http://slow.writerscafe.org/alira7 The original writings of author Alira en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776028612 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 You were the stem of natureI plucked from the weedsand held close, like a child.I scooped you into my palmsand watched you squirmacross my skin. Peering down your scalloped body, I wonderedif this was curiosity: the need toplunk you into a mason jar andwatch as you crawl in circles.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alira7/1343941/ A revision to my "A Walk Through a Village in Scotland" http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alira7/1340176/ Woodendoors creak open in thewinter wind to a symphony of fiddlesandthe strong scent of potato stew,ofthe earth and salt.Oldmen, jolly and balding,clashtheir pints of ale like fists,clutchingtheir plump stomachs asthey howl in delight. It&.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alira7/1340175/ Theleaves flutter in the breeze,likeyour wings once did, asI curl myself within a hand ofthe earth. Rough bark cuts intomy skin as I grasp thefingers of the tree tight, clingingto them as I onceclung to you. Thegray clouds drizzlein.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alira7/1340174/ The ground is littered with snow asfrigid flakes blanket the earth to sleep.Seventeenth-century bricks lay outthe village like footprintsstepped in far too many times.They shield moments of the past,the memories, like photos stored awayin a shoe box hidden under the loosefloorboards .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alira7/1340032/ Eyes clench like jaws underthe afternoon sky, swallowingthe bursts of light behind lids,forming the brightness intoa moment of the past.The sound of a single chink,of grommets being swept asideto reveal the rising sun,still rings in my ears.It was a bad habit of mine, the necessity.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alira7/1333499/ Thelast time I saw you, your footstepsechoeddown the kitchen hall like a memory. Yousaid that hope had stumbled into you,toldyou to forget what just wasandto run towards what could be.Chasing dreams, you’d mumbled,andhere I’d thought that I was you.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alira7/1333087/ Singme a lullaby as I close my eyesanddrift off with the winds,sweepingout to the sea like the hands of Aeolus.Singme a lullaby this time knowingthatthese eyes won’t open againtoa world like a shadow’s cove,withdark clouds and empty hollows.L.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alira7/1331289/ A continuation, or part II, of "The Song of the Bird" ... read that first! http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alira7/1324065/ My body lies sprawled on the avenue   like a royal catchfly bundled in black,broken and left behind.A shooting star with limbs reflexed,left leg bent back, right straight ahead,an arm tucked under like a dying ember, the other outstretched. A hand grazes .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alira7/1324053/  It’s the coo of a pigeon that is carriedto me in the brisk winter breeze,like the whisper of a broken promise,a promise of hope and change. The winter frost shimmers underthe bright clouds with each step I take, like stardust fallen from the night sky. O.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alira7/1318415/ For Nelson, the Kea parrot abandoned by his parents for his alien looks. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alira7/1318409/ An "Ars Poetica" assignment ... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alira7/1272315/