LR Young > Writing | WritersCafe.org | The Online Writing Community

fooling around with long forms and prosey-ness. Trying to find my voice again.

I have no fiction to spell no hacksaw that severs nails from the crown of thrones, the education of rosebushes or thorns, piercing palms when see..

I write to the still voice, the one I can unravel, knitting yarn, rings in trees or onions -- the cyclical beat-beat, the wind in my hair, a..

There are trees at the edge of the perceived desert, savannahs (another word for mirage or heaven), a never faltered fallen place, fractured, an..

So here it is, from the beginningbarely evening & the drawing dark pulls shades across still & snowy hill-lands; the mountains are blue si..

Icarus never saw the edge of the world, a deep peaking crevasse, echoing into chambers, the holy vessel of the physical heart, asking the question..

I feel the spiral of time, the vortex where hands meet fists meets feet the whole of the body & the whole of the night, coalescing like ebbing ..

TS Eliot wrote how april was the cruelest month, a sanction of rain on dry earth, a thirsting growth. I am only a small collection of other lett..

There was a moment yesterday after sitting in the Indian Restaurant (where the owner's are Nepalese), after drinking my two cups of milky-sweet..

maybe I could have marked the extra hour, wound down the year carved another coil into the rock, the last glance, the last boom of old intentions..