http://slow.writerscafe.org/IvyEileen The original writings of author Ivy en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776342340 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 It's curious, how I'm found                 decrepit but for the raiment we wove.And the wait,      I find myself so close to a confrontation                 we all come to, yet no.I'm sure there.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/IvyEileen/830223/ Hello, my name is perfectionand I’ll tell you about the days I won’t let happenat least for a whilefrom the morning songs of death by asphyxiationand the warm clothes from the dryerby the fire you did not light.Hello, and here’s the story of how Ifucked up the beautiful ending.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/IvyEileen/821530/ I would love to know the Normal route from A to Be a bit more"in the know" of these sorts of things.But while I seldom leave my comfort zone--a deep trench leveling out somewhere around oakland, I think--I've managed to take pit-stops on hold for 12 differentpolice departmentsworld-wide. M.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/IvyEileen/821018/ I want to see the seams in the seaswhere the lines blur between usand nightmareswritten once in pale inkyou mistakenly erasebefore I sing you softly behind bars http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/IvyEileen/766159/ I don't understand why I keep tripping over your remains or how I manage to guess my way around the rules when I haven't even figured out how to give myself away like a cheap backdoor deal, let alone kill you in passing. But the build up is the best; the creation is what makes it worthwhile;.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/IvyEileen/758674/ Within the epilogue of the journals you keptlingered the thoughts I left at your doorlike cargo tumbling though the air towarda world outside its comprehension,for there are 20 chapters of you(73 on average)and sometimes I feel that I have alreadybled ink onto the table you made,(for my coffee and s.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/IvyEileen/756039/ Your song is blending into the beat of my heart like the millionswaiting for the next big thing, and though I line my books in rowsand stack the rest in piles,I feel like an eel back in the ocean;it’s been a while since I’ve played this game. Not of love or hate or creationbut of knowled.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/IvyEileen/753439/ It was the easiest thread to unravel,stripping the whole facade down bare in the sleepwalking sunand I shouted the truths like an ant to the ocean; perhaps the crabs heard me. We had a weird relationship, you and I.Perhaps it would have been normal if youexisted like the doubts in my mindheld togeth.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/IvyEileen/749966/ What if the windcould sing the truthhiding in our shadows? http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/IvyEileen/748243/ in the dark recesses of the novelthat is the mindof the transcendent pigthere is an old barnwith a tree of an even more impressive agewith a fruit as young as wondercalled “what if”and though it greatly resembles its forefruitin looks, weight, and consequenceit stings the ground for it.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/IvyEileen/747048/ She walked with the world in her footsteps and sang anthems in the shower. There was always a red scarf on her dresser for when the dragons scorched her throat, even when she didn't always have a coat on her back. That girl had love chartering ships like the titanic from every corner of the .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/IvyEileen/743324/ I calmed my wings on sharp corners to give myself time to make the lamination machine work. The birds sat silent for the few minutes it took to encase my body in a thin mask of plastic. The silhouette of a dog appeared in my bedroom window between my blinks, and an author coaxed characters f.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/IvyEileen/743323/ She began with sand and ended with it too, though she was certain both were clouds simply roughened by rain and false expectations. In the meat of it all, she was sempiternal felicity panicking between the ticks of the clock as she treaded with the weight of her thoughts on your amygdala. You're sti.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/IvyEileen/738459/ I was chained in a changeling body for some time. At day, I wrote A-minus reverie essays and at night, I dripped from my petals and sang pollen from my eyes. I could hear them ringing behind "It's just a story, don't take it so seriously." Upon their foreign validation, bees lingered like mo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/IvyEileen/734072/ She folded the audience in neat rows and slid them in her pocket where they wouldn't see her ankles shake on 'kiss me' heels and an encore stage. In the first note she felt the air's gentle atoms sway from the curves of her hips and squeeze from her lungs to stoke the fire their screams coul.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/IvyEileen/734071/ I was inspired to write my own eulogy. I quite like the result, though I feel as though it makes me sound like a narcissistic arse. The piece changed a lot as I wrote it, if that's any justification. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/IvyEileen/734070/ In used books you might find(she found it on a birthday so many years ago)an occasional note(but it was a)message(she remembers it to this day)written for a man or woman(a lady. he called her a lady)who may have loved it(read it 3 times a week before bed)depending on the wear of the piece(wrinkled e.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/IvyEileen/734068/ It's a bit like the damage builds up at the ends of my hair at the same pace as in the core of my being because I stretch myself out until I am weathered beyond recognition. I have a bad habit of becoming my own casualty before I save my damsel with a sword and calm her from the tower with w.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/IvyEileen/734067/ I want to live in a morning lily world where the past is always washed away by a blanket of dewand I my body can sing a naked melodyto the tree-top heavens. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/IvyEileen/734066/ He's a John Hughes film on repeat in the dark recesses of his mind, stacked behind the veil of confusion hanging between him and the world he was thrown into after his Kansas closed for renovations he couldn't continue when the economy crashed like the twin towers that death is building up a.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/IvyEileen/734063/ You're a yard sale treasure caught in between a fresh start and the s**t that ripped you up before. You're in love with the milk man and the paper boy and the girl with hands just big enough to dry your tears, but she's shy about her soft side and you're shy about most all of yours. She's go.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/IvyEileen/734062/ I will wake tomorrow with a creaky neck but there will be sunlight shining on my face and music lulling me softly into the world and there will be birds outside reminding me that they're alive too. I might be thumpstruck by the sound of my own footsteps and not even smell the DNA twisted up .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/IvyEileen/734061/ Maybe I am gone too. Maybe I've expelled myself from these bones like everything else. I am not poetry laughter art writing song I am outoutout I am expulsion. I am the side effect. I am falling from my perch but the birds (they are not birds) the eggs the need me, their changeling mama. I a.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/IvyEileen/734060/ I am stuck on repeat, going through the motions for the sake of doing so. I try to contain myself by consuming air, and I try to contain you with precious words I don't quite understand. I'm looking for something to lose myself to, but I don't know if I've even found myself yet. The librarie.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/IvyEileen/734059/ The song stumbled from your lips and fell in a pirouette on the edge of the world. Time is a harness tying your words to your actions but cutting the cord won't hide your responsibility from the kids house-sitting your mind when you sleep. The grass will know when the leaves stop mid-flight,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/IvyEileen/734057/ We were lost, sitting on found blankets beneath the clouds of fillmeup and iwillsurvive. The trees echoed health class mottoes that gave us something to ignore. I couldn't feel the cold but I could taste the dirt on your knees and the smell the cinnamon on your lips like caution tape the wor.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/IvyEileen/734056/ If Rome wasn't built in a day, it must have been built in a week by poetsnumbered like space-age cities built from the top down.And this house was built by the strong in numbers like one is the loneliest number that there ever was in a timeframe hanging above the sinkbleeding ink down the drainwhere.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/IvyEileen/734055/ We are the bookworms nestled firmly in our fruitunshaken by the raging dance around us.rubber and pavement melt together in irrelevancywhile we conquer vast kingdoms and save our princes in distress.We are the sunkissed warriors of childhood's sloppy secondsknotted and bleeding from our hair to our .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/IvyEileen/734053/ The clock ticks on while the city swallows the stars(quite similar to the ones just barely breathing in our bonesfor we were all stars once)but when a star goes up with your wishin the ancient fires stoked by Adam and Eveand that damn snake that screwed over nuditywe expect a reincarnation-a new fri.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/IvyEileen/734052/ Twice through goggles laid by mennefarious sex, rose tinted isat least revered, while all aroundno oeuvre lays; sophilter me, Romilda. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/IvyEileen/734050/ We healed after the cyborgs lostthe battle that we never thoughtcould or would run at a cost of the lifeless pawns who only foughtwhen mother goose and mother earth were mourning for the king and queenbishops and knights had lost their worthto advancements we'd only seenin books, ghost stories,and t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/IvyEileen/734048/ In this world, you cannot talk with wordswhen Airlings kick their (learned) right into Behemoth's (ate) and a Girl's (will sin)Thumpers called for a great purgebut in this world, you cannot talk with wordsPerhaps abroad where bibles burn-'His' epics all go up in flameCachexia bids us to mournwealth'.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/IvyEileen/734046/ I correct that which has strayed from the pathI boast perfection and false qualityChildrens’ toys-I must have fixed them, too.I color to your needs,though I color myselffigures line down streets to seeas others already do.Each outcome is the same;stable perfection dotes upon wantingHailed dove.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/IvyEileen/734043/ First, to play from the startan unwilling tenant, you preach like spitfireclaws scratching the surface ofwhat could only be soft.Dragonesque claws boast rhapsodywords tinged with empty rageonly love through litotewicked toward prey.Hessian, at leastdead, pacingrotting from the headright down. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/IvyEileen/734040/ All men stitched in a disheveled braidwith (whens) all leaving from whence they cameher (knew) cried rivers bled straight from meFour One Two Three.She had the sinch and ate the stringmen penned a can’t (a dove by snow)mother hens don’t see a thingwe do a (don’t) see how a (know)Wh.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/IvyEileen/734036/ For I who rise at want (and plead)though courtesy is freeup and Out (of you) from meis heartstring of my needJump at can (fall at don’t)but on my want I sleepempty call without noteno hum and not (a peep)retreat retreat under viscous rocks of previous entrapmentbe fine (caredwant) rice dances .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/IvyEileen/734035/