Prose Published by Members Recently Online
#prose
fianaturie8
Fia Naturie
Fia Naturie
Poem Published
15th Dec 2024 11:21pm
15th Dec 2024 11:21pm
The Reawakening of Shar
The beginning of my beginning
You know I should be crying and in hysterics like the women I am tied to at the moment. I should be feeling something for my impending death, but I feel tired. Tired of pretending to be something that I am not. I'm tired of hiding what I can do from these narrow-minded people who think that their God would condone what they are doing. Yeah, enough is enough of living with these self-righteous assholes.
“Excuse me, everyone. I would like to say something before you commence and burn me at the stake.”
The crowd became hushed....
You know I should be crying and in hysterics like the women I am tied to at the moment. I should be feeling something for my impending death, but I feel tired. Tired of pretending to be something that I am not. I'm tired of hiding what I can do from these narrow-minded people who think that their God would condone what they are doing. Yeah, enough is enough of living with these self-righteous assholes.
“Excuse me, everyone. I would like to say something before you commence and burn me at the stake.”
The crowd became hushed....
#prose
75 reads
20 Comments
Casted_Runes
Mr Karswell
Mr Karswell
Poem Published
22nd Apr 2024 10:56pm
22nd Apr 2024 10:56pm
The Sheridan Women
The women of the Sheridan family always disappeared at some point in their lives, normally before fifty but at least once at seventy-two. (She was a powerful old woman called Ma Sheridan, who ruled her henhouse with an iron claw.) Eleanor became dimly aware of this truth when she was seven years old, and overheard her mother explaining family photographs to her grandfather, already short of memory at sixty-eight. His name was Granddad Chips and it would take another twelve years for the old boy to require hospitalisation, by which time Eleanor would have made her disappearance, the youngest...
#magic
#pagan
#prose #witches
#prose #witches
127 reads
2 Comments
Casted_Runes
Mr Karswell
Mr Karswell
Poem Published
22nd Apr 2024 10:56pm
22nd Apr 2024 10:56pm
The Sheridan Women
The women of the Sheridan family always disappeared at some point in their lives, normally before fifty but at least once at seventy-two. (She was a powerful old woman called Ma Sheridan, who ruled her henhouse with an iron claw.) Eleanor became dimly aware of this truth when she was seven years old, and overheard her mother explaining family photographs to her grandfather, already short of memory at sixty-eight. His name was Granddad Chips and it would take another twelve years for the old boy to require hospitalisation, by which time Eleanor would have made her disappearance, the youngest...
#magic
#pagan
#prose #witches
#prose #witches
127 reads
2 Comments
Casted_Runes
Mr Karswell
Mr Karswell
Poem Published
22nd Apr 2024 10:56pm
22nd Apr 2024 10:56pm
The Sheridan Women
The women of the Sheridan family always disappeared at some point in their lives, normally before fifty but at least once at seventy-two. (She was a powerful old woman called Ma Sheridan, who ruled her henhouse with an iron claw.) Eleanor became dimly aware of this truth when she was seven years old, and overheard her mother explaining family photographs to her grandfather, already short of memory at sixty-eight. His name was Granddad Chips and it would take another twelve years for the old boy to require hospitalisation, by which time Eleanor would have made her disappearance, the youngest...
#magic
#pagan
#prose #witches
#prose #witches
127 reads
2 Comments
Casted_Runes
Mr Karswell
Mr Karswell
Poem Published
22nd Apr 2024 10:56pm
22nd Apr 2024 10:56pm
The Sheridan Women
The women of the Sheridan family always disappeared at some point in their lives, normally before fifty but at least once at seventy-two. (She was a powerful old woman called Ma Sheridan, who ruled her henhouse with an iron claw.) Eleanor became dimly aware of this truth when she was seven years old, and overheard her mother explaining family photographs to her grandfather, already short of memory at sixty-eight. His name was Granddad Chips and it would take another twelve years for the old boy to require hospitalisation, by which time Eleanor would have made her disappearance, the youngest...
#magic
#pagan
#prose #witches
#prose #witches
127 reads
2 Comments
DamianDeadLove
Poem Published
Yesterday 9:31am
Yesterday 9:31am
Peace Of Mind
I’m Damian, I’m a Starving Artist. Which I think is a good thing, folks. First I should clarify that I’m not literally starving. I simply mean my creativity doesn’t pay the bills. I sometimes believe I wouldn’t have it any other way. Other times, well of course I wondered what that might be like.
But fame seems hollow to me. It’s when bad shit can happen at any given moment. I got a friend of mine who asked if given the opportunity to monetize, Backstage, would I do it?
First off, he’s putting the cart before the horse. Secondly, I think having ads and...
But fame seems hollow to me. It’s when bad shit can happen at any given moment. I got a friend of mine who asked if given the opportunity to monetize, Backstage, would I do it?
First off, he’s putting the cart before the horse. Secondly, I think having ads and...
#prose
46 reads
7 Comments
adagio
Poem Published
22nd Dec 2021 5:25pm
22nd Dec 2021 5:25pm
Whimsy
It was a wistful longing for the night winds that had me pawing dark sensuality. As my breath condensate in a brume of sooted smoke from the nearby chimneys. And I grinning a grin of a harlequin. As I lit the gaslights, a choir in the distance harken a carol. "O come all ye faithful..."
Beneath my button britches, my manhood twitched, with Old Nick's itch. And with a glint in my monocle, I sauntered to her portal. In hopes to grovel in her skirts.
Forgoing my roguish behavior in spite of myself. While under the thumb of my gin and sweet bouquet of gorse from the meadows....
Beneath my button britches, my manhood twitched, with Old Nick's itch. And with a glint in my monocle, I sauntered to her portal. In hopes to grovel in her skirts.
Forgoing my roguish behavior in spite of myself. While under the thumb of my gin and sweet bouquet of gorse from the meadows....
#ShortStory
#prose
687 reads
0 Comments
adagio
Poem Published
22nd Dec 2021 5:25pm
22nd Dec 2021 5:25pm
Whimsy
It was a wistful longing for the night winds that had me pawing dark sensuality. As my breath condensate in a brume of sooted smoke from the nearby chimneys. And I grinning a grin of a harlequin. As I lit the gaslights, a choir in the distance harken a carol. "O come all ye faithful..."
Beneath my button britches, my manhood twitched, with Old Nick's itch. And with a glint in my monocle, I sauntered to her portal. In hopes to grovel in her skirts.
Forgoing my roguish behavior in spite of myself. While under the thumb of my gin and sweet bouquet of gorse from the meadows....
Beneath my button britches, my manhood twitched, with Old Nick's itch. And with a glint in my monocle, I sauntered to her portal. In hopes to grovel in her skirts.
Forgoing my roguish behavior in spite of myself. While under the thumb of my gin and sweet bouquet of gorse from the meadows....
#ShortStory
#prose
687 reads
0 Comments
missjem56
Poem Published
7th Aug 2022 10:39pm
7th Aug 2022 10:39pm
Dead Beat
My heart beats
Like the pitter patter
Of bongo's
Smooth, and rhythmical
Jungle drums
No war beats
Synchronised
Symbolic
Communicative
Hollow echoes
On tightened skin
That once lived
And had a beat
All of its own
by Jemia
Like the pitter patter
Of bongo's
Smooth, and rhythmical
Jungle drums
No war beats
Synchronised
Symbolic
Communicative
Hollow echoes
On tightened skin
That once lived
And had a beat
All of its own
by Jemia
#prose
#LifeCycle
236 reads
2 Comments
missjem56
Poem Published
7th Aug 2022 10:39pm
7th Aug 2022 10:39pm
Dead Beat
My heart beats
Like the pitter patter
Of bongo's
Smooth, and rhythmical
Jungle drums
No war beats
Synchronised
Symbolic
Communicative
Hollow echoes
On tightened skin
That once lived
And had a beat
All of its own
by Jemia
Like the pitter patter
Of bongo's
Smooth, and rhythmical
Jungle drums
No war beats
Synchronised
Symbolic
Communicative
Hollow echoes
On tightened skin
That once lived
And had a beat
All of its own
by Jemia
#prose
#LifeCycle
236 reads
2 Comments
toniscales
Lost Girl
Lost Girl
Poem Published
14th May 2024 4:10am
14th May 2024 4:10am
Ivy
Yearning is inherited. We buy Hershey bars and street maps, sticky fingers tracing the roads between us. Collect bottle tops and unicorn stickers. How the scientists say we never really touch. Something about electrons and porcelain shoes. Mother always tossing her hair and looking away. Troubling us with her sad stories of Mercurochrome and cocktail rings. We take super eights down to the lake. You film me in my bra, the look in my eyes daring you to harm me. Our lovely drownings as we try to swallow the stars. The livid-red coals of our cigarettes like fireflies in the night.
#prose
146 reads
1 Comment
Mars_August
Mars August
Mars August
Poem Published
8th Dec 2024 00:22am
8th Dec 2024 00:22am
Why Do Recovering Alcoholics Love Diet Coke?
Mariah brings me carrots, and pasta, and money for thirty diet cokes, if I want.
She hugs me in her orange puffer coat, because she knows I have been scream crying
and bargaining with the universe, again. She’s been doing the same.
She grips me tightly and I cling to her, and we cast a spell that makes the five pm winter darkness
feel less like a life sentence.
Boys said they loved us and left. And that is the familiar knife we keep turning inside ourselves.
We give every twist a new name, but the hole looks the same.
I tell her that I hope they can...
She hugs me in her orange puffer coat, because she knows I have been scream crying
and bargaining with the universe, again. She’s been doing the same.
She grips me tightly and I cling to her, and we cast a spell that makes the five pm winter darkness
feel less like a life sentence.
Boys said they loved us and left. And that is the familiar knife we keep turning inside ourselves.
We give every twist a new name, but the hole looks the same.
I tell her that I hope they can...
#BestFriend
#friendship
#healing
#heartbroken
#prose
68 reads
2 Comments
DU Poetry : Prose Published by Members Recently Online
