http://slow.writerscafe.org/WBarrett The original writings of author W. Barrett Munn en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1775969743 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 ***Sleepcomesasa lover would,embracingtheneed for silence.We stretchlike a catstretchesbeforecurling into sleep,likethe wind curlsthroughcrepe myrtle,likethoughtswhennearing the endof day.Silence,thatillusionofthe conscious; that&nb.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3131706/ ***Cherokeenational treasure EllaBlackbeartaught Shelia how to weave.Ourhome is filled with rivercanewoveninto baskets. Other giftsofher Cherokee heritage take their places,themoccasins, bowls, and paintings.Outsidethe bedroom window,wedg.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3131702/ ***Itis called a wave,amisnomer.Itis not a wave.Itis a force of naturethatrides the salt watermovingathundreds of milesanhouracrossthe oceansbeforeslowing at the coasttorise up and devoureverythingit sees, showingtotaldisdainforhumankind&rs.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3131620/ ***Inan attempt to fit in,Iturned my Scottish skininsideoutandmoved to the dark continent.Thehippos ignored me.Thelions emphasized detente.Thecrocodiles beguiled mewithpromisesthatI wouldn’tbehurt if I turned aroundandwent back to w.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3131617/ ***I’mthe slippery bottomsludgethe Mississippi riverwalkson top of.I’m thesoles of sandals,eaters of dust, unworthy of seeing the sun.Iam paint primer,andthe undercarriage of a ‘62PontiacGran Prix, rusted, sittingrim-lessand hopeless in a f.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3131522/ ***To a tiger,the label “man-eater”is misnomer;satiated for awhile,lying quietlyin the long grass ofthe savanna, the tigerdoesn’t label itself,and there is nothingspecial about the two-leggedfood other than it can’trun f.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3131443/ ***Meand two other boysboredwith bottle rockets,tieda cherry bombtothe tail of a catandlit it. What kindofsickness spawns evillikethat?Forty-threeyears later,Istill grieve my cruelty.Somethings are unforgivable,likeraining down rockets.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3131442/ ***Myfather could pinch peoplehardusing only his toes,thebig one and the little onenextto it.Itreally hurt.Hethought it funny makinghiskids say, Ouch.Isuppose that’s what happenswhenyou grow up withoutamother, without someonetosandpaper o.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3131433/ ***TheAd-Men own us.Wecan’t fight that factanylonger.Theysay, Look here.Wesay, We’ll take it!Ourcredit cards cry outtostuff them to the maxwithnothing that will lastmorethan a single season.Thebanks take their profitsandtrade in gasoline.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3131430/ ***Thepeople’s autohadlanded like an insectsplattingon a windshieldwithan enginewherethe bug’s butt should be,athreat to the Edselasmost despicable autoevermadeuntilan ad-man showed upwitha can of gasshapedlike an Alka-Selzer,VWwritte.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3131427/ ***Theseating is wood planksbolteddown into concrete.Acrossthe green divide,thevisitors’ side is dressedinblack and gold.Missouri’sin town,acouple hundredsurroundedby 50,000 screamingmomsand dads from the other sideofthe s.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3131361/ ***When I look up I seea massive elongatedwhite X that stretchesfrom one horizon to the next, crisscrossing the emptyblue sky; vapor trails leftby a pair of jet aircraft thatpassedin opposite directions.At the center, the precise pointwhere the two l.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3131359/ ***I made it all the way to Seminolebefore I ran out of gas. I pulledoveron the shoulder and read myBible.The cop gave me a funny look whenhe stopped to ask if I was OK.Hallelujah, I’m fine, I said,on thatfine day when faith went for atest drive... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3131346/ haiku http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3131340/ ***I’mbordering on ecstatic.Ican feel it. (Can’t you?)We’reon the vergeofthe next Big Thing,(whichis really just a bliponTime’s radar screen),butfor we waitersit’sa 50% tipona 1000 entree dinner service,itsfist raisedand.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3131338/ ***Iwas big for 6,andI don’t know why,orwhat prompted metoturn evilonthe playground for that onemomentwhen turningina circlewithlittle Julie’s wristsgrippedin my hands,herfeet flying a few feetabovethe ground and circlingasI turned, c.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3131276/ ***Notreally.Atthe Hilton Inn that Sunday morninginOklahoma City,forthe brunch buffet, the chefservedmountain oysters.Istill haven’t tasted one, although I havesmelledone, an action I hope nevertorepeat.It’snot smart t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3131272/ ***Lucy,I don’t know how much moreI can do to appease you.I wrote the book, openedthe pages, and began therecitation.I can’t make you listen.Are your b*****s about me reallythat important?Even the gargoylesshut up for a moment, and thec.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3131261/ ***The angry mob,beneath the flickering light castby their torches,carriespitchforks and slogans.Whyare they after me?AllI saidwas the truly woke arethosewhono longer invokeasuperior powertosave them, who understandthey’ll be no one .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3131260/ ***Iwaketosunshine on my back.Ihave 6 legsand2 wings.I’mdancing acrossacrinkledcardboardcarnation,thathangs fromtheeave. At leastIcan flyandI can terrifymyold selfifI can find himnowthat I’m femaleandfrom my buttIcan.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3131254/ ***One daughterraces for my hug;hidden behind the fine meshscreen door,a baby clutches her mother,who arguesshe’s too young.I see skin and a diaper, the faceindistinct, a blur - I agree to stay separated;the screen door between us .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3131179/ A haibun http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3131116/ *** Streaming clouds bake into wisps of  cirrus; in the arroyo, the saguaro loses its footing. Dust clouds trickle down the slope. It's the heat of the day in Mesa.  The maid cleans the big mirror. A stream of cleanser&n.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3131106/ *** Theface ofthe dragonfly isthe face of the pond whenstillness overwhelms thewinds andoffers them toclouds moving alongthebuffet lineata leisurely pace ….  *** http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3131104/ ***Eartheaters burp.Loam surrendersto new depths and packs to make a dam.Therainy season breaksitswater, gives birthto a pond. Gone,that one tall pine tree,itshead raisedabovethe others, the pinethatlightning had tried twicetostrikebutnever m.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3131014/ ***Church Pew Pine and Seventeen Years of Butt Numbing Miserycombine to stitch my mouth shut; in my guts, though,Hellfire rages.Goddamn, but she’s beautiful!Yeah,yeah. I know all thoseThoushalt nots - but, Goddamn! Didyou see that smile?T.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3130984/ ***I’mreading Death of the Kapowsin Tavernandthink, Gee, I’d like to write like that.Butno, then I’d have to be Richard Hugo.Hugowas fat and he smoked.Reasonsenough not to be him.Besides,I don’t live in the northwestanddon’t want to wit.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3130983/ ***Chug itfast as you can.That’s my cousin’s voiceGirls always found himdreamy.I only knew I couldn’tbeat him at whiffleball,or at bouncing a tin canin the air by blasting itwith a pump action twelve-gauge.He tried to teach meto water ski on a single ski.I.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3130909/ ***Thetheater in Alvasmellslike alfalfa.Notthat surprisinginnortheast Oklahoma,wheredark clouds roilandbubble, a cauldronofwitch’s brew that addsanotherladle of troubletoMike and I’sfishingtrip to Lake Eufala.Truthfully,it’s Mike&rs.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3130902/ ***Bornto a culture of ultra-conservative church-goers,(ifit helps you can just call them lunatics),whereAmen Corner’s more than 3 hard holesatAugusta National Golf Course.Eachperson’s personal mouth hole screams outinfull volume praise, as if decibels themselves.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3130821/ ***Lowell shouted out,I fear not the questfor greatness.No longer crestfallen,a new man bornto his calling.Flash forwardto one year beforehe was gone.Greatness gave usLimón to take the placeof the great one,doing things eventhe g.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3130720/ ***I scribbled a silly noteto myself and hung it on thewall.Everyone insisted on reading it.I spent hours bleedingfrom my fingernails, looseningbentmetaphors from an oak boardbefore yanking them out with myteeth.No one reads those.How many ti.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3130719/ ***Andso we ran, Billy and I,withour egos at stake;thechallenge made with a handshakefirstto the fence would win.Heraced. I plodded. The fence farandwaiting, half a mileormore. The tortoise lost this time.Billyhad, for a year,been running marathons monthly.*** http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3130631/ haiku http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3130629/ ***Istarted life by being bornlargerthan most.Extra ouncesof little valuein this size 7 world.I doubled thatinmy teen years - Mydestiny maybe football, or a RussianOlympic lifter.Itripped on sound,stubbedmy fingers across a fret.The band.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3130556/ ***Thefreshly fallen snowlieslush, not a singlecrumpledleaf to mar it,nota weevil’s tear anywherehasdripped a hole.Sowetoduring apartheid.Soonchildren will discoverWonderlandand start arguments - hand-packedhardnesstheboyshurl splattersaga.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3130507/ ***When the rails squeal, I bracefor the lurch. On my phone,an old TV rerun plays.Davy Crockett shoots a bear.What did we do before Amazoncame along?I need to find peppercorns.I don’t live in Iowa; no cornhere.Plenty of pepper.The ground kind... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3130489/ Theend doesn’t come swiftlywitha pastor’s promise of the lamb.Gnashingof teeth isn’t a metaphor.Muscleof faith the weaker flex.What’sleft of life ticks awaylikedays wearing a summer dress.Nolonger able to kneel and praynorface the e.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3130488/ ***The voice on TVlies. It tells me that outer space makes people cold.Today,I bask in hope.It’swindy, though,so close to Mars.A dozen dozen starlingsguard the feeder. A fewpeckhard at the openings.TheEarth tugs me to it.Outerspace lives in my house;.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3130416/ ***The room sits empty.Its copper-colored wallpaperchatters away with itself, filledwith individuals who live inside it..A man leans forward, handcuffedto a chair in the middle of the room.He sighs. He’s forced to listento a wallpaper candlethat interviews a wallpaper wormthat’s eaten an.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3130415/ ***Ahorse’s facehangson our wall.Waspsnest in it.Thelovely chestnut hairIimagine it hadisgone along with alltheflesh and muscle.Holesstare blanklywherebrown eyes oncelookedout. There,inthat tunnel at back,thespinal cord ran all the wayto.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3130344/ ***Istand above the banksofthe Arno,ona missiontofind a steer who’s shedawallet. A gifttoplease a son-in-law,oncehere in Florenceand saw it, toodrunktosteer himselfto a checkout counter.Idon’t know muchaboutshoppingonthe Arno.I.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3130342/ ***Hethinkshehas an open invitationtoleap into my lapwheneverhe wants - andhe does.He’salmost too big to fit.Rescuetrouble creeps up slowly.Puppiesturn into dogs; dogsbecomeold dogs; old dogsbecomeheartache.Griefgrabs you by the left ventr.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3130339/ ***I’mawed. I got smarter.I switched offmoderninformation sources.I emptied allthose Today Show tipsI’dbeen carrying in my pockets.Iflushed Facebook posts.Instagrambecame never again. I realizewhenyou bomb a countryit’swar no matter what y.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3130260/ ***I’ve overcome the traumaof Flight 491,seat A, aisle 27.The world still largefrom the air, crisscrossedsquares of housesthat fade into fieldsand finally becomea line of bicycle racersclimbing into the mountainstage just outside our window.A pink peacock leadsthe p.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3130247/ ***It seems these seedsI planted won’t germinatewithout a sunny dispositionwatering them. My lemony countenance and outcrop touchcrushes their impetus to growinto more than they can be.Coaching,a meaningful occupation,made of sunshine and velvet,needs bleeding.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3130246/ ***Propriety makes me say it’s love; in reality, you rubme the wrong way. You want spokes for your hub. You never yield when push comes to shove. You’d think I made a blood oath, but I never could I’m not goodat shouldas&n.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3130198/ *** Mycheck engine light flashes red. AtAldi grocery store, they’realmost giving away purplegrapes. By the way, we’vealso gone to war. In1962, tohidefrom A-bombs, wecrawled underourdesks; in Japan,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3130183/ ***Hewalks on the river.Sleepingfish huddle deep.Warmth, hard as virtue,tofind. Moonlight adjustshowthe landscape looksbyits merger with ice.Inspring, the ice is freed,becomewater tuggedsouthwardtowards a futureofgulf warmth, only to hurlitselfagainst .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3130159/ ***Idon’t know whyIwake here in Patagonia.I’dfallen asleepbackin Tulsa, Oklahoma.Onething I know,whenyou lose controlbettergo with the flow to avoidthebludgeon of river rocks.Therapids carry meupstreaminto mountainswhichis wei.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WBarrett/3130158/