http://slow.writerscafe.org/toformideas The original writings of author Cassandra en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776173061 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 there in the distancehazy peak reaching for bluemy mountain to climbjourney forward andup a jagged precipicemy fingers bloodieddeterminationI will not be left to rotupon this dark rockthis mountain, though ofmy own creation, will notbe my final death http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/toformideas/1822684/ My mother's garden tells a storyof warmth and sunlight;of cold and cloudy skies;and of life, death, and rebirthas a testament to nature'sever-changing facade.When the temperature outsidebegins to climb,the tulips poke their bright headsabove the soilto paint the air with vibrant color.If I had to de.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/toformideas/1822631/ You read me like a book, you say,to which I have to laugh.What’s there to glean from empty pages;don’t you understand?I’m a master of my craft.It’s a game of play pretend.With my bag of tricks,and some joker’s quick wit,I bring the crowd their kicks.Though now, it&rsquo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/toformideas/1822419/ As the Wheel turnsfrom Winter to Spring,there's an ache in my bones.They're awakeningalong with the flora; my soul,a bud on the tree of lifeunfurlsfrom each caress of the sun'sloving fingers. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/toformideas/1732433/ soft violin chordsplay upon the aira lullaby in c-minorbut over the musici can hear the pitter patterof raindropsfallingagainst the windowpanein the distance,the clouds are having a conversationmumbling among themselveslike old housewives gossipingi strain to listen to their mutteringsfor clouds mus.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/toformideas/1730937/ at timesit speaks with the voice of a young childgentle and quiet andsoft like rose petals and just as beautifuland sometimes it shoutsits voice loud and furiousand hard like the wall it tries to knock me intobut it can sound sad tooits voice brittle with the breaths of ghostsand i hear it and think.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/toformideas/1730239/ A dab of grey upon a canvas of white;slowly, a dove took form,hopped off the page, and took flight.And Sarah smiled to see it go. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/toformideas/1729850/ I see you, little bird,as you flutter in the brushon unsteady wings. And your voice,a tiny peal of a bell’s song,pulls with it the first light of dawn.But oh, little bird, don’t you know?It’s a scary world outside your door--here, there be monsters.And I watch from my porchthe cat .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/toformideas/1729803/