http://slow.writerscafe.org/QuiteOllie The original writings of author QuiteOllie en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776349540 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 A poem about acceptance of identity and learning who you are. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/QuiteOllie/1194325/ A prose poem about creativity, and keeping it alive. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/QuiteOllie/1193772/ A cross between a short story and prose about strange people and strange nature. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/QuiteOllie/1191095/ This world is alien to me.But warm.Soft.As long as I don't think too much about what it hadto do to get here.What it's been put through.The other worlds must look over and smile pitifully.I remember when they'd laugh along and smile and say'There's nothing you can't do'.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/QuiteOllie/1190375/ Thelights come up on a small table with only Penelope sat at it. She was clearly abeautiful woman at some point. It's not easy to place exactly why she isn'tanymore. Her hair is badly taken care of and her skin is pale and a little dry.Her lips are cracked. She has a vacant expression but de.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/QuiteOllie/1156825/ Knocked thepennies from my eyesAnd slung meforwards through my younger years.I know therewas cow’s blood still warm on the backs of my hands.I washed itoff after one of two twins told me it wasn’t right.But now myown blood races,It warms myears and they pu.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/QuiteOllie/970949/ You arewhere you brokeAnd thoughwarmth isn’t an issue anymoreWhy doesscarlet still linger on every inch of wall and between my fingers?Imagine aplaceLike thisone Where yourthoughts are embroidered on cushions,But notobviously. Althoug.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/QuiteOllie/968592/ The oakleaves are brighter than last year.Older.I rememberwhen you held them to my neck and called them butterfliesWe’d laughon shaded patches of the football fieldSo the sunwouldn’t see us or show us,At the absurdityof having two tongues,Or three.&n.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/QuiteOllie/963280/ A pausebetween the question and his name,His breathsmells of hot wine and four vodkas.He alwayswas the civilised type.A bottlemore and the drink hits him.On the floorof the best bar in town.Classy,right? But to judgehim is to give others a reason to jud.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/QuiteOllie/963278/ There wererulesYou wouldknowDid you slip theminto my soup when I wasn’t looking?Do I drink to die?Then intothe jacket pocket of your last loverTold him tokeep itLike a secretBut then asecret’s needs are more than a few kissesMore than awhiff .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/QuiteOllie/957446/ As white giants drift without purpose or intentAn unfamiliar calm floods me,My mindIt consumes,No,It drinksMy worries and leaves naught for the dream-catcher she strung above my pillowAnd said was better than any XboxNow my face is hot and moist,ComfortablePitter patterPitter patterTheir eyes aren't.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/QuiteOllie/955479/ This is a scene of a play that I'm considering developing and writing in full. The writing style is based on Steven Berkoff's work so you'll have to imagine that it has a lot of pace and rhythm to it http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/QuiteOllie/955365/ Words that once warmed me slice through my faithThe green puddles between my eyelids waltz and screamWe used to waltzThis man I see is not a manHe can’t beTrustedHe can’t beBetterThe old oaken steps sound as the low deadly beat of an African drumWhen w.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/QuiteOllie/954871/ Serpentssquirm on a pile of dirt and splinters and rotting fruit,Eatthings and digest, chew chew crunchSwallowSpitin the eyes of passers-byNot a word for what you did,Eatsomething else, chew chew crunchSwallowSpitagain,Noreason, but then why not when you&r.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/QuiteOllie/954869/  Withinreason of course,Butwhat reason? And what is a reason?Ha!Acollaboration of words spun together to look so much prettier than they are,Likeflies held together in the spider’s webTheydance and look so elegant, so beautiful.Beforereality turns t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/QuiteOllie/954867/ We getall sorts in hereA real mix ofsingle mothers sick to the teethAnd largemen in suits and hatsHalfexpected spats and slacksIf we didn’tknow better we’d call them thievesPlace themin categories and label them till our nails were bent over and raw skin w.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/QuiteOllie/954865/