http://slow.writerscafe.org/martyweil The original writings of author Marty Weil en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776212621 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 Insane old nurse,grotesque and drunken,adhering closely to unhealthy customs.Dispensing sugar-and-butterbrandy-and-water, and other weak mixtures. Dressed in parturient gingham,embalmed in inimitable concep.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/martyweil/1208243/ Goddess of fallen warriorshovering over this battlefieldconduct me to Valhalla.Goddess called Valkyrie,come with me to the banquetwhere gods rejoice.Spin your vital thread,through the air;come toss off a half tumbler.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/martyweil/1207650/ A sublime portion of nature,not yet reified,put on a shelf,as though it were a thing.It’s a philosophic question:Does the world itself carry its own meaning?Look at laws as objective necessities,as economists do,and make them real.They’re nothing,a joke,to entertain o.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/martyweil/1201130/ Hidden in a cornerlying in one placenooked into some little elder tree,growing by the wicket,at the edge of the garden.In glade and valley and lonely lane,in thorpe and village and farm,ageless superstitions bob up unexpectedlylike gargoyles nooked in here and there.Relieving the s.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/martyweil/1197362/ Away on a missionaway at a distanceablegated and banished.Hellish dog, depart,to some vast and horrid desert.Ligated as a thief:all foreign lands now dance to his drum.A desolate woman without a city,no relatives at all.We are all sufferingof our ancestors’ policyin ableg.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/martyweil/1196874/ A subterranean people:Nibelungs barbed like black pineforest,guardians of gold and treasures,from the mines of Nibelung-land,sought and eventually taken by Siegfried.Their caves in the form of a helix,ramps that spiral higher than the ones in Wright’s building.The Song of the Nib.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/martyweil/1196839/ Plunge into the cold, cold water,fall heavily.Splash among the purple-wing’d King-fisher.Plumped over head and ears into the water.Plumped into a crystal pondlike a heavy penguinstone-like from the rock into the gulf.And like the rain,a vast shower-bath.The ducklingsinto th.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/martyweil/1196837/ That fiend, Grimalkin.An old she-cat,contemptuous.That needful, vermin-coursing cat,outshining all cats.Bukowski’s feline,with deep remorse,curled in his gnarled arms.That venerable old Grimalkin,with Italian airs,accompanying the married folk into Suffolk,fawning upon it.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/martyweil/1196836/ There is a tribe called the Pseudo.Professor Freud for the title.Craze-mongers who pick up and drop cinéma-vérité.Creators of films on the human buttocks.Miss Ono, put her in the running.Pseud of the 20th Century.Pseuds and poseurs.Expatiating compassionately on ho.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/martyweil/1196834/