http://slow.writerscafe.org/rebeccarellis3 The original writings of author rebeccarellis en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776043588 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 La muntanya que mai es mouque ens mira mirant-la des d’el balcóque fa ombra a tot el poble, marcant el dia, traçant els robles,que em demana cada dia perquè no pujo, que no celebrariamai ni el dolor de la pujada ni com et pica la miradadel sol desencadenat.Q.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/2775354/ Hiding for deer.I hide in pages. I turn back to lookfor the stalking deer, chestnut furs of flank alert toflaming arrows, I paceexpectantly at first, then numblyby the wayside, I faint.Waking, I crawl home, ontothe chest of my bed, hardtruths lying down beside me. I feelmy knees crack against t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/2120845/ Countable hoursmovingover the foot of thebed. First: you lick mytoe-tips with yoursnake-tongues, crawlup inside my sleep-slime,start wiping cleanthe dream-grime. Making way for reallies that rise.Blocks of flats andwoollen hats and yellowmargarine... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/2101675/ I sense a webwebbingequally througheverything.I do not pulse: Ionly take a pulse through - long, darkeningtunnels, of sinews,of blood -without a hand. Mystomach issea water breathingby the moon. I sense the life ofits parts, hung together byhappen-stance,yoked.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/2101671/ We have brought thewalk downto the beach, youhave brought a plastic bag, andwe slow in the open, I followyour eyessearching handsfollowing, we stoopto pick the threadsand beadsof oil, bright eyesin sea hair, youunravel them, emptythemunder yourprotection, this s.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/2101670/ I was just floatingaround somewherein someone's backgarden when he came inwith his guitar andhis spectacular verveand I made myselfwide with love, signed upfor life, I had onlymy body and my stories andI made them known,and we bonded our livestogether by everyfree seam, but.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/2101668/ Itwas the second time we met, I met himatthe airport following the first days' frenzied contact, gota drink while I waited, light with hunger, curatedtolook uncurated, light to look at and to feel, glassin hand, I saw my wrists as set apart, fish bones tobe snapped and li.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/2101666/ Sometimes I take upthat old deck of cards,snapshots saved from the discourseof the day: I remember thesaxophone coming up to greetthe lovers where they perchedsmoking in a window over the Place d'Armes one summer night after dinner when spiritsca.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/2101662/ I am sticky in ourbed, towel on my head, hot and clean fromthe shower, I am plaiting time,peering inwards, humming inwards, hopingoutwards, trying to touch him, him downstairs, it'sas though I want him all the time, I come up ordown or go away a while or toa corner.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/2101657/ Dancing, I amreachingTo fit myself to it.To match my movements To its moments, thistime to that time,(though not everypoem ought to rhyme)And body - inattendance, attentive, bound -Vacillates innervous haste and boundless space, Too free. Bodythrobs, Sweats, s.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/2066803/ Jesus Green inYour AbsenceI am foot-steps,hip-rounds, a wind-up toy.Defined in motion, secluded joy. Forward-thinking-moving;onwards, spent.Objects pass by; they make no dent.Eyes-open, passing,wet to air, And air-borne backwards, drying hair.Where is that joy,aloft, to grip?&.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/2055312/ Outside, the wind;within, my love -Whose weak andsoaring fledgling dove - Does pray, and prayagain each day,That - thoughbuffeted by wind - we stay.Like this: surging,purging, sipping time. Grasping life fromdeath and grime.She flies to findyou, love, to check t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/2012782/ At the Tolson museum in Huddersfield there are some veryinteresting exhibitions. Best of all are the dead animals. And best of all thedead animals is the Half-Pig. It is the first thing they visit. The Half-Pig is in a glass box in the middle of the room, soyou can walk all the wa.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/1420342/ Bilberry SpongeBilberry sponge is the best pudding. All three children arequite sure of this. It is served with custard. R observes the ritual, mashingher bowlful into an even paste before the first mouthful can be taken. S doesthe same, and M will too, if impatience doesn’t overwhel.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/1402173/ A man looks out tothe sun setting. Across glitteringwheat fields to theFurthest lineflowingThrough his eyes'world.He tries to feel hisfeet firm on the dappled shellOf caked earth, Fixes his gaze,understands it might all peel away- the brave sinewsof his body, th.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/1362162/ Whennights drew late like stolen sweets;Whenpudding was served, warm and sticky,by ourwhite-haired Granny;When Ichased your little white legsthroughthe long grass - and Ipounced, and you screamed,andyour cheeks were redfromlaughing too much;Whenthe dre.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/1347129/ She walks across theroom To touch the thing From her dream.It does not melt orhide or Expand to theexpected size;It remainsattainable, Too easily seduced -In her opinion.She does not know How to be angry anymore.Now the days arecriss-crossed With str.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/1332661/ I would trust in the boyTo sense the silence requiredIn the moment Beauty strikes.And when my eyes are wide,My heart crushed by its own lightness, I want him there.Then he is there, and My livid hands ball at theAir that cascades darklyOn flesh;Never entering the soul. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/1246918/ We had never imaginedThe weight of our bodiesPressed easily as butterfliesIn their syrups, inThe dank earth of birth.I believed in eyes above thatWait for plucking fingers To make of them a fanAnd to possess it, impossibly:I'd be forever beforeFluttering choice,Wondering who .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/1246912/ The frame shiversWith a body bundled:I tie, align, negotiateThat breath should hold my eyeAs cameras snapThe glass of yearning.I want onlyTo eat my art, let surge These honeyed tongues at onceBy the moonlit march of Love, And see them glitter, Content in voiceless restoration.And yet .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/1141661/ I sleep to a night that tinklesCold boat bells sewn upIn their rings.The quilt waves and ripples hideAll but a glimpseOf the funeral procession. From these waters no one will strideLike my mother through a bog, Spilling light into my lair.She gave me a ne.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/1057951/ The song burgeons in the chair, Rises in wide blue suctionOf the body -Flaking and transient. I am held in the swift beam, Eaten cold, Briefly soakedAgainst foreign lights that winkIn our pale hearts.Falling, falling like the sun. I hear it t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/1057935/ I pull the pillow towards me,Trusting in the gushFrom heavy temples;In the silvery linesWhich guide me backAnd glide my laughter With my brother’sAt the table’s rumble. In any town, and sharply In this one - a man smilesAt the ground and g.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/1024284/ FirstLove. Thefield strings a spineOfpearls through my yearsTobed: a tepid pool thenDispersedby ocean violence.Itrushes still, to where I cannot dam. T’wasa jungle; its endsAmyth amid dense foliage,Thestartling bravery of inse.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/1007153/ Black coal gleaming, gleaming;Shards of night in my stomach.It is late and the body You could mould with fistsIs lain in itself, fruitingInfirm chords -A web to a child’sGleeful hands, unknowing. I drank the fly in my wineBecause it mattered not, .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/1002062/ AsI surface this morning I feel my body swollen, larger than it shouldbe in my narrow bed. Eyes still closed, I swill in this new state,clinging on to obscurity where it can be held; where such ripples maybe inwardly explored without the groundedness of lines and alienatedobjects. Reluctan.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/990787/ WhenI am freeAndthe honey flows Inour mountain hutItis a strange kissOfanother's moving lipsOnthe fleeting talesSuddenlyshared likeAtree with its leavesToan unexpected breeze.Sleekanonymity is halfRemovedby a simple face, Itswords gouged .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/988662/ Fromthe mangled cage of voiceIpull and dress my children, precious imitatorsMuddyingthe brazen white of fear.Thegrit cuts, and the wide earth watchingSendssweat to tend with saltUntilI am clean and stung, eroded to his eye.Aface is dissected, puzzle lines drawnOve.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/982039/ Thewall of envelopesIsstaring from across the square.Dothey contain anything?Myroom is an empty hallwayUnravelledlike a carpet of air.Ihave pasted portraits to its sides, Womenstreaked in sex and petalsHoldingstill to meet meEventhough I am weak and find you.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/977946/ WE have lain ourselves outAligned to a crookedtower of skyWhere the sun can touchIts heel to our openhearts.The tip tap staccato ofCatalanDrifts up and swims Around the room;Folds our breathingbodiesInto the squareWhich shifts andtinkles Below the float.I .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/977264/ Theground drives in.Ilook to it now, Placingmy steps, printing themAsstakes of balance, woodOnmy arms, my tentacled mourning. Itsteams in clover's honey;Pullsme down by wordless trapsWherefolded shuffles unmuffleTheirnegotiatorsWhoare tasked Withth.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/972411/ Jenny17/07/88Veryclose to the house where I live there is a long, winding road. Icould not tell you what it is called, although my bike and I use itmost days to reach the countryside. It seems to be a road tonothingness, a beautiful nothingness, since its only destination is awil.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/968623/ Burned pink by the coldnight windWe are blinking in yourkitchenWhich is yellow andbrimming with things.The warmth is silk overmy skin,And our hearts beatclearlyTo the colours of oureyes,Fixed and loud withjoy. A body slipsFrom air to water,takes me throughTo t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/967924/ I am a winter flowerWhose petals arepricked.Alive to the stemIn frozen isolation,The vigour of foamywhite sapIs my only route tofeeling.I follow it, curbingtheir stares,Braced to the tip of myspineWhere the skull's foundstickyWith jam, that motherlyDirt-ridden lov.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/963745/ My bread was flungTo fattened ducksWho did not care For home-baked loveWith its open grainsAnd lumpen inelegance:’twasRust to water's crown, And soon resigned To the wide-eyed swooshOf glassy, gulpingfish.I am the flesh Loosened of gluten, andMy hard-w.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/960644/ You wrap us all in love and towelsWhich go on whispering warmthEven when lights are outAnd beds are empty.You tune in smooth;A perfect swoopTo any human cry, Give kisses abundantlyAs you danceWildly, hungrily - Never losing yourself.The lap where I'll always returnFor words that guide and .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/956505/ He'spart of the swingFromthe time I lay thereWithhis lovely loverAndhe watched, Tooka picture.Thenagain, years laterWhenhe came to visit Myhome newly madeWhoseonly grain containedByformer selvesWasthis, our abandoned playgroundStrungfrom past to .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/951605/ I find my eye in thedark, Enlarged on theopposite wall, And we are mirrorsfightingLike sails that billow,their cabinsA stomach of memorySo far from thegathering heat,The driven ants, Who come turn up themusicIn the drunken whiteOf newly grasped beachstones... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/947516/ My hate's too soft and stickyTo last in the iron of certainty;Willed in by bodies foreignTo our sweet loveWhich was unrepentantIn its time of decadant allegiance.And now I flyToo free from comfort's bed.I made my task another'sAs my core's nestSank thereWhere private pains wereCracked apart and drun.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/937247/ I poured my agonies into bottles And sent them overseasIn streamsTo him, praying for safe passageAnd safe return.Caught along with the silver swarmingThey lost themselves, thrown downBy calloused handsTo meet the heave of floundering deathOn wood from long-gone harvests;On earth that touchesHis.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/936757/ To wake and feel your warmth alive,Circling my soul in silent flight,I see my morning prizeBy the lightOf a feather fall swingThrough crystal time. Like the swish crick of leaves To the night forest wandererI am struck by Beauty's flushSo perfectly calm In our humble cocoon.My eyes tr.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/920322/ Keep on nodding til you're A jittered flicker on theTv screen; smiling til yourRed round splits a littleInside, and the air's so fastYou hop - So light it hurts.This glare, this phoney freedomIs alight but to theTenebrous aureoles ofOur spaceAnd theirs.Don't think my pities failTo fly; see.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/920321/ Down at the pondA creature has lost his skatesAnd legs are threads In the weight of water.Gods watch another fall But he is wiser than they, Fights without a painted sky, Clear as can be In the task of lifeAnd posessor of a bodyWhich took this momentTo flail, fail And s.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/897977/ Composure straps the grandeurAnd weight of castlesTo his twisted back, Makes bodies freer thanUnformed poetry, and calls The angry silence in to ruleAs though it were the only True font of dignity!This is the curse ofMany a man to woman - That fruit should be edibleRather than ri.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/885372/ The sky's too dark toUnlove the colours found therein.Each is preciousAnd tempting to the eye;A fruit of truthWhich may creep inTo pain the heart, The images of perfect gold.But I'm not fruit.I cannot rot, for Mildew sleeps apartFrom all eyes but mine,Who write their own talesIn the madnes.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/883181/ Across meadows, down alleyways, In the secret innards of dry stone wallsEarthly sky currents snort andCurse, pausing onlyTo raise the lash againAnd widen eyes that stray outFrom fists and bundlesWhere silence tends to darling buds:A flurry of sympathiesCower before looming shadows at war. .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/848105/ Wet to the roots I wasIn an oaky love, my yearningsHidden sky jewelsNumbed in my kin's silken cloak.Left to unfurl in time, they went Unmauled by the winds outsidewho were to judge the shineAnd call their worth. Free of stalking night terrors andThe myriad of human evils, I did not ta.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/839535/ He languishes in Earth's young clasp:Her curled fingers and open wrists areLove swells in Time's breathing.Longer he shall standThan our spindled toy chips At his feet, the city.He sits and simmers in An awesome knowledge, endures theCoarse ignorance of barking dogs and Growling cars,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/838350/ The drill outside is hisUgly thunder, a thread in the choresOf good, hard mouthfuls.Earnt like stickers, Fought like war, This is one blind f**k to myFloated gaze and her cradled fumes.Slyly, decadantly, theyCry between the lines and fallThrough cold-blooded prisms.The day is breadBut its .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/830985/ Harsh crackling in the purest of hymnsIs heard on every shore; Swirls to the surface To populate the saintly blue withViscous rivulets of oil.From above we keep trustIn the august presence ofOur mighty ocean, Ride its waves in a reed-wovenCrib, kissed andSleeping safely Above the.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/rebeccarellis3/830984/