http://slow.writerscafe.org/Liana1984 The original writings of author Liana en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776067476 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 The building that sits before me is notinteresting…Its neighbouring tree does not cast shadows thatmake my view creative.Light doesn’t shine on its perpendiculars in away that makes me shift…Though its windows are another story.They hold fragments of lif.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Liana1984/1166870/ I crossed a bridge today... and saw my thoughts graffittied on it... I made cupcakes... ordered books from ebayfound a lounge on the side of the road and sat on it... like really sat.......... and watched everything go by.As the sunset fell behind the manly ferry... I thought - this place .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Liana1984/1141458/ I havent been on to writers cafe for a while...Just some ideas about the creativity that lies within http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Liana1984/1132566/ Hungry mouths to feed.Feeding the soul…The mind…My creativity so my hand can move…My actual stomach… although he sometimes gets forgotten…A cat…And the others.For people starving and in pain…My own starving heart fe.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Liana1984/995563/ I really exhaust myself… I really exhaust myself…Did I just say that? Did I just think that? Which voice wasthat?Do I need to process again? Just incase you missed that….Did I miss that? Am I conscious?....Oh yes of course I am!I just watched the thinker,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Liana1984/995561/ Blue bird. If a bird is broken…andmute… and blue then it can’t do anything…no instincts honed andno way home…it sits the samecolour as the sky, blended, alone, beak down under a frown and big hollow eyesdirected at home...and on .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Liana1984/995557/  The ceramic is bound so that it seemsto mould, clutching my fist…I squeeze the life out of it, likethere is nothing left…And there isn’t…The alcohol has dried up its merrysweetness left in another time…The blood in my veins ha.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Liana1984/995556/ Steppedfrom wrought ironwithtanned feet, in suffocating boots.Hitthe pavement,Kickingand scattering liquid amber hues and leaves,andme shivering in the breeze…Facedand smacked by faces, and faces and more!Slappedby cold and skin colours and scarves&he.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Liana1984/995554/ The suntoasts my skinandshrinks my pupils �" Just apool of blue now.I’mseeing…but theycan’t seethe barenakedness behind my vulnerable eyes.Mypupils hide.Thisbrightness, it gives mea sunescape.Silhouettin.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Liana1984/964880/ To a dark winter sky I woke,lighting a candle for the broken bulb.A red hue engulfed my tired sensesand electrified my veins with moving blood…The crackle of new fire sounded like the start of a strongdrum beat…I was hungry then… I tripped over junk.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Liana1984/964868/ That beautiful fresh soul,Just twirling….because…The ugly voice came from nowhere,A failed dancer…She said…“Look at the ballerina with the big thighs,The black leotard…. And the splinter-It stuck like old criticisms and hab.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Liana1984/964846/ His flushed cheeks matched her red skirt.He gave her a forget me notand it blew away with the breeze that stole her heart…Longing to step back to that place,She could only look back...And be brushed by floating petals,That once were…   &nb.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Liana1984/964842/ He must know I'm writing about him, his eyes light up like a firey tiger and his paw chases my words as they unfold accross the page.... a restless energy that inspires the purr in me and my poetry! http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Liana1984/955266/ She, the captive butterfly…Air squeezed out, and lost…Locked tight under a tough wingNow no room to fly.Her wings are pinned down with bloody nails.The emery board beneath her,Strips the opalescent colours… now black. The ruler  - .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Liana1984/953388/ The difference I have found between social classes, and skin colour in some countries I have traveled to has been a tremendous one, and this poem reflects that... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Liana1984/953386/  This music paints the inside of my eye lids… Odd that I cannot hear, I can only see.The violin strings don’t quiver with music, but colours…Of another time.I’m tapping piano keys on this board, Being transportedand swaying my head while.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Liana1984/953385/ When I'm in the city, this is how I feel. I experience so much beauty and creative expression, diversity and culture...with an eerie underlying toxicity, that forces me to look through melancholy eyes http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Liana1984/953382/ Basic survival, Love, creativity within and from others,a blank page…I’m wondering…what else do I need?Even though you tell me I need much, I’m choosingto evolve without consuming...and I’ll fill thousands of blank pages with wor.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Liana1984/952932/ I see a lot of truth through tears, and feel reborn after I cry... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Liana1984/952003/ being born into consciousness and suddenly I was aware of everything that wasnt real. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Liana1984/952000/ I wrote this last year, in a moment when I felt completely content. I've always been exhausted from my constant restlessness, urge to move and change ... I think last year I finally learnt how to be. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Liana1984/951993/