http://slow.writerscafe.org/deaconhills The original writings of author devon en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776049723 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 I could not havebeen more than fifteen-years-oldwhen my mother told me the story of my aunt'sabortionat an agethat could not have beenmuch more than my own.Fallen twigs crunchedbeneath the tires. She spat the words .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1878051/ Amphibian tombs,open asphalt caskets in cul-de-sac cemeteries,define everlasting peace in Suburbia,the new Holy Land.Internal organs,the currency of Eternal Rest, are not mummified.Frog remainsare preserved o.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1810527/ Neighboring eyes hooded with suspicion follow the zigzag of the lawn mower.Nobody’s grass is so lovely as the Jones’in the middle of winter. By God, the residents swore,their lawn was wateredby the proud tears of the homeowners’ association president. .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1783673/ Those aged shoulders sagunder the weight of worn bra straps and nineteen years of disappointment.The crumpled formof her body, a twisteddeja vuI cannot quit reliving -A white car, balled up like paperby that eighteen-wheeler,his life lost in a game of childish, classroom ba.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1783615/ Hairline cracks in those damned oak floorsbetray the laughterof my father’s adultery. Well-endowed cheeks of childhood squish to peak fearful, tears filled eyes beneath a door.A freckled, snotty nose first smells the perfume of his mistress,intoxicatingly, rancidly sw.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1776572/ A dainty chiming of doorbellsannounce his presence,a damning dissonance hammered upon the drums of my ear. The chambers and valvesof a spectacular crimson menagerieare on a warpath;Every heartbeat is a battle cry. Soldiers marching towards the unknown enemystrike a foreboding cadence into the earth,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1733317/ Floorboards kiss scraped knees,coolness soothing yesterday’s sunburn.Mosquito bites line the legs of cousins,reminiscent of the preacher’s wife’spolka dot pantyhose.Dark underneath of a bedpostis refugefor nosey little girls.One plump leg lazily strewn overthe rim of a pearl white .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1726430/ Elusive as a fox in a graveyard,slinking behind weathered tombstones,copper fur amongst the fading grays taunting,“Do you see me?Come and catch me.” Foxes run when you gettoo close to capture. Covers her face like the moon,the shadows of night cloaking arcan.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1725841/ Wet dog nose kisses,Grass blades ticklingyour feet -Happiness is this. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1501909/ Moonlight on herface,Galaxies live in hereyes -She’s out of thisworld. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1501908/ Enigma of light,Dark, queer versionof a man:Shadow in the night http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1501905/ A family member,though I can’t remember who,Once said that ingardening, it’s all about the roots With linguistics, so I've learned, the same holds trueIn everything, it’sall about the roots I want to dig up andtransplant the way that mama s.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1339629/ I met a boy in the summertimewho felt so much like spring his touch was neither heated nor chilling,but just the right degree like sunbeams, a smile that spread warmth to my cheeks;it was his kiss that tasted of clover leaves April’s show.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1326878/ It’s three thirteen on a Sunday morning.You have been gone for 1 year, 7 months, and 10 days. I’ve counted.  Sundays are always the cruelest.They’re laced with the dread of Monday andMissing you.  We used to talk about the future on SundayAfternoons, a cigarette in y.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1309014/ The fifth boy I ever dated, andThe third boy I’d ever lovedSwore on his dusty King James Version Bible There was no greater being in existence. But for an unbeliever, he sure didTalk of his mother like she had placed the fiery starsIn the dark of the night as g.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1308989/ Twelve years old and the first fightWe’d ever had during a game of Cops & Robbers,You’d escaped the cardboard cell, shed invisibleShackles from bony boy ankles and said,“Good guys don’t always win in the end”, and yourHoley, spared tooth grin pro.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1300230/ The intended effect was euphoria, butI felt out of my mind Floating on waves of careless ecstasy, I was supposed To not feel the nerves, A dopey smile supposed to cross my face when the anesthesia Came, but I spilled tears at the numbness  This is n.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1300165/ Mama says:You sink or you swim. I just float. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1299531/ Sex with you was like abstract poetry;I was illiterate.  http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1299526/ She felt his kiss like liquid gold in her veins. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1299524/ The school counselor wanted to knowExactly what was it I wanted to do with the rest of forever Her kind blue eyes traveled my faceAnd I wondered if she could hear my brainRattling with all the possibilities All the possibilities,Each involving you&nb.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1299509/ I traced your perfect face As if I were a blind kid Readinglines of classical literatureOn the freckled Braille of your skin The familiar quirks of your faceAre not unfamiliar to me A saintly smile enclosed by lipsWhich kiss with no such innocence,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1299496/ Eyes, eyes, eyesChrist, yours were sohypnotic I can’t forget thewaythose cold fingers trailedthe placesyour tongue hadtattooed my collar, my throat,my neck Mornings never agreedwith your needto sleep into the lateafternoonsI’d.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1298678/ I had to give this a teen rating due to some language. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1292042/ We had to write a "Where I'm From" poem for my Literature & Composition class. This is what I've managed to scrape together. Hope you enjoy! http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1277557/ She cuts her hair And dyes it black,Hoping to give dear old dadA heart attack. She’s got a pretty little diamond For each poor blokeWhose heart she ever tookAnd broke. She paints her lips red like cherries -She tries but can’t resist .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1208977/ You are beautiful.So, please, don't take offense, butI must confess,I'd much rather suffer from An ailment of the eyes thanTo ever see your lovely face again.Don't be insulted, please don't misunderstand;I'm just far too weak to see your eyes again, The way they look at me with no feeling,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1193683/ A woman that knowsExactly what she wants Will destroy anythingThat stands in her way. (Or, at least, I thinkThat’s how the saying goes)So why, then, can’t I ripMay and June and July to shreds, Or shorten Earth’s orbitAnd greet the school.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1181154/ I tried to write a poetry poemto express the the ways in whichI feel but I’m am findingwords are gettingscribbled over crossed out maybe its it’s becausethe only combining combinationof letters that seems to hold any wait.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1180536/ Tucking my headInto pillowsTo shield cryingEyes I say, "goodbye just Isn't fair" and mama standsWith hands on hips and asks, "whoSaid life was fair?" But highlighting The universal injustice of lifeDoesn't make your leaving .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1180535/ As you lay herLifeless bodyTo sleep After you’ve brushedHer colorlessCheeks And you’ve noticedeveryLittle something-lessThing Lay a ring of flowersUpon her head, A moment of crowninggloryFor the dead http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1166618/ And maybe,I've been sitting in my stone towerWaiting for someone Who’s never going to Save me. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1161852/ Strings of lightSurrounded us in the middleOf a secret forestAnd I did not knowWhether they were yellowOr if they were goldI was not sureHow we had gotten there;If you'd led me by the wristThe only thing I knewIn all certaintyWas your tender holdAnd the ineffable blissOf your kiss(es). http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1161850/ I was going to write a poemAbout you, butNo stanza, or line, or wordSeemed as becomingAs your name. My brain can’t comprehendAny combination Of letters That isn't ‘y’, ‘o’And ‘u’. And sudden.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1161847/ She couldn't remember Who said, "Be the changeYou wish to seeIn the world."Unable to recallIf it was Einstein,Mother Theresa, or maybeEven Gandhi.But she did know,Whoever it was,Sure did seem to expectA lot of effortOn her part. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1152519/ The way you always laidYour hand next to my ownCaused an unsatisfiable urge toSee our fingersEntwined.The way your fingertipsKiss my fleshMakes me wonder how It would feel if your lips Were next. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1152516/ As she erased yet another sentence,She realized her life was constantlyThe erasing of her mistakesAnd trying to cover what wasLeft of them of themWith brightly colored ink.She was determined, however,The last letter she ever wroteWould be the one thing sheFinally had done right.And so, when it was f.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1152513/ He whispered promisesTo never hurt her againAs he wiped awayHer tearsThat never even fell. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1152507/ I would have wrangledThe stars from the skyWith my own heartstringsIf I had thought for one momentThey would outshineYou. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1152504/ I wish toHang the starsOn a stringAround my neck. I dream ofSuspending planetsFrom my ceilingBy threads. I long toCount every speck ofHazel in the brownOf your eyes. How every inchOf me aches To seize All that is .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1151359/ Sometimes we lose things. We lose car keys,Or phones.TV remotes, too.They’re out of sight for a minute,And then they’re gone;Until we find them again, that is.  Sometimes, though, we set things down,Put them away,Because they’re.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1145441/ He was in her biology class,And she noticed his smile.She was in his history class, And he barely noticed her. He asked to borrow a pencilThat went unreturned, but She didn’t seem to notice after he’dAsked to borrow her time on Friday night. .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1145187/ Beadsof many colorsHungaround her neck that day;Beadsof nervous sweat hadSat uponhis face. Tryas he might to hide the jittersAndfumbling of words,Hejust couldn’t veilThe dizzyingeffects of her. Andwhen she leaned intoHim.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1143303/ Being with you Was synonymous toFinishing a good book:There was nothing I couldn’t do. I could speak French,Even some Portuguese.I could rattle off LatinIn my sleep. Even if Senora Juarez warned meThat I was failing Spanish III,I could .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1143282/ You always left me Alone with my thoughts.Then, you left me aloneTo my tears.And finally, you left meLonely. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1143254/ Ninth grade literature,And you swore on the graveOf your motherWho was not yet dead,That you were Romeo,And I was Juliet.But I had already read the playOver the summer,And I just smiled to myself,Because I knew.I would survive.I was just another Rosaline. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1143252/ These arms are the work of masonry,You said.I’ll catch you if you fall,You told me. But empty wordsAnd very empty promisesWere all I heard. Because I had already taken theplunge,And there is not a corner of myheartThat isn’t left .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1131416/ I always found it funny, How your arms were always The safest place that I knew,And how those very sameArms so easily ripped My heart in two. But I never laughed. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1128672/ Youalways had a knackForcarving your nameOntoany surface you touched. Andlike school boys leave behindLegacieson desks,Andlovers document their ‘forever’On treetrunks, Istill feel traces of your warmthWhereyour initials.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1128005/ I always hated the wayYour poet lips would danceAnd from your lyric tongue you'd speak,"Where would Shakespeare be, my love,Without his tragedies?"And even worse I despisedHow after, your song voice composedA symphony as you laughed out,"Though, maybe Will wouldn't haveSeemed so damn cold."More than.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/deaconhills/1119415/