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Hands
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A closer earA Poem by Rudi J.P. LejaegherePrayer is an act of love; words are not needed. Even if sickness distracts from thoughts, all that is needed is the will to love. Saint Teresa of Avi.. |
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her hands (Senryu)A Poem by ANTOso much can be seen in a person's hands |
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Microstory 124: Sandro WattsA Story by Nick FishermanThis is an experimental Bellevue Profile microstory. The introduction can be found in Microstory 101. More to follow. |
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TOUCHED IN 1962A Poem by Terry CollettA BOY AND GIRL AFTER SCHOOL IN 1962 |
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SEEKING IN 1962A Poem by Terry CollettA BOY AND GIRL MEET ON A SCHOOL BUS IN 1962 |
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Wrinkled HandsA Poem by Gaia OctaviaThe peaks and valleys of these, my wrinkled hands, traversed in a silence which no one understands Each nook and cranny shows hard.. |
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CHAPTER 1A Chapter by Blanche C. KingI remember my last day at St. Margaret’s. It had been snowing, as it did every winter in Ashford, Pennsylvania. The roads disappeared under blan.. |
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On the wavesA Poem by Rudi J.P. LejaeghereLike as the waves make towards the pebbl'd shore, so do our minutes, hasten to their end. William Shakespeare |
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"His"A Poem by Rache David"Of what he reminds me" |
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SOFT HANDA Poem by Wannabewriter16LOVE |
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BreatheA Poem by Johannatwo in one day.. but it just happened. Hope you like this one. I don´t even know what it is about.. maybe just life |
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EachA Poem by mackenzi_drewlost in thoughts about life |
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Cartographic SymphonyA Poem by transentienceSee authors note |
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ElevenA Chapter by Nick FishermanI’ve always wanted to play and win the lottery, but I never have. I was convinced that the chances of winning were so infinitesimally small that.. |
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To A Boy Was GivenA Poem by BradleyYou wouldn't throw 26 letters at a child and let them decide the order and the sound of each. Neither should a child be expected to figure out their b.. |
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Thoughts Observed as Objects in TransitA Story by sayohBelovedShort Story Collection |
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Love Letter to an OctopusA Poem by Emily MurmanLove Letter to an Octopus I’m here in the hot, carpeted dark, chubby palms greasing glass. The fibers that create your pulp .. |
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HandsA Poem by AliasI love your handsfor all they doand all they're yet to holdfor all they've learnedto write, to feelTheir adventures are untoldI love each callousfor a.. |
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