http://slow.writerscafe.org/maggie42 The original writings of author maggie42 en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776024848 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 She would have a good life here among voluble green.Gatherings of blood-red blooms about her new home.(Appropriate landscapingfor a woman of her pedigree)The neighbors are a noisy crew on their way to dyinglight at the end of the day. They single file to bunks,stacked .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/maggie42/369265/ I stir the news, trying to mix the creamy fluff, with all these dark brewings. An attempt to blend something closer to the truth than what I am I drinking in. " Amnesty International, and Peace ", like picket signs, are printed boldly on my mug, from a time when I tho.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/maggie42/369263/ As God's flippancy turns on a dime,heads are tossed. Pairs of coined opinions, impaired with some righteous stampupon sentences of legitamacyare read to me�A small new African-American ?( The PC term for a human being these days because we are all awarethat being " Ir.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/maggie42/369260/ From an arial distance, where angels look like three monkeys, blind, deaf, and dumbthe roofs appear quaint, in this civilized view. Distressed red-wooden steps; ( oh the things we auction off when we tear down the barn ) a ladder for God to get the hell awayfrom ou.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/maggie42/356362/ No one wantsto approach writinggeared tight in somegrease monkey’s backyard,like a jacked up Yugothinking it’s a Benz.When I was a childI salvaged a wordfrom the side of the road.Folks, racing pastto never being last,gave it a glance. But Ihitched it tode.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/maggie42/356355/ On the altars of Gods daemons can be found,bound with the sashes of Hera, converted with orthodox lashings. I wear the lamb's blood well.Sacrifice is always shiny, bringing about the worshippers." Never defile the marriage bed " a younger deity will soon .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/maggie42/345993/ This is your temple,an altar of alms,where scars are no longermarks of beast,but open palms of beauty.Wailing ceasesin this thinness of skin.Sighs herald the fallof Jericho walls,set in the stone of blood.I am Noah’s flood,as they come down from within.Your hold is.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/maggie42/344586/ naughti·ness n.Word History: Middle English noughti, first recorded in the last quarter of the 14th century, was derived from nought, which primarily meant “nothing”.———————————————&mdash.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/maggie42/344585/ My brother murdered a man,incarcerating his body.His soul recieved its sentence long ago.We wasted an afternoon once,over the telephone, and coffee.I listened , and he talked.Being rubbed the wrong wayis merely execution of sound,angling round corners of a vulgar amplifying.But.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/maggie42/344239/ this is a complicated one folks lol http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/maggie42/344238/ Entrancedwith such august spreadings,deep dark pinions playwith the sciences of nature.It seems enfolding,as it unfolds;a soft featherbedto sink into.Flinging it's mighton a wing, and a prayer,as if just a soul gliding.We dream of danceslike this one. A lack of perspective.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/maggie42/344186/ for my daughter http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/maggie42/344178/ a homage to Kurt Vonnegut, and John Mellencamp http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/maggie42/344162/ Baby-hood is sunflowers, water-painted,because Daddys love yellow.Big Eyes never stop staring,when they know you miss your father. Baby-hood is candy in a pocket.Big teeth have a soft voice,when they kiss your cheek gently,and beg you to stop crying.  Baby-h.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/maggie42/343408/ "I am dying." ,or so she says, eyes wide,and leaning into me,as if I had heard herin the blurry rise of a nap.Her hood of shroud,"Abercrombie" a " finched " hue,is fashionably askew,across her hair. I stareat the latest style underneathit.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/maggie42/343407/ Blood is not a one man act.With a pound of flesh, a pintis always tapped to take the lead.Families wear a noblesse,sashedalong the blue linesof bluer beauty pageants.Pedigrees; veins collapsingwith stagefright under the pressureof too many needling critiques.She opens, hand.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/maggie42/343398/