http://slow.writerscafe.org/InkandSpite The original writings of author A.J. en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1775978422 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 There’s an old spring that ebbs just out of sight of my home-A walk down the valley of thorns and you’ll find it carving its name out of stone. I used to pretend it led to something new- the Promised Land or just somewhere further away from here-But in truth it doesn’t flow much at.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1573191/ She stopped just outside thedoorway to take a cautious sip of her steaming coffee, her other hand cuppedbelow the tilt to cradle the leftovers. Her eyes darted around the shop patioas she swallowed just in time to meet his as he stared. He noticed a flush washacross his face, and was ashame.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1522246/ The spirits had scaled the riverbank unnoticed, over the early morning hours, and crept into the corn field towards the cemetery with thick smoky tendrils trailing behind. Once again, they sewed together the space between the heavens and the earth. Shrouded in grey, they all came again to greet the .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1507105/ Aonce-guarded temple now tastes of decay A guidinglight of hope once before- now broken,  crumbling ‘neath the ruin of once hallowedhalls- betrayed  the doorsbattered and burned to the hinges,  -these chambers lined with bones, their handsoutstretch.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1498107/ They sat around for a few morebeers, plotting their night before stepping out and making a left towardsdowntown. Vance and Eddie immediately lit cigarettes, walking a short waysbehind Gabi and Marcus, who didn’t smoke. “Look ather. My god, I wish she wasn’t a le.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1495344/ The café in which he sat wasnothing of note. It was not as clean as desired, the environment was loud, andthe food didn’t rate well except to the tongues still watered by copiousamounts of alcohol. Vance wasn’t there for any of those criteria though. He satin his booth alo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1495341/ http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1495340/  She wasdancing, beneath the tree As I shookthe snow loose from its arms And itlooked just like a scene from a crystal ballHer tongueoutstretched- her hair caught up in the breeze  I thoughtit strange, in a funny sort of way With me upthere,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1490058/ Rough, rough draft. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1489450/      He stood there on theporch in the early morning, watching the fog stretch down from the heavens to chokethe cool air for as far as he could see. He took his time with his cigarette,reflecting on the night he had had. It had been quiet, lonely as usual, altogetheruneventfu.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1463363/ just a warm-up http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1463005/  1.     There were no dreams of a woman’s gracetonight, and for that, I am thankful. That word, thankful, has become all toodistant- as distant as a loving touch, or the warmth of someone else’s breathupon my chest; but so has giving a s**t .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1460709/ The Shot       I had wanted to takethat shot, badly. It would have been convenient as I was standing on my porchand the buck was not thirty yards away, unaware of me one foot outside and theother just inside the crease in my front door. I knew I could take him,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1460421/ 1.I awoke toa number by a woman named Esperanza- 'Ponta DeAreia', it was called And I didn’tunderstand a damn thing she was saying  But had I awoken to a tropical view of anysort, The cat atthe end of my bed and I Might havefound a place called home.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1460362/ A poetic collection http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1460360/ during the summer I kept self-described poetic journal, which many, many of you readers responded to. I have put it all together for the first time in preparation for the second installment of MV. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1459809/ A King amongst Men   I could tell he was a broken man. The stringshe plucked were as rusted and discordant as his countenance. His guitar wasslightly out of tune, but in my perception the detail really drove the scenehome. The man on the park bench with his eyes shut to t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1459380/ Exile       Outside,it’s as cloudy as it is in here on a regular basis, The raintrickling down through my breath on the window-across thebars symbolic of my self-imposed cell.  It poursfrom the bed of the creek downhill into the.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1459357/  The waves roll ever gentlyup the pearl white sands of the beach, keeping a steady 4/4 time; the watergrasping through my toes for the bottle between my feet. By the looks of thesun, I’m not far from being consumed by the kiss of Poseidon’s reach. To my left a lone.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1459069/ Weathered       A crash of thundershook the place, and the handful of occupants writhed in their seats and duckedfor cover in the inevitable, though futile human response. One woman gave ashriek and quickly hushed herself, as if no one else was embarrassed by t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1456039/  I. We reminisce in thenight; talk about the “what ifs” as best friends What if we hadn’t beenso stubborn, so young-What if we, orrather I, hadn’t been so prideful -As to take theloners walk over pettiness, A.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1406197/ They lay in the grass Well adapted to the earth Locked hand-in-hand- And hand-in-hand again  Each with a leg entwined Lovingly around the others The way young lovers do When clinging to each-others souls-  -each discovering the others’ .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1404756/ Shehad the look of the last girl on earth, and I mean that in a good way. The momentI set eyes on her, I knew there would be no other to shine so brightly, ortaste so beautiful on my tongue, though I knew I’d likely have to fake a few;nothing lasts forever in times like these, especial.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1403499/  You shake yourself from the bed, wipe awaythat familiar cold sweat and reach for the bottle just past a stack of stained papersjust to find it empty and you toss it away and fall back to the throes, bothhands on your head trying to retain though you know you should forget what yousaw- .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1393758/ Band of Brothers   There’s you, a few of your friends, a bottleor two of whiskey, a case of thirty in red white and blue (just in case), anda shared pack of smokes in this old room You’re screaming over the top of your lungsat each other, because none of you want to b.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1389997/ forgive the roughness of parts, but I believe it adds to the message http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1389418/ There is a place, darker than any cavern or hole, any cell or starless night. There is a place darker and more painful than any perception of the wrong side of the afterlife- where cries for help have long since died and “Hell” becomes a welcome paradise.    &nbs.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1389402/ Fellowship   The Weatherman said they were bound to get some rain- a thunderstorm or two-tonight and through the morning. Not that he typically held any faith thosecrystal-ball-predictionaries, but the overcast skies looming above him on hishomeward trek had instilled a little hope, h.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1387284/ 2       Frombehind the walls he had called home for the past thirty years, the sun hadn’tbeen much more than a bully. Shining down from some far off horizon, it seemedto point and laugh at him each time he saw it; reminding him of the great OutThere; th.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1377740/            Everyone loves to burn bridges. The thrill ofit all must be akin to that of a good old fashioned barn burning. That is, ofcourse, all dependent on the reasons they way back lay blackened and drowned. Butas I sit next to my fishing bud.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1360106/ based on true events http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1357929/ 2013(?) http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1336577/  Those nights when you find yourself awake And pacing empty halls in the cold chasing down her memory, longing for her touchBut you're only holding empty glass  Those nights when you're driving down the lost highway That used to be your get-away dirt roads .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1303110/ A Means to an End  Scene 1.  The television mounted to the farthest, almost obscure corner ofthe place snapped, crackled, and stuttered through another newscast, coveringthe natural catastrophe’s of the past 24 hours, the weather involved and tocome, and, of cou.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1298163/ Yesterdays’Rain  Sometimes,the worst part of the storm is when its over. When everything,or everyone is gone, and you’d give anything just to see their raindrop silhouettes standing somewhere in the distance, waitingtearfully just for you to notice; .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1298162/ A DifferentKind of War  The Legendspreach that there are things much worse than death- and I, for what I am, tendto agree with them. ForSpartacus, it was enslavement at the Bloodthirsty hands of the sons of Rome- For theSacred Samurai- the loss of honor without proper .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1285167/  There’s a cold wind blowing through this house;Rattling weary bones and dusty shelves.Pages fall from stacks of yellowed memoriesAnd they all ask politely: will you read? Will you read of me? Will you hear what we have to sayAbout these bones in this stifled rocking chair,And t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1229275/ Sometimes, life seems like a symbolic, seething Parallel to the mighty Mississippi after a rabid spring, when the waters swell, and then flee the banks so trusted to route the chaos.Chaos; an assassin in the night- you never really see it coming, and by the time you realize the gravit.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1226582/ *Authors' Note: this story is constantly evolving, constantly being added to. There are so many layers to a piece like this (as you may understand) that it will likely never be finished. (thanks for the editing Catlen) Part One Homecoming  He watched the rain trickle down again.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1213064/  1. So we partagain, devils of the night and I- I wish Icould say "parting was such sweet sorrow" But, I find I don’t know if I like it or not Soaccustomed am I, to the life of the haunted; That I’vebegun to feel transparent- lifeless.  .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1212981/ Calling the wolves unto the feast- Just like a vulture on an imagined perch of gold -Plucking teeth with splintered bone- Ranting and rattling on Claiming a kill you didn’t make You claim to be so pure So f*****g great and powerful  -some kind of  master .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1212644/ Held up by the throat against the wall A steady dose of ridicule and spittle Tells a story of taboo compassion Yet something about strangulation Makes you feel so alive inside That it pours from you Down your legs and onto the floor Until your begging for more And cra.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1212617/  1. I love the sound the world makes whenits drowningOutside these hallowed halls And it’s the first thing in themorning But the sun light doesn’t dare Penetrate here where we prefer greyto All those happier things And we want only to be serenad.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1212518/ i bit of a departure from my usual Morning Views postings, but as this was the first thing I was compelled to write today, I figured why not. if its enjoyed I may take this even further, seperately. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1212160/ So I fell upon anangel, lost once, again today. she had nothing but kindness to say And a gentlenessabout her sway- in motion, though I knew she might be jokingI wanted so very badlyto reach out and hold her, caress her as my own againBut I felt she heldnothing but contempt in he.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1212109/ Bitten Those streaks written across your face tell me that you’ve beenbitten-the sadness that draws out the light from your eyes tells adeeper storyBut we are not speaking of the kind of vampires from romanticnovelsWe’re speaking only of the pain I have caused you.Either by neglect.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1211579/  1. I keep waking, hopingthat I might feel Her climbing into bed, But she’s in adifferent bed, somewhere in another land Perhaps with anotherman.. though I dare not reach past my sheets To find out whetheror not.. for I don’t trust my self with those .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1210947/ bombs, bullets, beheadings... give me anything but death behind the lines where no one sings your song and the liberals point fingers that scream "murderer..." and your nation betrays youfor the oath you swore to them. and you die forgotten yet- full.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1210800/   1. This day is definitelystarting off two sizes too small Having planned towrite of dreams, Angst, and nature, withoutinterruption I woke in a sweat atfour in the morningNever mind the termrest, Or dreaming at itsworst; And its been not.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1210489/ I woke to a sharp pain in my chestAnd an outline of my body written in cold sweatIve heard of that; of people dreaming themselves to deathShe had heard that too, at least last night , that’s what she said“you’re making yourself miserable babe.”“no, I already made myself.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/InkandSpite/1210187/