http://slow.writerscafe.org/ladyrosaline The original writings of author LadyRosaline en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1775995710 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 If trees were warriors. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ladyrosaline/1254919/ Benji Kingsley I snatched up Sunday’s sports section and peeled it open to a random page, holding it taught and high and close enough to my face that the words went double. I sank low into my chair and prayed�"please, oh please, for the love of all that’s Holy, don&rsquo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ladyrosaline/1244382/ There’s a fenced acre beyond my backyard, gators live there. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ladyrosaline/1244377/ I have an array of stock-metaphors at my disposal, for cases such as this. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ladyrosaline/1236913/ You just have to read it! http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ladyrosaline/1235874/ Getting scammed http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ladyrosaline/1229541/ The word “tragedy” implies death, but inverted tragedy, on the other hand, implies life. Tragic life, the travesties of which (these are numerous) make death seem a blessing by comparison. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ladyrosaline/1215095/ A television shares its thoughts and feelings.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ladyrosaline/1212237/ It is the year of our lord, two-thousand and...Who gives a f**k? We've lost track a long, long time ago. The naves of this era, for some idealistic, nonsensical reason or other, think that they are somehow entitled to things they call "freedoms." In this time, there are too few things left to take a.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ladyrosaline/1200497/ The fortress of my mind captures only air.Ere I surrender myself to its pressures.  I must report to the page my conscience,only the matters of life, death, and love.To dusk the sun draws nigh, and alone,To sit in the night watching the cat’s eye.To humble myself to a lesser as of late.As.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ladyrosaline/1200451/ The Rush, The Devils, The Desert The Rush sails the sandsAnd combs the dunes for devilsThough hot, it’s not hell Pitchfork havin’ beastsFork-tongued, forlorn, fiendishWeep while we wither! The damned devils lurk,Scrawl across the sands their marks,“There is no God he.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ladyrosaline/1200420/ Is not the time a curious measure? How ‘round-the-clock our watches we impinge.And glimpse the ticking tocks of a track’d turn-pin.`Its cyclic circumcisions sickly drawTo circumspection the specters of precious whiles;Whilst we within ourselves swear our senses?Vital organs granting.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ladyrosaline/1183001/ The dead grasslands of Dethecia rolled in golden waves and crashed against the dark horizon. Here, life had become all but a long lost memory.Jeremiah flew wearily and with his crow’s eyes looked over the landscape, which had turned monotonous miles and miles ago. The plains were endless, and .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ladyrosaline/1159906/ Gabe knelt down before a towering gate of iron with a cold bar clinched in each fist. Locked! He was kneeling at the center of the gate, where the two wings were bound together by a lock on which there was, of course, a key hole etched dead center into an iron circle, the gate’s nexu.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ladyrosaline/1159896/ I haven't thought of this in years. But when I was a child, I had a pet pig that I called Mr. Oinkster (stupid name, I know). You probably wouldn't believe it, but pigs actually make great pets. I was even able to teach Mr. Oinkster how to sit and play fetch. I could ne.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ladyrosaline/1159773/ Read, write, and be read, but always be yourself, for your voice is yours alone and originality can be found within, if no where else... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ladyrosaline/1159762/ Dedication to the real Poets. The masters of poetry.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ladyrosaline/1157109/ We live by the abstract. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ladyrosaline/1156600/ For Slippery Pete, wherever you are. See back in Uppstate, New York in the mid '90s you couldn't find a single oak tree under which there weren't two bums corn holing the ever-loving s**t out of each other. So I had to get the f**k out of the city. On the southbound train to Hops, Georgia,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ladyrosaline/1156544/ To’ve sweet o’ercome the bitter, and warmth the cold,I would bear the bitter cold gladly,For the hurt we trade, a return tenfoldIn happiness to share we shall receive.My mirth and merriment are yours to nourish;Like children on their mothers, their lives depend,Who without maternal love .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ladyrosaline/1156542/ blank verse soliloquiy http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ladyrosaline/1153800/ How many times does the cat meow “If you see me around, you can catch me ousting happiness, In grimy outposts or in dreamy houses. 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