http://slow.writerscafe.org/dnane97 The original writings of author Delaney en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776013113 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 I’m hit with this visceral panic. A feeling of filling up, both heavy and nothing. A fear of the dwindling and the dread of the dark. I’m shrinking down, smaller and smaller, saying less and less. I’m white as a ghost, blank like a sheet. I only know five words. I feel the grabbing.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/2819982/ I used to touch myself in unfavorable waysCurious hands learning the comforts of my body I didn’t know cues, I didn’t know modestyBut what I learned was censure of my body I tested the bounds of my skeletonLicking the bones of starvationI watched the numbers on a sliding sc.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/2819387/ My dirty hands smudge the edges of color. I know better than to long for the muddling of hues, but it’s you who clings to my clothes like finger paint. Remembering you is like a renaissance and I can still trace you now, sipping whiskey and slipping your toes into the Atlantic Ocean. I kneel a.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/2819325/ I miss you and you’re still hereYou don’t walk to me anymoreSometimes I wish you didBut I’ll pick you up, I’ll carry you to bedYou don’t walk to me anymoreI don’t think you were ever coming towards meBut I’ll pick you up, I’ll carry you t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/2813746/ It baffles me how I waneHow the sun sets on me in a different placeHow the moon howls a different soundHow I rest in the intertidal zoneWhen I come in, she banishes me to the nightI lay weary on tumbled stones and morning dewCurled up in the dapples of her lightAs she peeks out through the shadows o.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/2117681/ http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/2117678/ fingers furled down as a setting suneach segment curling in like twisted shellswhispering sweet sailor words to a maternal touchand tucking low tides beneath moist palmsthere is a moment between water and earthwhere sand presses down like supple thighsand the lap of the surf chaffs ankles like a sha.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1891947/ You are told things as a child that stick with you. Eat yourvegetables. Respect your elders. Treat others how you wish to be treated. Makefriends with people you want to be like. And you try; but you never liked thetaste of tomatoes, your tongue began bleeding from biting back what you&rsq.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1430103/ you are a mold to me.warm hands caressing stiff, cold clay until it's pliable, until it spreads flat over me, into my peaks and valleys, until it is all of me, until it suffocates me.you are hands to me.whispers over supple skin, grazing on the plotted land where trenches have been invasively .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1428713/ You don’t understand why he hates youYou don’t understand why he doesn’t want youYou don’t understand why one day he can humor yourpersistenceAnd another day he can’t stand your presenceBut you know you love himAnd from the moment you entered t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1428690/ She was seemingly ordinary, in her dress, her speech, her laughter. But these were all veils, gracing her skin with the silkiness of camouflage. She was an illusionist, us all her faithful, ignorant audience. We all went home awed by the wonders of the world, and she went home smirking as she was on.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1390966/ She was similar in the way bones clanked against bodyBut she felt more to me as skin rubbing against cold sheetsShe was summer in its purest formWhen you're seven or when you're seventeen, and you want to take a cupand drink the sunshineLike a glass of lemonade rather than heatShe was si.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1388549/ I think a lot of people are so sad these days because they don't understand. Because from the first day of pre-k, we were given a short list of options to define ourselves by. Which was fine at the time, wonderful even, because we were all blank sheets without any identation to start. It gave us a b.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1279960/ She does not come with white    feathered wings, or a halo of symmetry. Nor does she promise diligence and    commitment, as a bumbling bee in newly sprung blossoms. She holds no consistency in her    act of nature, as a wading current flow.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1178607/ I listen content to heavy breath,As words leak from the tips of my fingers.Pulsating through my system,By points of passion in my form. As I catch that heavy breath,And my hand pauses above scattered scrawl.I focus on a thought of who will ever see this,Share with me these words I have fed myse.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1175283/ Sailing gently on a calmLapping of the ocean's breath.Misting salty tears of blissful joyOnto a kind man of later age. Content, he sailedWith light things on his mind.Of his warm home, bubbling wifeAnd joyous children that visit him often. Sighing his pleasure to shareWith the ocean. .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1173809/ This seems,like a better time than not, to tell you what is of me. As of this very time, very moment, very point in my life. Who I am. Well, I damn well wish I knew. I am a cluster of unfinished thoughts and words, But quite different than that indeed. I hold worth and notions that many may never se.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1173794/ I would have liked to say,That I have resigned.But I have not.It is quite contrary. I had been greeted by you,Rather cold. Chilling formal. You had requested me to sit,Across from you, on your territory. You look down upon me,With cold, frigid eyes.That speak of disappointment.A change in .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1173785/ I am halted in aMaze, of some sorts.Or maybe it is a cage,Or just the clutter of my hell-driven life,Littered from the less success and half regrets. Shattered was a perfect worldEnvisioned by a sweet mind.Unharmed by the pollution,Of life and of time. A goal to reach uponNever and fo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1173766/ Pain seers in my chest cavity and is transferred throughout the rest of my body through my bloodstream. I ache for another life, one that is seeking me. I lay in bed at night, sometimes, and simply stare. Stare at the light that streams, across the foliage, and into my own very window. I stare.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1171748/ I am a silent voice, in a quiet room.Eager to hear the words of my mystic form.To delay the pang of truth. I fade.To search for a cure to mortality. Lost my way in a rainstorm.No hope, of getting home.None of which, there is, anymore.I am drained from the streets. Like the flurries that da.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1171655/ Do you see the words I write?You should not change that,You may not filter that. Do you hear the pain I speak?You mustn't deny that,You will not hide that. Do you recognize the anger I scream?You cannot ignore that,You ought to mourn that. Because,do you sense when silence weeps?It&nb.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1170521/ If the currents of the oceanWere a lover, for me.I'd pack all my things,And send for the sea. If she held me tightly,With moistened caress.All problems would wash away,By her streaming bless. Her constant is soothing,Like her waves on a shore.Her love, unconditional.And limited, no more.&n.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1170487/ Hands placed,In wet cement.To dry and leaveAn everlasting presence. In hopes to holdA decreasing spotIn other's memory. For when we die outAnd our extinction isInevitableOur immortal mind brings us peace. However, the cement will soonCrack, with ageAnd with weatheringAnd time will dee.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1170242/ It's a little longer than usual, don't let that discourage you, though. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1169728/ Love for all their children,But particular to one.Angry, anotherSoon grew. She grew up in anger.In sadness,In loneliness.A flower, aching to bloom. Held her still,In fate's grasp.Was her ever-growing,Fear of rejection. Instead, she grewA stealthy independent.Trusting no other,Tha.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1169385/ Warm husky breath,heats the frigid space.Standing height on tip toes,We stare deeply face to face. Two airs intermingle,From mine and from yours.Frozen, until my head leads closer,Pulled towards your sweet allure. Arms reached around lovingly,Brings me forth, pressed against you... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1168414/ Built up upon words,Letters that create,Text that makes,Fulfillment at stake. Nothing, but the wordsBeing said, and being made.What is it without description?It is simply nothing. Words build the outline,It molds the figure of what it says.Like warm palms on stiff clay,It is shaped to fix .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1168380/ An empty room stills,from the disturbance of none.And unsettling soon,Settles in the pit of my stomach. I ache for noise, of any kind.But I am received by a ringing in the ears.That bounce of the room's interior,and gravitate back to it's source of power. As the sound resonates back to it'.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1167268/ A clenched mind in haze,Stuck in halt for many days.Tries to turn the page. Progress is no fear,A cluttered mind needs a clear.Where the time finds change. Broken, on the ground,There's no hope to look around.What about upwards? When you are low to,The ground that holds you close to.A.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1167261/ A chest is risen,By the breath of life.Pressed upon it,Is the warmth of love's embrace. She holds it tight,As does he.And their hearts beat, separate.In soothing melody. Draped upon a chest of warmth,Lays she.Buried in a loving blanket of arms,Lays he. Tangled in love's vines,That gra.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1166725/ A response poem from George Ella Lyon'a original poem Where I'm From. This will only be a glimpse of who I am, so you may not wish to read it. It's just a pleasant reminder to myself. 2012 http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1166671/ The pounding present in my head,As I control the both extremes.The always giving good,And the pessimistic bad. They make me find a median,These creatures on my shoulders.They make my decisions hard,This Devil and this Angel. She speaks in a soft voice,that tickles in my ear.Giving me kind,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1166447/ At first glance,All is well in the world.And the picture is painted beautifully,By a skilled hand of many years. But as you gaze upon this view,For quite some time.It is as if it transforms,Before your very eyes. The chiseled chin of a hero,Is now crooked and sticks out in a less humb.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1166232/ With shaken hands,she reaches up with a wand in defeat.Performing magic on herself,Artifically covering what she wants to hide. The blemishes, the mistakesThe hurt, she has felt.The tear stains, quite possibly.The facade does not mirror the interior. The mascaras flakes off her lashes,When.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1165945/ A young girl, no greater than the age of seven, sat at a table in the corner of the colorful classroom. The first day jitters rang around the room, with some kids all over the place with excitement while others shook in the corner from the fear. But not that little girl. She sat at her table, with h.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1165070/ I am on the unconscious edge,Of both sleep, and of death.It is where a body of water, Meets a rocky shoreline.One that reaches up past the height,Of any small town building.It is where firm ground,Is but a three feet away.In depth, but in perception, I lean closer to the deeper.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1164950/ I've always been,such a scenic illusion.To the people who I have ever,Came into contact with. But a beautiful landscape,without recognition.For nobody thrills for Nature anymore,they thrill for more modern arts. Like manmade canals,And artistry of the present land.Not the land that always .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1164642/ When is it definitive? When is something a hundred percent certain? Is it a gradual change? One similar to the growth of a baby, where you don't see every alternation, but you track it's progression. Or, is it more of a movie? Where all events are documented, for future viewing and analysis. Or is i.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1164561/ I sigh in all the emotions brought onto me,And without looking up I respond.'It is fine.'It most certainly is not. I peer up,Into a set of disbelieving blue eyes.Questioning me of my true reaction. My smile forcing backthe oncoming feelings.But that is what it simply is-forced.'Don't .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1164516/ I knew this was it, the time for the make or the break. Traveling down Rue Street swiftly, I barely glanced at those walking beside me and counter me on the busy May night. I knew the disappointment that would come if I saw them, saw them all while they don't see me. Instead, i kept my gaze on the c.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1164066/ Simply a collection of experiences with the nature and environment from the perspective of a struggling girl. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1164037/ At the tip of life's edge,Where there is no direction.No up, no down, and no turnarounds.Where do you find yourself a home? Do you always Remain?And make harbor on the passageway Of Life and of the Exit? Do you trek back to a prior Land?A city of Burnt Past,And the flames of Age forgotten... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1164007/ A simple humorous poem to show the irony of being with a woman. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1163986/ This is about a boy that does not hold my heart, but holds something equal in importance- who I was suppose to be. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1163964/ I never understand myself less, than the topic of others' pain. Or just pain in general. I'd rather feel the hurt, in substitution of another or just in substitution of myself. I will not say I like the hurt, but more or less, I like the pain. I like the experience of pain, of myself, but I hate the.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1163752/ This is the first, of seemingly many, anxiety poems I will probably put up. I am troubled in anxiety, to what degree I do not know. But too much, in my opinion. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1163177/ At eight o'clock I was getting ready to go out. Tonight is the night, I just know it. My boyfriend and I have been going out for six years now, since our sophomore year in college. It's been a long time coming for us. We've went through things every couple goes through; heartaches, heartbreaks, jeal.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1163068/ There is nothing I love more,than the innocence of a child.The love their eyes hold. The dimples in their smile,The excessity of pudge.The sweetest form of nature's giftNever the ones to judge. The purest state there ever is,and ever will be.Cause once they've grown they turn into,a cynica.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1163041/ I am the holder of your darkest secrets,that you confide to me in. I am crinkled of the salty tears that you've released to me. I am the refuge from your parents,when they fight too much to hear you. I am the shield from those who spite you,when they try to tear you done. I am th.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dnane97/1163008/