fanfiction is a no go.
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