http://slow.writerscafe.org/Petals1 The original writings of author Speaking Sandclocks en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776205543 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 From the parted lips of the winter closetmy mother’s laughter somersaults--embroidered breeze in the shawl. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Petals1/1650575/ They move sideways and then toward water,Taking their memories with them,Combing through Rapunzel grainsThey part their hair and rush.Their bodies spread like lines in a prayer,Haphazard and earnest; echoes of whispersSwim in unopened rooms of cravings.Crabs find it hard to let go... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Petals1/1650451/ He has retired from the company of human ears,that blindly clapped to his sea foaming tunes.Crystal orchards flowed over his fingers then,music bending to his voluminous folklore tastes.Now, it is a bit different ,orange pools of moonlit wisdom dyes his locks by day,knowledge from books is like sand.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Petals1/1437681/ Stairs are dust. Heaving with the weight of wasted dawn.Onlyway out.                   Your eyes. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Petals1/1435226/ Step out on the snowand absorb it in.Squarepaper ,when capablelights small shapes of joysin the format of kusudama flowers.When moments on the snow have passed,close your eyes, stand still.Be overwhelmed.Caravans, houseboats , what else not, in live dreamsand that hanging flowers in their hairtravel.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Petals1/1431550/ Look upon the face of the river.Lines on the forehead are flutes,then angel dust.Quietly, it is a part of the present,with breakfast tables, curtains and photographs,it brings out the tide where memories collide,piles up embraces and birds,they burden the youth of days to comeand sleep upon roc.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Petals1/1431061/ If it rains all the night, will the drenched blown out stars have a name?Lightning like the cloudspread oracleis a branching tree.Breathes freelyand in a mood that has power,strikes across the pages of textured winds.Portions of poetryalong the back of frosted glass, houses, street lights,slide.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Petals1/1430106/ Inside your womb mother of Maneven deserts bear their flowers,sense of shelter fills that roomwith endless healing powers.... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Petals1/1426182/ River must choose between her first love and her innocence. What will she do? http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Petals1/1425422/ The pure may not always residedeep within the breastsof marble swans,but sometimes in the rainbowsplitfrom the white face of the sun,by a cut glass girandole. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Petals1/1424396/ Two best friends grow apart in deep pain, then suddenly come together unexpectedly many years after. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Petals1/1424293/ On windy days,imagined city is made of flutes,mosaic violence and seagulls.Temperature falls when sun goes down,men smoke off their conflicting opinions,wishing tomorrow,newspapers would poursharp arousing arrows of breaking news,that would somehow succeed in moving them,from their preferred facades.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Petals1/1424288/ The flute and fancies-Waterbabies clap their handswith peals of laughter. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Petals1/1424283/ Why does Angana begin to love her brother after he passes away? http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Petals1/1423953/ Silver flutes,mishandled at first,then played until the tips were broken.Poets have sharpened their tongueson frosted glass that past midlife,had rains and some wise insectsfor occasional visitors.This side of cerebral terrain,half washed by logic, caught in a.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Petals1/1423950/