http://slow.writerscafe.org/eliseanton The original writings of author Elise Anton en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1775968752 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 *For You... as I like to thinkShe comes to him like a lightNot like a sunbeam nor a shaft between high-risesNot a ray poking through voluminous clouds Nor diffused like the moon Reflecting over the calm water of a lakeOr a sudden flicker of a candle Not the slick tongues of fire in a.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/2154610/ Those very few and very brief moments... when the gaze outside the window shows a very near undulating hill; both dark and brooding against the lighter backdrop of a pale sky, just - just before dawn: Precious time.The sound of early morning birds... even in the midst of a bitter winter find.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1787674/ It's in the ebb and flow... you know - tides bringing remnants of moments someone else tossed out, picked up by you and examined ever so briefly. Is this one worth keeping and will it too join with the rest of those collected over years chasing the perfect, most elusive gift from afar?It's in .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1787672/ You tapping the keys, how much of love have you taken in? You bright young thing bemoaning life you have not lived, what words are these? "She said he said, her eyes his eyes... I love you..." you write, describing faces you have never met, emotions you have never felt and pain - when did you la.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1787670/ It's dark outside... She can almost imagine the silhouette of the emerging row of houses being a mountain ridge, rising and falling darker than the cloudy night-sky beyond it. Her life picked up once more and deposited where the green and the blue hues build no imagery beyond the standardise.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1787669/ It was a small glass bottle, and as she walked the shore, she stopped at the most perfect spot. There she sat, sifting and sifting, looking for exquisiteness. She found some little shells, few bits of coral and these she carefully mixed with fine white sand and trickled them into the bottle... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1787668/ One day in whenever, she penned some words. And they were torn from her and they were borne from her and she - lying in her pain watching her body wasting - she placed them in an envelope. "Too soon," her heart protested, "much too soon," so she hid the envelope under her pillow - where her dreams c.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1787664/ The decades indicated steps were needed and she proceeded one the other, bounding and some floundering. Falling and stalling, surging and merging, seeking and asking directions mostly from strangers turning into manipulated formulated emotions... really.The decade pointed to solitude, an.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1787663/ There are some beings. Some take them for granted; others spend a lifetime in pursuit, an endless just around the corner quest where there are only corners, nothing else to view.There are some lives, true lives, which live in passing, in daily discussion over hurried breakfasts and betwe.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1787660/ You sensed it. The moment the pinnacle was reached; when you stood at the dizzying height and you gazed around - the hard climb up, the relatively easier scramble back to flat ground... For some few moments, the entire world of possibility stretched out below you in every direction. Other pi.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1787658/ The writer sits in waiting. Observing from outside the façade - having been suddenly thrust into the living and the breathing world, outwardly flowing from the words she brought to being. She created this!The writer tries to say some things but framing thoughts in short bites during.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1787656/ So she thinks... what makes a writer? She cannot feel the normal emotions others feel; she sits staring at screens, her mind a million miles away where another mind tosses and turns and begs for sleep. She wonders why the illusive notion so at ease in others so dis-eases her. It vexes her da.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1787654/ There's a place - you know - those travels in the night, those mental 'sneaking out of houses'... there's a place. And in that place, reality is but illusion, it has no bearing on the intercourse flaming faces or the sensations freely rebounding when two fleeing beings meet and fill the empty .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1787652/ Everything is a mystery cloaked and enveloped between lust and the protective ties binding eternal love which is but a vain attempt to capture this one creature once settled in reflection and confused by the abundance of emotion as the tale stings yet a new sting every dawn.And yet. Each w.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1787651/ In a world beyond the known, far from the ties that bind to life, a scorpion sits gazing up at stars - even those shining brighter than of his love and even so his lust to reach further at times, to best even the furthest from himself and raise the tail - the sting appropriate, defined by th.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1787650/ There is a distinct aloneness - when you can't remember the last time lips touched your own or the last time you launched yourself at someone, burying your troubles in an embrace. Only a void, empty of everything except the silence of tears falling - tears unheard, even by you. In this a.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1787647/ It was time. Nine months since their first innocuous exchange. The time it takes for a child to be born, only this child was conceived through words; an entire volume of musings passed back and forth across the vast literary sea dividing worlds.It was time. The days had passed one after .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1787645/ Poetic prose? Random musings? Captured moments? Who knows... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1787643/ Stay tuned, you behind the devices and fingers tapping botched words. Grammar hurts however it is spelled. Tap and then tap - my life so tap so furiously - I feel the stabbing through the cold screen. Like a breeze of tiny needles each finding its own pore. Exquisite.Words to my face, my agony, .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1762295/ This is not a ‘work’. This is my bowing out. I will nottotally abandon this site; I will continue to work behind the scenes with thosefew I have been helping. I will however not be publicly commenting or postingany more of my own work here. Those who wish, can find me on Watt.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1749830/ Funny. I surrendered my virginity to a beautiful boy when I was seventeen. Part French, he fed me strawberries, sitting at the kitchen table in matching silk robes. He bought me Chanel no 5, the first expensive perfume I ever owned. I wore it ever after, my brother giving me a bottle twice a.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1749416/ When I decided to finally meet William again? No tangible certainty he was alive. The only evidence a photo on the internet, several years old. I always told myself I'd know however. If ever he stopped breathing, I'd sense it. The random conversation last year affirming this; another someone.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1749414/ Came the day I picked up a pen and once again wrote down those few lines memorised. Only this time, more words appeared on the paper! "So young and spending endless suffocating years trying to reclaim a touch. Have you ever witnessed the solitude of one who seeks a particular day? Have you.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1748552/ Astounding, my survival those first years after the devastation. Alone with my secrets; resisting to the constant pressing need to smash my old car into a pole or a tree whenever I sat behind the wheel. Eyeing my father's sleeping pills and musing about how peaceful it would feel, to nod off.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1748551/ Back when the boys were little, the struggle to provide for them within the cliché of a single mum? Their father too bloody sick to contribute with steady work, only ever stealing or swindling to support his habit. Working in Real Estate, days of opening doors and striding into lives, f.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1744869/ I married the first time at twenty four, presumably to escape, only in the process, I discovered in my husband a younger version of my father. So fucked up! Panic-stricken by the prospect of forever time again, waking to the weakness he presented daily. Dreaming of escape, over and over - sa.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1744864/ William the only one enabling me to draw full breath, his presence even though brief and even if sometimes only on paper, providing the much needed oxygen, the respite from the ever-expanding restrictions to this breathing.Afterwards, when I allowed the Prince to ride off without protest, .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1742710/ When the blue-eyed Prince arrived, whisking me off my not-so grounded feet, I perversely hoped. I counted on him being the one to topple William. I gave myself over, immersing my being in his proprietary presence. Even bloody eating fish once, consumed by the need to accommodate his absolute.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1742708/ William always returned, filling the vacuum whenever I discarded a new diversion. A given he would emerge, monopolise my thoughts and punch the keys, producing new reflections. Past conversations between us revisited, the scrutiny through fresh eyes identifying further perspectives to behold.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1741279/ The fateful day came when my father shoved my mother, and she fell on the back steps, fracturing two vertebrae in her back. I didn't witness this assault and she refused to discuss it at length. "It was an accident. I don't want to talk about it."Her pain touched me, sitting at her side .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1741277/ You should not be alive today, Statistically you should never have been born. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1737960/ Review turned into... you decide. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1734415/ The perils inside a writer's brain... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1733329/ An oldie... Scrolling through my files and this one popped up today... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1733240/ Who's behind it? http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1732878/ My father failed me again a second time, when I was ten. The first house our family rented after many months sharing with other migrant families. Months where I had to walk my brother to his day-care then get myself to school, repeating the process at the end of each week-day. Ten years old,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1731836/ At seventeen I too dared to pursue a passion. My art deemed impressive in High School, hanging in corridors - some better pieces taken home by the teachers. At their insistence, I had applied to an Arts College and received an acceptance letter and a scholarship. I babbled when my parents re.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1731833/ Because we are all tools... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1731704/ Before you say these words... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1731256/ Pink best reflects the effect of discord. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1730092/ I have been musing on an issue... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1729773/ “Tomorrow is another day.” I hear this phrase a lot;maybe more so these days of terror and violence and displaced peoples andeconomic turmoil and confusion within relationships.The premise behind it is hope. It is always hope. We say these words tosomeone going through a rough .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1729333/ My experience at another writing site mixed with some general musings about age, art and... the consequences of asking advice from my son... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1729310/ Sometimes odd things pop into my mind. Mostly in that twilight state, craving sleep but needing to stay awake. Those I remember, I write down, Others are observations; snippets of lives. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1729304/ Are you? Can you? http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1729022/ No need for one... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1728952/ One of my early ones... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1728942/ My contribution http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1728601/ Introduction http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1728597/ I began writing down odd pieces of self, brief moments, reflections... Then I wondered what could be achieved if others collaborated and added their odd pieces of selves... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/eliseanton/1728595/