Tag: writing
member name: Lynn Doiron
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September 04, 2007 01:25 PM EDT --
I called you Willow Woman after our creek trek.
Bound bundle of leafed stems tied at your belt,
Strong walking stick in hand, sprig of willow
Stuck through your straw hatband-
You posed for . . .
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September 01, 2007 03:05 PM EDT --
After the funeral friends and strangers parted
from me like the river splits to bypass
a stand of sand and willows.
It has been so long since we fished,
except by way of dreams about Cabo . . .
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September 02, 2007 03:06 PM EDT --
A Later Draft
An hour of heat and slight hot wind
A wind warm with bickering in trees
Trees, summer skirted with leaves
Leaves with skirted summer; trees
Trees into bickering with warm wind
Wind hot, . . .
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September 03, 2007 12:41 PM EDT --
Still night, the stars begin to turn, waver
as if in friendly departure from dawn's approach.
Our vision outdistances Time - I see signs
of radiance perhaps gone. And yet, we scatter . . .
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August 31, 2007 10:13 AM EDT --
Ironed open and flat, their edges left raw
to fray, they become as spouses, who,
having said I do’s and linked arms, the thread
of one life, half a stitch, the thread of the other
. . .
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July 25, 2009 02:24 PM EDT --
In the process of writing a novel inspired by the life of a woman who died in 1936, what began as one story meant to fill out the true life of a true person who lived recklessly, a dare-devil by all accounts, . . .
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August 31, 2007 03:33 PM EDT --
On Monday the air at my open window came in uninvited
and at such a pace: not a run, not a skip, but with the sweep
of a ballroom diva gliding a fast fox-trot. I had no choice
but to name . . .
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September 01, 2007 11:34 PM EDT --
I am drowning in years and buttons—grappling with the broken
white threads of dresses, the loosed hems of horizons
. . .
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January 07, 2008 03:55 PM EST --
The Diggers sway, lean out needled fingers
in easy forty-fives, wrench back, gray turnings
of sap greens: rain's way of backspacing
tints and tones, pixel by pixel, erased. . . .
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February 19, 2008 01:13 AM EST --
Mona Lisa Brown propagates
two-tone spider plants, talking
them through rebirth, through
re-becoming again a whole of
what they were cut from -
for they will grow whole
. . .
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August 05, 2009 12:02 PM EDT --
1. I found nubby letter R’s meant for jackets, meant to brag, meant to say to everyone, I got this one for swimming, this one for track.
I found the Iwo Jima buckle, brass and never worn.
I . . .
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August 05, 2009 02:49 PM EDT --
The True Life Adventures of Irene in White Tights does not deserve the underline distinction, that long solid line denoting a manuscript has metamorphosed from 8 ½" x 11" letter-scored pages . . .
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August 30, 2007 12:52 PM EDT --
She lives in a room dedicated to thimbles and books,
keen upon cases of floss ordered from eBay
and the sheen of marginal glosses on scripts.
She’s papered her walls
with paragraphs, . . .
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January 16, 2008 01:58 PM EST --
If this new Group (Folktales, Tales, and Flash Epics) interests you, and if a Challenge (of sorts) might spur you to post a fresh Tale or Fable for all to enjoy . . . Then consider Don't . . .
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January 13, 2008 04:45 PM EST --
[readers, original post follows this revision. Original had word count of 531 and 500 was my target length. Currently approx. 488 words. Am hopeful it still "says" . . .
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July 29, 2009 04:40 PM EDT --
In my daydream we are riding a train and the tracks are not smooth; the train is not new but from the turn of the last century, perhaps 1920 or 30. Velvet curtains with fringe hang at the windows, . . .
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January 14, 2008 06:26 PM EST --
Benjamin Rosenbaum wrote "The Orange" and the editors of Flash Fiction Forward put it on page 135 when W. W. Norton Company were clever enough to publish the 80 stories Jim and Bob (Thomas . . .
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August 30, 2007 01:09 PM EDT --
If only I hadn't been looking for sea glass that Thursday on that beach, I wouldn't have spotted what looked like a discolored tongue. The beach was Pete's Beach and for a Thursday . . .
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January 06, 2008 08:27 PM EST --
Sad pear cools his palm;
Wasps sated by nectar wells
Cruise pear cider drifts.
Buzz of drunken stingers' wings--
Eyes following in wound eights. . . .
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January 28, 2008 01:22 PM EST --
After the services, dead but not dead, I sat in our only armchair with my hands holding either arm. The upholstery was green tweed. Or big blue flowers on beige. Or brick-red . . .
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