http://slow.writerscafe.org/bigtears The original writings of author Hannah Davenport en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1775973778 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 Time is a thing wasted,a pearl before the hogs of humanity(those beasts who might devour their keepersif so presented with the opportunity).It is a tool of the Manipulator,wherein relationships are builtand used to crush innocent souls. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/bigtears/343775/ Double-damn. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/bigtears/343773/ More thoughts. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/bigtears/343771/ Thoughts. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/bigtears/343768/ Damn. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/bigtears/343766/ I do not mind your hairydrooping breasts orsloping shoulders, andI hope you do not mindthe heftiness, the width andbreadth of me.Our imperfectionshave the potentialfor grand beauty --Two negatives, after all,do make a positive. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/bigtears/329492/ The east coastwith its cheap, seductive breathrapes language, conceives andbirths poets.They sprout and blossom on theyacht-deck, the urban street,stinking upthe western states (the impure,undeserving b******s).It is notpossible to undercuttheir majesty.Their s**t. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/bigtears/329489/ There is no before.Only after,only post-when the world has adjustedto each new circumstanceand consequence. With a resolute click,life changes. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/bigtears/329487/ In the depths of me, an ocean churnsand bubbles, ripe with passion.The chaos is enclosed(muscular walls tightening)but I feel its presenceand the carewith which it rocksmy sad soul to sleepamid daylight's sweeping pressures. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/bigtears/329486/ The coiled python which restsin my stomach is poised,ready for the strike.Provoked, it springs from thatslimy den, scales my throat,and the venom comesas if from my own swollen tongue. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/bigtears/329485/ I had a dream I turned you onso fast there wasn't time to hide it.Suddenly, a secret part of youavailable to public scrutiny --and you recoiled, as if hopingto imagine it away.In that moment, fear-stricken,silent, you became yourself again:a boy, shocked andamazed by your own body.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/bigtears/329484/ A good friend. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/bigtears/329482/ My life has been aseries of awkwardconversationstension mounting witheach strained breathlips swollen byboorish youthteeth clicking -- arunaway train carryingambiguous news It will culminate, I fear,in misinterpretation andmy answers will escapeinto death http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/bigtears/329480/ Passion raps its percussiverhythm againstthe crevicesof my cranium and Iam caught somewhere betweenknowing andnot knowing http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/bigtears/329479/  I do not think you knowOr can beginTo comprehend the stiflingSticky-skinned heatOf Florida JulyWhere my love bloomsLike bloodCurling from the mouths ofAlligatorsSeeps into the soilPainedDesperate to giveA little streamDoing no-one anyGood flowersDo not need eryt.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/bigtears/329255/ Art isn't easy. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/bigtears/235945/ Introspection. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/bigtears/235944/ A concrete poem I wrote for 11th grade English. Ah, the study of Puritan style. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/bigtears/235941/ Oh, me; oh, my. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/bigtears/235940/ Love and such. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/bigtears/235938/ Something silly and not particularly serious. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/bigtears/235935/ Old poem. Poor David is getting shafted. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/bigtears/235931/ Old, old, old poem about a cliche. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/bigtears/235925/ It starts with a face and ends up a fixation. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/bigtears/230640/