http://slow.writerscafe.org/Swordfish The original writings of author Swordfish en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776277900 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 It is not foolish that which opines the senses towards the enchantress. And finds the opal-blue sullen waters of a world so beneath our own. It is but a thirst, beginning before time and lasting beyond time infinite, that we crave her breasts and her embrace. For fathoms of failures and fallen giant.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Swordfish/1698669/ God is something he cannot truly grasp. In catching glimpses of the sun, one can see that it's round and emits an infinity of oranges, yellows and reds. This would lend to a belief of its nature and supposed character but the fact remains; it cannot be wholly beheld. It's overwhelming to the ey.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Swordfish/1696190/ Every Tuesday, two hours before dusk, the old man walked the cobblestone streets of the ancient port city. Though physically familiar to its inhabitants, no one knew his association nor his dwelling. His ritual, when observed by the occasional news boy or laundry maiden, had seemingly no route or rh.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Swordfish/1695055/ I know her breathing. Her rhythm.I know how she favors one side when she stands.I know her gaze when she's soft of mind, light in the heart.And I know what it means when all of it changes:Her breath, chameleon. New color and scent. Puffing venom that wrenches the nerves like python... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Swordfish/1695047/ Hail to thee sweet southern ladyRipe with charm are theeTis calm beneath your willowsTis warm beneath your leavesTho many wish for days of oldenThis hour I do seeA potent poets sultry potionPoured out for us to breatheWhy doth thee dwell in such a worldOf greed and speed and cl.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Swordfish/1693122/ Does the rosefall from its thorn;The tree the root thereafter?For in its statein woeful scornThe bees come bumbling after.A makeshift dream in one accorda mist, a moat of laughter.In place, a chimeThe tool, the time;To Bethen you're the master. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Swordfish/1693120/ Somewhere in my youth, the sharpness and crystal-clear pixelation of my life became dull; blunted like a razor cast down hard against the rocks. The music became less hopeful, the spring seasons less odorous, and it all happened seemingly in an insta.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Swordfish/1693096/ Listen to the sounds of the living. The sounds of people.Listen to them early. Before the sun rises like the anxieties of their daily lives.Listen through the walls. Listen as their bones crack. As their hands find coffee and purpose.Listen as their movements become more rh.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Swordfish/1693094/ How profound yet perfunctory the idea!Made hastily, the decision even more.Ha!Anchored even? In concrete? Fancy!Eight steel bolts and a tack weld to boot!Oh maintain your posture!Oh wipe off the dew!Oh men, the stupid, stupid men.Sit here!Watch this moving picture!Of.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Swordfish/1693088/ I want to play piano with words.I want to pounce on black keys like small prey does the lion.I want to play Bach with Whitman, Tchaikovsky with Conroy.Overcome that which binds me.All that shackles me.That great divide between paper and mind.Where is my ship?I’ve seen her befor.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Swordfish/1693086/