http://slow.writerscafe.org/misterfebus The original writings of author misterfebus en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776011722 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 climate change...shhit! human change http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/misterfebus/1707993/ bluebefore I could speakit was you baby-blue, powder-blue,blue sky, nowthat I have a voice, Istill can't find the wordsthat define youeven in the dictionaryyour a universe.but you are there I know you areeven in the night-sky;blue clouds, blue stars,blue moon, nowas I get olderplum-blue, moody .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/misterfebus/1694081/ summer is gone as are butterflieswrapped in fallleaves our demise.pockets of wintervibrate the earthin colorless whitefeathers of rebirth.discernible springflutter your wingsspread your sprayof ornate waysso again we swaybutterfly praise.  http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/misterfebus/1691012/ I see kids hanging around in a circlebent over watching a pile of plasticmelt and burn but not disappear - "oh,how they will learn."That plastic things don't give-in so easilyand how if your not careful that gooey sticky substance takes hold and hardensas the fumes ooze into their brains.Into g.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/misterfebus/1686505/ Do you ever get the feelingwhen walking that yourhead and shoulders are stretching for the clouds?Remember Mr. Armstrongthe toy you can stretchfrom head to toeand his blood ran blue?And how sometimes along the edgeof the road walking, the vertical pushing on the legs causes themto shorten;.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/misterfebus/1674133/ bourgeois           bourgeois?where          are theirintellectuals?       common groundis  in    a     ditch.it's more            than a three   shells gamewhere's .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/misterfebus/1672887/ willowpillowdaffodilliome never spoke in slang  of "what's goin on yo?"but came from that placeof one parent raised welfare phase,where the things you atecame on a paper plateVelveeta cheese, dry carnation milk please, what a squeeze that bright red boxand oh yeah - snap, cr.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/misterfebus/1672388/ I wake twoa leaf of many colors snappedfrom a twigthat bellows in middle air for a spinor twoor threeinhale, exhale as eye watch it pendulumon colorless, tasteless atomic gasin winter fall, it layscoloring the groundswith psychedelic beams of skeleton forms: green,burnt red, and gold child.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/misterfebus/1666251/ There's a certain time whenthe right moment of sweetnessis ripe for the taking,the plumLike when the artisthas achieved his final strokeson a canvasand knowing when to stop    the plumas the mason has drawnhis lineto smooth the skinof rock and water    the plumas the farmer digsa.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/misterfebus/1663688/ maybe through living rooms with furniture made from the finestfabric ormaybe handed down made from cheapwood or maybe from neighborhood to neighborhood maybe city to citymaybe state to stateor if the world was flatfrom Alaska to New Zealandin houses built like mansions or shacksmaybe .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/misterfebus/1660209/ smiles made of peelmemories are so realthat stings the eyelaugh and fake cry,you lick the goodness dryits tangy sweet surprise..lingers in your mouth for some timeas does the hope of deja'vuthat springs the image of me and you. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/misterfebus/1659378/ when you see them painted on canvas,usually set serenely above an ocean as a flapping..V actually being there sitting on your beach towel, it's not whats happening; as a child I remember a few every now and thenNow..there's one for each beach-goer. they.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/misterfebus/1658296/ Walking home and the chestnutsare fallingbut no squirrels around to pick them uphundreds, if not thousands lay like a bed of damaged abacuses.I wonder if the homelesshave a taste for chestnuts.I look around still no squirrelsbut there's a man in a chefs coatstuffing a bag with ch.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/misterfebus/1650279/