http://slow.writerscafe.org/willmjspencer The original writings of author willmjspencer en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776012923 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 While on the road of time, you willFeel a need to fill your space. ReadNovels. From classic to contemporary,From Kerouac to Atwood, to AngelouBack to you. Go, raid the second handBook stores. Get on your hands and kneesAnd dig: dig for a piece of truth. Even fiction relays theme and messageOf a plac.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/willmjspencer/2015373/ From the pinhole of the universe callous atoms, gluons, quarks,And countless others flew forth. It was just there, tightly compacted, gnashing at one another: Creating, validating, and destroying each other in wondrous dances within the cataclysmic clouds. A void had been broken,And a new one made; .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/willmjspencer/2015369/ Camus from me to you. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/willmjspencer/2014018/ Day breaks under the weight of yesterday.The sun rises, while I sit in the yard, staring at the Caragana's surrounding me, feeling the wisps of summer air whisk by onward, carrying a sweet *whoosh* by my ears.A crow sounds off in the distance, breaking the wind’s chorus, adding unknown notes t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/willmjspencer/2012608/ Never should have in 1950.Consumerists bullets fighting Commie ideals.Our freedom being more right then, And now. Demilitarized zone sure seems gun packed,Filled with eager trigger fingers,Practicing their bee-like drills:Ready for the looming threatThat we created. This rocket induced frenzy,Solid .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/willmjspencer/2012597/ Philosophy and a River. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/willmjspencer/2012586/ Cut from the earth with earnest hands,My home was built on the backs of others.The land, taken from its first inhabitants,Deemed too productive to lay idly by,Constructed many a lesson:Western work was valued,While others were deemed inferior.They named the town “Success”Except they were.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/willmjspencer/2012376/ The look a student gives when asked to “get back on track”Is filled with such malice I have a hard time understandingIt. Focusing on their snap streaks instead of science;Instagram draws more attention than art students;Facebook opened more than physical books;“I’m trying to .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/willmjspencer/2012107/ Anger cools from the bellowingIron-smelting flame, subsidingAs moon rises and falls, bringingCalm darkness to ensure theNewly stilled rage. EmotionsMay roil, bubbling within yourBlood, but they too will pass,As sure as azure is blue.  The calm sky will always Break through the thunderingClouds .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/willmjspencer/2012096/ Hard spring wheat planted in the firm, cold earth.Sprouts flourish under equinox’s sun kisses.Proud and green, finding their sense of worth.Solstice comes bringing warm summer wishes,Till autumn falls, and reality’s sun sets.Threshing begins across the golden sea.Mature stalks lay fallow.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/willmjspencer/2011876/ I am Kerouac’s madness to live,Transmitted through Tokay soakedPages on my bed nightstand. I am Bukowski’s warm beer,Spilling off the page and Into my everyday living.I am Woolf’s howl into theChauvinistic night ofMy own room.I am Hemingway’s bravado,Steeped in the .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/willmjspencer/2010813/ On the table that night, They had numerous drinks,Both spilt on the tableAnd into their eager mouths.The cups strewn about Signified their higher state.We all know it: a state ofDrunken pride and the senseThat everyone is out toGet you. But that’s childish,For their haze enabled Them from seei.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/willmjspencer/2010787/ This is bad. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/willmjspencer/2010193/ Floating in a stream of consciousness,Thoughts manifest in the still pool. Adrift on my mind’s raft, I'm taken to places foreign to me:Foreign is this anxiety,And its ebb and flow with depression,Conjuring waves and storms of blendedFiction and memory. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/willmjspencer/2009111/ I do not receive letters in the mail.Instead: texts, emails, snaps, grams, and tweets Fill my mind’s inbox.Nothing important to talk about,Or needed to be said, leavingLittle gravity to hold the situation,Furthering the feeling of emptinessAs my inbox fills. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/willmjspencer/2009109/ “I didn’t know that” were the words that slipped from my mouth;An admonition of the gaps in my knowledge that surrounded you.What else could I say? Standing there, dumbfounded by the previousHappenings, too scandalous to tell right now. I barely know you.This may be an open book, b.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/willmjspencer/2008690/ Optimism is a fast flowing creek, irreverent to the biotic and abiotic as it flows to nowhere. Optimism is a dog laying on the couch, bathing in the sun, simply because it wants to.Optimism is getting into a metal box, whizzing at speeds faster than any animal, protected by a nylon strap, continuous.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/willmjspencer/2005256/ Stuck at a red light,Breathing in my own exhaust.I don’t want to go. They should call us the“Idle Generation”, cause It seems stagnant here.Economically, Emotionally,Not figuratively, But literally,Draining, as I standIn this uncertain future.I think of moving,Anywhere else than he.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/willmjspencer/2003375/ 17/01/18 http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/willmjspencer/2002138/ A calm sea before the stormOf nostalgia brings wave upon Wave of meaningless regret.I am reminded of past choices,What if’s? And the nagging Thought of what’s to come.Then, upon the shore of myMind, a new thought washes up:The liquid ocean of sense andMemory is little more thanChemicals .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/willmjspencer/2002133/ You thought you knew better:An anxious farm-kid, concealingYour morose thoughts withTepid extroversion. That fell Threw in a hurry, as you leapedBeyond the pale of expectationThat dripped before you.Soon, influence upon influenceLed to alcohol’s influence. ExceptIt wasn’t their fault. It.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/willmjspencer/2001477/ Old man, drunk, by the sea. He was where it’s at.Now an anachronism,Ringing its historical toll;A bull, silent, waiting to fight,Looking out of place.Charges.Fighting for a win on his own terms.Shotgun ending. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/willmjspencer/1998055/ If life is a choice between Nothing - death - and the Absurd - life -The Absurd follows with its own struggles.Just as life, the absurd must be picked.Choices, again, between nothing - literally doing nothing -Or the Absurd - doing something, anything, really - Must be answered. Certainly, we all tr.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/willmjspencer/1981093/ Dark mahogany wood slats, all carved perfectly upward. “Hand made from Thailand" right next to the [$19.95].Chosen fruit carefully selected, down to the last detail.Apples, ripe, red, Okanagan grown, waiting to be picked.Oranges, supple, Californian, transported by the navel.Kiwis, lush, New Z.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/willmjspencer/1981081/ I'm no saint. I have an iPhone too. Just trying to understand how to use it moderately. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/willmjspencer/1980582/ In the freedom of our lives, we find paralyzing choice.Ultimately, we build something from nothing;No set plans or agenda, just outside forces seemingly preordained.Walking upon the heads of all that is us presently, and past, and therefore, to be, We find ourselves in an eternal struggle: is there .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/willmjspencer/1980573/ Eyes, open. The hand Stacked beforeI even knew the rules.“Play anyways. This is The way it will be. ForeverAnd ever.” Onward, learning. The mindFilled with a veritable Amount of seemingly trustworthy knowledge. “YOU. are. THIS.”“THEY. are. THAT.”Present, anxious. .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/willmjspencer/1980566/ Forced, to the city I stumbled;Economic desire fuelling my travels.Out of gas, so it seems; yearning,For the insatiable silence of home.Too many are the unanswered squawks of all…Merely hapless players, myself one, tooWanting to be heard, to hear,Being pushed to the proverbial doorToo much, i.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/willmjspencer/1979049/