Showing and Telling

There is a difference between telling a story and showing a story. Telling: The wife left the house in anger. Showing: She glared at him, before snatching the ring off and throwing it at his feet. The windows shook as she slammed the door behind her. Neither is better than the other although most creative... Continue Reading →

Muse

I can hear Her humming through my windows circling me I settle in on a bed of coal, caffeinated under a shade of haze, contemplative reflecting on my days, bewildered by how I've survived to come to know Her as each breath slowed, eternal after all every hair on end as She wafts in, above... Continue Reading →

Have you ever gotten some harsh feedback? It's like the other person is putting a hex on you. Like they're grabbing you by the scruff and rubbing your nose in your messy work. But don't keep your tail between your legs for too long. Allow yourself room for growth. If your muse is telling you... Continue Reading →

Restless – Cecilia Borromeo

It is that perennial immateriality dwelling between living and dying crouched in the corners and grappling by the hinges only to remain unseen; We weave our web of what we believe we understand of the relationship of our acts and events only to remain misunderstood; From that odd wisp of steam of heated discussions to... Continue Reading →

Elemental

the springs seem to last forever as you sleep bare in clustered sand to stand the sweep of a foamy wave just on the fence of frost to have lost track of time at such a cost, to wake up in a month of August with peeling skin eyes baring a polarity to behold, just... Continue Reading →

No Fear

you wouldn't be the worst to get lost in... in any case I'll incarnate stronger than before - B. Brown (image courtesy of Pinterest)

The Violet Nights

She pulls herself back onto the love seat, untangling herself from the throw and weighted limbs. Bare to the mahogany nylon threads, she scoops her knee into the bend of her elbow, trailer scenes looping against the light above the kitchen sink, above the body she left simmering next to the coffee table, unmoved upon... Continue Reading →

Whistler – Katharine Coles

I might have married a painter, Therefore his mother. A radar Detector, a snow-covered Mountain, a novel By John Grisham not even Out yet. No, I wed The cop directing my rush, Toot toot, a trainer to test Agility, a kettle calling Time to steep. Yes, But I married this bird you must Close your... Continue Reading →

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