http://slow.writerscafe.org/FerdinandtheBull The original writings of author Preston Manning Bernstein en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776012981 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 Outside my bedroom windowGiant trees stood for hundreds of yearsWhile tiny plantsCalled weedsLived,Then diedWithout any mentionIn the city’s guidebooks whatsoever. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/FerdinandtheBull/465141/ http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/FerdinandtheBull/459268/ Circe I. Cyclops In a strange city I fled after I flicked the lighter that burnt the beard of the boy from Charleston who just wanted to be friends.I walked into a municipal park and sat on the rubber cheap gravel pit swing set facing deep out into the black-tarred intersect.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/FerdinandtheBull/404129/ The title is a line from an epic by the seer Samadhi. I used it as a starting point for this poem after reading a lot of D.H. Lawrence. Enjoy http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/FerdinandtheBull/396344/ Amnesiac lost in a hotel room http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/FerdinandtheBull/396229/ I. Hands on the bottle,Forehead bowed to forehead--Nothing lingered, nothing left,There were no glances and no gazes. You were the foggy green glasses,The brown whiskey,The still air waiting to be broken by breath. II. No.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/FerdinandtheBull/396179/ This time, my pecker got me thrown outOf the Kava-Kava scented apartmentTo walk past bus stops--where            Men in light jackets sleep sitting up,         &nb.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/FerdinandtheBull/396177/ Written on a slope beside a highway located on a mountain http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/FerdinandtheBull/396175/