http://slow.writerscafe.org/cyanideenid The original writings of author Brooke Wake en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1775968754 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 My journey to become more embodied and trust my body is a tricky one. This is a love letter of sorts to an abandoned body. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cyanideenid/2770888/ A little enlightenment poem...It's so hard to get there. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cyanideenid/2313892/ Done in the style of Emily Dickinson. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cyanideenid/1330181/ This is a prose poem. I'm trying something new. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cyanideenid/1328645/ A poet friend and I chose a phrase, "Red Arrows," and decided to each write a poem about it, and to show-and-tell later. It's a silly exercise, and fun. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cyanideenid/969545/ A revolution of the self leads to...? http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cyanideenid/969539/ I'm trying to get back into this. This was a thought I had the other night. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cyanideenid/942171/ I really did dream this, and woke up and wrote it. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cyanideenid/797069/ This poem was specifically written for my best friend's wedding, which was held two days ago (Saturday, April 30). I was supposed to be one of her bridesmaids, but instead, I was her astral poet. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cyanideenid/721657/ A reflection. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cyanideenid/721323/ This poem-book or chapbook is dedicated to my best friend of six years who was, in fact, a horse. RIP, Brenna. 06/15/02-12/12/10. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cyanideenid/721302/ Sometimes we feel seismic clutter a little too closely near our souls. And we must listen to it. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cyanideenid/688477/ This stemmed from a writing prompt and an night of tearful expunging. I hope it makes sense to you all. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cyanideenid/688475/ This appeared on my page while eating salsa. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cyanideenid/682082/ I don't know where the heck this came from. I wrote during my 10 minute break at work today. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cyanideenid/622886/ The first of perhaps many little meanderings, created beneath the hustling, clanging, melee of a fast-food chain's squalid kitchen. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cyanideenid/622883/ I like verbose titles sometimes. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cyanideenid/619967/ Girl like meta. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cyanideenid/612388/ Distant reflections. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cyanideenid/609467/ A poem of the senses. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cyanideenid/593506/ A response to the opinion of a much-loved creative writing prof. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cyanideenid/593504/ Poems used to pounce on me from out of nowhere on my way home from school. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cyanideenid/593501/ Metapoetry. I dig it. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cyanideenid/593499/ I was nuts when I wrote this, and others. No. I mean it. The wall growled at me. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cyanideenid/593495/ An epitaph for my grandfather, who was truly the salt of the earth and the pillar from which we all clung. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cyanideenid/593494/ Read the poem and interpret as you will. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cyanideenid/593487/