http://slow.writerscafe.org/pesterdfinches The original writings of author Pester D. Finches en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776034016 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 Part 3 http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/640862/ Part 2 http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/640804/ Part 1 http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/640802/ A triumphant return to poems http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/610846/ trying something a little different! http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/581586/ Raichel’s Gallery: Or A Statement to the Police http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/579703/ Camic Hole            It is possible, when traveling through the lesser known regions of the Western New York country side, for a driver or two, distracted by some obscure scenery, to inadvertently take a turn down the wrong road and drive for.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/577750/ Loneliness  Rain drops, hot summer days spent in the woods,Not a care in the world, not a worry in the brain,When the birds sang their sweet melodies overhead,And friends came running to play kickball or piratesLate in the evening, the sun a fleeting memory, the ghostThat haunted .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/566520/ Cherry Pit If you swallow a cherry pit,My grandfather told me,It will stay in your stomach,Never leave, until you die.So maybe that is the reasonThat now I often find myself,Knife in hand, and half a cherry,Prodding and slicing in vainTo remove that dreaded pit Which has c.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/564980/ The Hermit To the one who kept the universe alone:Whose blackened eyes have seen the century,Black and grey, flung against shadows on the wall,From his moss covered house across the lake.Once in fall, I heard the eldritch stirring, Something solid broke the glass around the lake,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/564131/ Pt.1 Let us go then, you and I,Down along the winding beach,Where the water splashes up upon the shore,And the sea gulls, in shades of white and black, Skirt the sandpiper, who searches the eager surf alone. Let us go to watch the sunset,Let the evening come upon us like .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/556090/ I wonder about you, who stands before the fire,Reading from that tiny scrap of paper,Someplace in the corner of your mind. Reading tiny scraps of poems, not really understandingBut relaying their feelings, it a strangely palpable way.I can feel it when you walk up there, slowly, carefully,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/547160/ A delicate summer evenings dream,A small child trying to cross the street,Flooded by rain, the previous day.Water rippling up the concrete curb,Tiny waves in a model sea,An ocean of dark, murky water.A lone dry leaf came floating by,Hugging the curb like a Viking ship,Hugged the co.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/547158/              The deep, hollow sounds of the doorbell ran through the small apartment, clashing against whatever obscure knickknack they encountered, down the hall, over the table covered in books, old papers, dirty plates from a week of s.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/543262/ The girl…the girl With the sunken eyes And the bandages tied round her wrists,I love her. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/534970/ On Our OwnThe snow fell thickly all day. Just before the last of the light faded away, we found the whole of our property incased in snow and the walkway almost invisible for it. So we gathered all around the hearth and lit a large fire, the light from which fell only halfway across the room, leav.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/534952/ Gone are the days of the sun,Back into the dark of winter,I’ve got no business that’s here,You left me in the dark. All those many years ago. Your life keeps on spinning,          While mine has ground to a stop.You left m.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/533774/ Blood on the sill There is blood on the windowsillFrom where that bird died a few weeks backOh don’t bother to clean it, I don’t mindIt’s just a memory. Poor thing, got carried away with the windAnd flew head long into the window latticeIt sat there on t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/524802/ Eugenia!  Through all the darkness of my heart I searchFor that which in time now spentWould have cheered my broken soulAnd made me want to live again.             The doctor was not a religious man; neither heav.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/500442/ A short play about nothing http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/479234/   The unspoken word Disagreeable decree, fluctuatingBetween realms of understandingAnd difficulty. The Word unspokenFesters beautifully alone. The pointless argument commencesIn the night. The word unspokenIs whispered in the darkest circlesOut of earshot .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/471773/  Oh if only, oh if only, the cry in the night.Beneath earnest skies, Oh if only, oh if only,She knew of his passion, his terrible cries,And could bring herself, from her innocent guise,To look in his heart, Oh if only, oh if only. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/465114/ for my friend, sent to jail. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/454401/  An Autumn Memory I know that spot, I think it well,That mythic spot, unknown by name.Yet from memory, strange as hell,I can recall but one still frame. And down atop the opal stone,The water trickled a soft moan,An ancient moan, among the trees,Came over us, a m.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/454391/ trying to take my poetry in a new direction http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/451481/  Sorrow Every breath is but a pain,I had not known the curse of love,That now burns ardent within my breast,Could yield such grief upon my soulThat now, though I wish it naught,Is drowned beneath a sea of sorrow.  http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/435666/  Dreaming Oh, what a ghastly curse is love, unwanted,That I, in my darkest moments, choose to mixMemory with crude unconscious ramblings,Ramblings that never were, nor never will be,Save in the horror of the unconscious nights,That I ramble on like a lunatic. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/432241/   Through all the darkness of my heart I searchFor that which in time now spentWould have cheered my broken soulAnd made me want to live again. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/431686/ a funny little tale of the most evil 13 children the world has ever seen http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/427121/  THE GROVE:Where the blue flower growsI am not an old man, far from it in fact, but I have seen things in my short life that would make a twice older man cry like an infant. It is for many reasons that I have, for the past ten years of my life, sought solitude, far from the prying eyes of.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/423576/ A letter to my dear one, shaken with grief. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/418980/ Sitting in the cemetery on pine ridge road, 11:00 am, May 25th http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/414991/  Eyes of man Through the eyes of man, a pigeonSits, bloody, bruised, and fearing life.A horrid rat of city Skies, condemnedThe seed of mans cruel tries to takeThe world and wring it out and make it dry.A world to be fixed, a world to be solved,A world where mysteries are .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/409003/  I keep your roses on my desk,Though they are dead and dry,Though sure am I some fresh ones live,I cannot toss them by. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/407278/  What haunts the trees of old In the pitchness, darkness black and pure, Where the sylvan branches hide the moon, And the stars from pleasant sight. There is,A place where magic still exists, and ghostsAnd faeries dance among the darkened trees,While the wizard si.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/406544/  TO MY BIRD Chickadee in the willow tree,Do you sing or do you cry  To me? I see you sitting there  Among the yellow branches.   I say young bird, I do recallThat every time I see youThere, sitting on your yellow roostEyeing me with .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/391064/  The willow treeOnce a poor old man sat beneath a willow tree,Under the leaves and birds sat he,And he sat and thought and waited for his bride to be,Under the shade of that willow tree. Deep in the woods, underneath that willow tree,That poor old man, sighed, said he,&ld.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/388094/  Misery in London People walking along the grey stone street,On past that grey old church of old times’ sake,Up the walk, and down the grey, grassy hill,Along the cold dark river, grey with sludge,Around the grey leav’ed trees and black roses,Once brilliant bloo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/386426/  Bloody steeple You stood at your corner, outside of your church,I watched from afar, my sweet, my love,As the rain came falling, strait down on your head,I watched as my heart, and heaven, bled. The tiny red drops, did fall on your head,And drip’ed they down, .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/386343/  Ghastly morning               Dank is the day with sorrow surrounding you,                        All of the sh.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/382329/  Moon chasingOh’ wide, bright, glowing orb,That draws me from my bed at nightThrough the woods, it leads me onUntil’ I could no longer stand. Ancient dance and ancient song,Fill my heart from days of old,Round the woods I skip, I run,Scream so loud the stars.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/380280/  Thinker She spent her summers out at Girl Scout campin’,            Ridin’ horses an’ doin’ arts n’ crafts,He spent his summers out in the garden,       &nbs.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/380191/  Leaving the warm terminal,Walking down the indifferent jet way,His bag rolling on behind him,A ticket grasped firmly in his hand. The cold hit him first,Chilling cold biting nerves,Drilling deep into his skin,Shivering down the length. The smell, the stink,The.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pesterdfinches/379118/