http://slow.writerscafe.org/HouseofRelics The original writings of author Relic en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1775925763 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 Just felt like posting something. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/3126175/ A clear and present danger. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/3126139/ What it was like for me. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/3125714/ There may be poemsunpublished,hidden in a spiral notebook,lines that will never finishtheir quiet confession.The pen that wrote themheld an empathytoo heavy for the world.Her imagination, vast and untamed,burst into a ballad of bullets,its echo reachingfar beyond our hearing... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/3123459/ A poem need not beornateor obscure.It doesn’t have to stretch longin tangled linesborrowed from dictionaries.And if you breathe oneinto being, let it speakplain and true.Let it linger with the readerlike an old friendfamiliar, returning.A poem only asksto be knownand felt.Just as we do. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/3122295/ I I don't want to ageand bleed into anunrecognizable memory,hair thinning, bloodslow as dark syrup.Names scatter,vanishing into a void,whirling in someunnamed galaxy.A voice once commandingfalls to a whisper,legs tremble,body heavy with weakness.Renew my contractwith fairness, I pleadI have gro.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/3122208/ Under the slumped shouldersof the café awning,I watched small rain ringsbloom and break in puddles,while my hair driftedin September’s tired wind.Nat King Cole sang softly“A Blossom Fell”through the hanging speakerswhen she passed by,and caught my eye.I’d seen her.A we.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/3121879/ Okay, so the owner decided to pop-in,do some fixingsatisfy people relieve some tensionbut is it necessary to see,to be bombarded by,to breathe another sigh,seeing porn on the live feedposted by a mentally ill person? Wouldn't it be better to have a maturelabel attached to it like a thumbna.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2963317/ An approaching stormslithers into a quietstillness.On a poet’s desk,two candles trembleagainst the window glass,their flames flickeringlike thoughts above his verse.Thunder growls closer,unyielding,from quarrelsome clouds.Lightning rips the sky,and rain taps at the wind.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2962568/ Because we don’t careif we crash on its shore,sink in mud that swallows our knees.Because a stanza holds us upin the water of an old loverwhose face won’t leave the surface.Some write for anothera Scotch sweating by the laptop,ideas sliding into his headlike ghoststhat won’t let hi.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2956325/ Moonlight fell            and softly it landed on me like a birdIn stillnessI remainedwith no desirefor it to fly awayI only admired its plumefilling the yardthrowing shadows fromtreesIncrementallyit shifted awayHad other places to beand I would neve.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2956312/ She's subscribed to his/her writing because that writer they're subscribing to hasn't been here in many years if not decades. In fact, she's subscribed to about 15 to 20 writers who haven't been here in years. The subscriber seems to know who to subscribe to all at once on the live feed. This h.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2956071/ A Writers Cafe Fee?-The question has been put forth due to the site's failing health that a Writers Cafe monthly fee would help benefit the site as long as that fee is reasonable. The writer's online page is stuck, there are too many ads, a spate of spam is making its rounds through private messages.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2955826/ Another day in the void.Time that stands still.Fantasizing about the woman down the street.Walking alone.Hating work.Seeing happy couples together.The same food.The same TV shows.The same hours on youtube.Another night...with nothing to say to each other. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2954405/ I failed her test.We were two equationsfrom the startwe just didn't add up.If my brain is travelingat 80 miles per hourand hers at 50,how long will it taketo determineour possible chemistry?She studied me,but couldn't findthe answer.Now I'm back,trying to findmy mistakes;trying to determinewhy .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2951756/ What happened to Writers Cafe? .I remember when this site was a close knit community with lots of talented writers. Now, it seems like a dull place to come to with ads, ads, ads, and more ads..What a shame it's become a shell of what it used to be. With a moderator who's never here, the si.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2945072/ A dented and paint-wornred metal bucket,half full of water,its spaghetti-thin handlesqueaky when lifteddug painfully into the fingersof the aged man's callused hands.  His face was leather-like,almost as wrinkled ashis stained and dirtyoveralls from years offarming.  Slightly off.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2941836/  As a cemetery worker surrounded by tombstonesand monuments,I trudged through the grounds one day in six inchesof fresh snow.She walked a hundred feetahead of me. I'd never seenher before. She was all in black,including what lookedlike a large black hat.Minutes later, s.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2941802/ I will always rememberSophia from Spain,my Spanish Seductorain a backless, red dress, fit tight.In an erotic fandangoon that romantic rainy night,she swayed over me in aseductive lover's dance.  Now, with the falling ofa warm, wild rain,my umbrellaentwines with the wind,up, down, side.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2941620/                                                                                      .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2941617/ A fragmented Life. Reflections on Identity http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2924733/ Read Plath, Frost, Salinger, and Kerouac.Ask a butterfly to sit on the knuckle of your finger.And when the sun sets, imagine it's the last time...because it could be.We are all the same, doing what we do...until we don't... unexpectedly. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2924245/ I saw the moon last night,his face full, festive and glowingin the nightlife.  -This morninghe looked weary,pale, and hungover.-Overall, he lookedready to betaken home.  -When I stepped outside thisafternoon,he'd wandered off,probably to bed.-He's probably dreaming of wolves,howl.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2919480/ This too shall passAutumn fields with chestnuts strewnResound October's chilly tune,Spreading down through dirt and grain,Touching roots of sugar cane. Above, where mist and shadows fleeSquirrels will gnaw at pumpkin seeds.As ravens harvest bits of grass,Securing nests before snow's pass. .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2914049/ Stanzas are the dust particlesof past ideaswritten down in the moment;snapshots in life’s spiral notebookthat weeks later,seem irrelevant.~My words... the fallout of a night’s carefree episode.~The meeting of a spirit,a flame from a spark.~Poems will fade with time.But the.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2912644/ While reading a story by a writer on another site, he mentioned how he used A.I. to see just how it works and the results he found when using it for poetry. Out of curiosity, I decided to go to the website and see for myself what it does. The results were shocking!In less than two seconds, the bot c.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2911618/ http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2896128/ Pulling change frommy pocketthe quarters, nickels, and dimesaccidently                f                e                l              &nbsp.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2894297/ I've said helloTo those I pass,But none can do the same.  ~And though I knowWe're a different class,To each I cannot blame.  ~Perhaps todayI'll run intoA father and his son.  ~Before I stray,I'll first imbue"Good morning," just for fun.  ~You see, althoughEach.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2893883/ A dented and paint-wornred metal bucket,half-full with water,its spaghetti-thin handlesqueaky when lifted,dug painfully into the fingersof the aged man's callused hands. His face was leather-like,almost as wrinkly ashis stained and dirtyoveralls from years offarming. Slightly off balance,he s.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2892736/ They often seem to harvest original ideason scheduleas though a sunthat never sinksaids their metaphorical seedsto sprout, germinate, and bloom all within one day.The picked fruits oftheir similes, their tropes,are repeatedly ripe and tasty,hardly bruised;their narrativesimmune to the.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2891925/ Deep      winterBroad snowflakesfallThen riseA bird http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2891290/ Their heads are in the clouds.They seem to floatwith eyes contentstaring into cell phone screens,soaking up dopaminelike hummingbirdshovering above nectar.I watch them,witness themon streets,benches,trains.Their moods are contemplativeas they wanderfrom here to there.Wandering down streets,mean.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2886683/ Before Writers Cafe, I wrote as Palewriter on a site called Booksie. An Ice Cream Poem was my first big hit as a amateur poet and it's still going strong at 24,000 views and 100 reviews. It's silly but the younger crowd liked it. I'm rarely there anymore.The moral:Sometimes the faster.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2886244/ Revised. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2876355/ Technicians report:*Random access memory compromised;appears in flashes.*Latency (the time data takes to pass fromone point to another) has been damaged.*Ramifications: severe.Entire storage unit infected.*Prognosis:*An entire lifetime: deleted http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2875477/ She lives at the end of a dirt road. It lies down the middle of a thick carpet of grass and lots of trees. Her family's backyard is spacious, with a pool we both enjoy on hot summer days. We're both sixteen. She says she loves me. My dad once said the same before he died.Now, life has a tendency.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2875288/ I had a huge crush on her.  She had one too, but not for me.  So we fell away from each other  like leaves at season's end.   That winter, there were flurries  of aches and emptiness,  as well as a tree out in the woods  marked with a youthful, naive noti.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2869973/ What's it feel like? Imagine it's late andyou're trying to sleep,but it feels like ants arecrawling up and downthe veins of your legs.Crawling, crawling, crawling.   You try to shake them bothto fight off that annoying  sensation just like you would shakethe dust out of a ru.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2858619/ 3:20 AM - the same asall the other nights.Darkness and me -we still have nothing to say to each other.  http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2857732/ Somewhere down below,  concealed from sightamong an illuminated cityof bright lights and homeless tents;somewhere beneath my roof-top perch, I heard it glide down sidewalksthat glitter in neon.A soothing sound as plain as words on a marquee.Sad and slow - a trumpet conveyeda stra.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2857682/ Like an ensembleoscillating through nature'soctaves; a harmonious matrimonybetween instrumentand earth,a duration of wordlesscompositions dedicated tospring's pianofortesilently fills the forest.  At their base,a cadenza's roots swellto the sky through a millenniumof larghissimo measures.U.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2857188/ The dirt street was long,with trees on either side;the clouds grey.I met a dog along the way,both of us wanderersacknowledging the other;him looking for food,me looking for who I am,waiting for the answerto materealize from the airand yet knowing, a walk through life is morethan just "wait.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2848191/ In Ohio,silver linings are toxic,the ground is groaning,the water is poisonand elephants are crowding the room.Give a man a fish and he'll die.Residents, like guinea Pigs,take on red blotches, sore throats,and watery eyes.Rainbows have been regulatedto bleed soot.And Norfolk Southernthinks a fr.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2842861/ Dear poetessMy pen wants to comment;it desires to reflect your dirty writingwith likewise dirty words,but my morals won't let me.The night is moon-filled; suggestive.I should sneak past footprints of saints;Outwit angels;flee to where the ripples of euphoriaspread wide across your pages.Then, my cor.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2838048/ Inside a laundromat’s drowsy, luminous window,he sits in a dull green chair, waiting.The low, hypnotic hum of washers and dryerswraps around him like a lullaby for the lonely.His eyes wanderfrumpy women, dryers pressed against the walls,an impatient wristwatch ticking in small insi.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2831672/ A hard life must be endured.Days, weeks, years, feel like ice and cracks are increasing.People are falling like sleet from mass murders.Parents shouldn't have to worry about their children in school! Relationships are getting like unsolvableone-thousand piece puzzles.Women have been b.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2825281/ An old     rusted carfound sleeping      in the dense woodsI dreampt      of its past. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2824230/ The ending has been slightly changed recently. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2823044/ ~Shock has engaged me with an awful pain;an awful gasp, and dire refrain.For earlier, my brain, in the heat of some strain, left some metaphors on the seat of a train. ~These words you're perusingare a vacant verse.They've become unravelled, but what is worse, the poem .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/HouseofRelics/2822211/