http://slow.writerscafe.org/Dpsumner1289 The original writings of author D. P. Sumner en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776033729 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 ‘Cross the sea is an island, at least they all say,if you sit still and listen, you can actually hearthe king of said island, calling your name.He speaks of great pleasures, known only through fear.He sits on his high throne of unanswered mail,you can’t see him but others can, or so they.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Dpsumner1289/2014168/ Yesterday’s sands are whipping my face -They scour my eyes and stifle my pace;Filling my lungs as I’m gasping for airForsaken by love, so I fall to despair.Yesterday’s rains are now flooding my home -I’m drowning in guilt and regret, all alone;But the guilt and regret cannot .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Dpsumner1289/2014165/ The sun flicks a sheen 'cross her long curly hairAnd reflects from the depths of her eyes of despairAnd projects her despair through my skin to my soulAnd injects in my heart, searing hot like a coal.Now the coal in my heart spreads the flame to my veinsCoursing hot through the vessels, fire-cleansi.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Dpsumner1289/2012304/ I'll be meand you be you,but chances arewe can't be two;For I seewhat you're blind to -and chances areI'm blind to you. Few can seethe skies of blue,in shades of blackthe way I do. And few knowhow gray the huea sunrise shineswith darkened view. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Dpsumner1289/1947227/ Life is a roadand we're all in carsand we are all drivingnot knowing how farMy car is grayThe inside is all blackand I'm towing four othersall hitched to the backThe road is too steepMy car grinds to a stopSo I get out and pullso we get to the topMy legs are on fireI'.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Dpsumner1289/1943755/ She was a dark-haired girl and beautiful, and he was a dark-haired man and handsome, although neither of them would have described themselves as such. The boys had always tried to impress her, and he was a shy man with little experience with girls, and they were perfect for each other. They’d .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Dpsumner1289/1930794/ It was Friday morning and it had been three days since I’d spoken with my father when he called me, but I was working and I did not answer. He called often and talked a lot about nothing, and I did not have the time that day, and as busy as I was, I did not have time to call him back, either. .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Dpsumner1289/1911151/ Inspired by all the callousness in society, where people are more inclined to stand by and watch suffering, rather than stopping and helping, I hope this poem spreads awareness and empathy. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Dpsumner1289/1856975/ A sample of time is all that we're givenA blink of an eye in this placeIt slips through our fingers, and as well as we hideThe reaper continues to pace. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Dpsumner1289/1856970/ This is a poem I wrote for my son. It's subject to change and it may be posted here temporarily. Enjoy. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Dpsumner1289/1856180/ I stand amidst the clocks of lifeWaiting, for the time to strikeThe time is here, the wind has blown,Alas! It's gone - as fate has shown. The gusts of life are often lostto memories, and then forgot.Once more, the time is coming near - But oh! It's passed, and yet, my dear,I'll sit amidst .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Dpsumner1289/1851640/ This is not so much a story as it is a simple metaphor for life, as I interpreted it one night after a little reflection. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Dpsumner1289/1828675/ I awoke to the sound of a thousand bullets exploding and ripping through the air around my head, mixed with sergeants shouting orders and the harrowing screams of my injured peers. I stumbled to my M1 Garand rifle to join the fight as I had trained for, and upon finding it, sighted in on my first ta.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Dpsumner1289/1796274/ This is simply an excerpt from my unnamed upcoming novel. Enjoy! http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Dpsumner1289/1796273/ I remember that night like it was yesterday, it was a cold, snowy night, and the wind did not blow. The snow fell in big, soft flakes, straight to the ground, which was already covered in a soft blanket of the stuff. There was a half moon glowing so bright that you could see it behind the clouds , t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Dpsumner1289/1721098/ The man was a tall one, not a day over 30 (although his weariness might add a decade on for show), dressed in a black woolen coat filled with holes, stained, gray, faded trousers, and a pair of beaten brown boots. He had short, dirty brown hair, shimmering in the moonlight with grease from days of s.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Dpsumner1289/1679684/     On a cold Christmas Eve, in any cold town in any cold winter, sometime in the early 1900s, a young man sat on the steps of an old church. He fiddled with a shimmering gold chain, at the end of which dangled a small, oval-shaped locket, and due to the shabbiness of the young man's appea.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Dpsumner1289/1666757/ RegretsBy: Douglas SumnerThe old man walks down a dusty old roadAnd regrets the reason for his iron clad loadThe sands of forever will continue to takeThe life that he once enjoyed to embraceThe man will continue to walk foreverNo matter the road, no matter the weatherFor he has been cursed with the.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Dpsumner1289/1666753/ LonelyBy: D. P. SumnerThere is a time in everyone’s lifeWhen the heart feels pierced by an ill-sharpened knifeA wishing for something but happy for nothingThe waves have no shore, the clouds have no breakThe wind is deadened, the sun feels so fakeA companion is all that one truly desiresA ligh.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Dpsumner1289/1666752/ LoveBy: D.P. SumnerLove is a word that cannot be definedIt blows on forever in the sands of timeIt has no beginning, no middle, no endIt isn’t a fashion, a fad, or a trendIt harvests tears from the toughest man’s eyesIt runs the richest man’s bank accounts dryIt has no touch or phy.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Dpsumner1289/1666751/