http://slow.writerscafe.org/Marlowe147 The original writings of author Marlowe147 en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776033829 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 A tale of war and disillusionment. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Marlowe147/544584/ Chapter II.Chasm. The sweet smells of breakfast hour spread through the flat.The Man shifted, turned and woke up. As he stood the sheets came away and fell to the floor in a shrugged lump. The bathroom paint, a delicate blue. A reliant hue, cast as deep as the sky and as shal.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Marlowe147/542030/ The cigarette smell like Death acrossthe table, so still andPersistant like raining atom bombswiping clean the ground in bigOle erupting pops.The music inside faint,a quiet someone passing unnoticed. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Marlowe147/541370/ The start of a play I'll eventually finish about a New York City detective. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Marlowe147/541083/ David came back in through the ringing door. His hands clenched into painful fists. Hesitation.“The found her. They fished her out of a river. Why did she go? Who would do something like this?”“Fate. You cannot outrun fate,” said the pharmacist from his seat.David slu.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Marlowe147/540576/ A dark space, a void in which angry thoughts, empty hopeless thoughts, fill and become.The shadow rose from the depths of the room and stole away the heart of love, the binding flame. Swept gone with the passing wind.“Did you see Jen leave?”“Who?”.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Marlowe147/540573/ The staircase leveled off and became a narrow hall, the room directly to the right. At the end of the hall a withering rose, kept from hanging limp by a pristine glass vase.Damp, calm, the smell of early mist reaching from the coast, accentuated by the chipping teal paint. The bed&rsquo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Marlowe147/540572/ This is a serial story, a story told in parts, which provides a window into the imperfect world of David and Jennifer Stendhal. A couple burdened by college debt, they struggle to meet the demands that life has thrust upon them. To keep up appearances, they run from their problems and take a quiet.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Marlowe147/540571/ Marvelous 8th of February, my cousin and I returned home from a family party, back to my house. Three minutes pass and the call we’d been waiting for buzzed in my pocket. Another three minutes before the still-smoking hellfire red SUV came growling up the driveway and we hopped in and took o.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Marlowe147/540569/ Good night to thosewho are listeningto the chimeshanging from theRedsaturated bulbpulsating in theHeavy fog.I look at the lightand delicate skin of thequiet Goddessbeside meShe breathes, in hersleep, withoutsoundNestled in cozy dreamsor waking toThem http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Marlowe147/540568/ LoomingNarrow and straightthe ash treesburn to their greenstumpsEntwinedPowerfullyamongst themselves…lumber fallen tothe warcradles at the feetbroken and withered and never standing againbedded down in dry leavesthe light catches onthe thin branchesof the you.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Marlowe147/540566/ To suffer tribulation and horroris to encounter the salty airthat stings the wound.Soothing at first. And then abrasiveto the raw bitten hide.The wound that is then, of course,cauterized and sealed.Bound with gauze,the unnatural armor tonatural pollution.But it is the scab,li.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Marlowe147/540565/ As gallant morning eats awayThe cancerous nightTime remains elusiveHidden in the space betweenLiving andDying; when the world becomes dark againUsing it will have destroyed usWrapped in the anarchy invented by an attempt of organization.Revolving, like clockwork, into nothingness http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Marlowe147/540562/ childhood remembrances are alwaysblandif you’re a middle class White kid like meWho hasn’t had it so badyou always remember things like familyparties, or vacations to Maine.You recall the elementary memories ofblurry Grade School.Being yelled at for swearing (whatever t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Marlowe147/540558/ Something is strange; it’s the first thing you notice. He is not like the others. David Brenham, my co-worker from the Bowman Theater. Today I saw downfall; his ultimate demise. David was a homeless on-and-off worker that had stumbled through the theaters archway, like a sedated beast, looki.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Marlowe147/540557/ The frozen wind flogs,a bloody greetingfrom the winter traveling gracelessly.And the icy fingertips bracenot as a sobering freshnessbut as a chilledsweat.Nightmare drenched,frostbitten and numb.Falling and never reachingwhat you thoughtwould come sofast http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Marlowe147/540556/ Seldom a smileat a funeralA newbornview of lifeBorn of death…bored of death.Take your prideand dry yourtears with itI’m done.Forces you ought to think about: Your own mortalitymakes you feelthe achesand earlyPainsthat aren’tthere whenIt’s .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Marlowe147/540554/ To the magnificent star in the sky: Some down here believe you a supreme beingDost thou flood the earth from where thou weeps?Cries like choir voices, praise’d singingNot so long ago when Noah had sailedFroth-foamed waves and thick-thread perilous rainFinding himself finally impa.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Marlowe147/540548/ Ode to Kerouac http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Marlowe147/540539/ Death will win this game we playLove and what is moreBut who would suspect sweet, innocent Loveis Death’s chilled funeral floorFor morgues are filledlike hearts are fullO Death, we do adoreHeadstone daisies dance with the airFor Love and what is more http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Marlowe147/540536/ My love for theeis like the burning villageDeteriorating fastAnd the ash that falls,gripping to my clothesand faceAre inherited markingsand have been smeared with the tearsof a lost structure http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Marlowe147/540535/ Flakes of burning news and brittle scrapDissipated into the nothing air abovethe tin canRadiating, and heating the way. Blood in the sandand on the slumped veterans, born of erosionRadio static the only civil noisebesides the current wind blownOut from the city. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Marlowe147/540534/ Just read it. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Marlowe147/540528/ The entire world is compressed by extinction into a single walled city. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Marlowe147/540519/ Read it and find out. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Marlowe147/540498/