http://slow.writerscafe.org/ericajwilkinson The original writings of author Erica Wilkinson en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1775996794 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 Indulged in instinct of a time rattled place Evading clasping claws of the raw rat raceSpinning web, twining walls, collecting fallen leaf lace.Fallen sky within eye in your arcadian sight, Feet rooted with life and archaic delightEssence frantic and as free as a swallow in flight http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ericajwilkinson/1349659/ The line betweenPre death and post deathIs an unloved and faded thing. My mind lives in the pre death days,Thriving and blooming In the warm limited sunshine.A time when such tiny thingsMattered so much more Than they ever could now.My body is here. Post death.It lives with new people.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ericajwilkinson/1018245/ A memory I will always hold from number 17, is that of myneighbor cutting back the big bush that grew in his front garden. It was an oddlooking thing, thick and leafy and capable of growing wild. Every year the manwho owned the house would come out with his step ladder, his chainsaw and hiss.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ericajwilkinson/1007984/ You induce me to liveWith your windy concern,When time is all I ask for.A book. A bed. A machine. I was born into bonds,A family of relationshipsHidden behind the closed doorsAnd deep walls of humanity.If the flowers still bloomedAnd the houses weren't home,I ask you, Mother,Woul.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ericajwilkinson/1006936/ Bees hunt for pollenLike we hunt for love; sweetlyAnd with great passion. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ericajwilkinson/997107/ Sweet peas cling safe, byTendrils. Fresh and graceful asLong awaited rain.  http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ericajwilkinson/997106/ Faded Pictures ofAn army pass, Mine is theMan I never knew. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ericajwilkinson/997104/ I had never been there beforeSo your presence comforted me.Down the mud-pie bank And up the other side,My green wellingtons stained Brown up to the ankle. Your feather finger tickled the palm of myHand: such a Kingdom.Into the trees.A tiny footpath unwinds;Carved by the steady .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ericajwilkinson/995090/ I've reached the end.The unavoidable point in lifeWhere realities crashUpon us, like angry waves.I regret my laziness,I regret my fear,I regret so much.Now all I have is choices. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ericajwilkinson/981840/ My skin is crawling.I can feel the patches on my bodyWhere your lips moved.Cold and stale.I can taste you in my mouth,Smell you on my breath.I turn on the hot tap.I feel dirty.I sit down on the plastic edge of the bath.Naked as the skyStaring at the orange wall,Wishing it were the sun.Conscience is .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ericajwilkinson/976838/ Lying as one,Heartbeat to heartbeat.Your life reverberates off mineAs we lie, entwinedMy cheek, sticking to your viscid chestAnd my hand holding yoursLike two roots meeting and holding each other tightlyWay below the surface of the earth. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ericajwilkinson/976828/ As soft as stone, as hard as woolIn honeyed tones, I right my wrongAs warm as winter, as empty as fullIts sweet to think of a dead birds song. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ericajwilkinson/976822/ Along the waters edgeWhere trees twist in salute Of golden orbsAnd over riverTurned dirt lies settling,History squeezing the air.Familiar faces pass by:A figure from my past Not knowing or seeingThe wire curls bobbing gently amongst the overgrowthAnd soggy reedsAnd the new green acornsShin.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ericajwilkinson/976816/ I say I love you,Yet I cannot recover The impression of your hand in mine. I say I love you,Yet the taste of your lipsIs a hazy flavour. I say I love you, Yet your honey voice  Is just an imagining.  I love you. But love unrequited Is no real love .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ericajwilkinson/976585/ As I see the moon I have been expecting to seeFor so long,I can no longer haltThe tide from creeping,Blue and warm,From the holes where myLove resides.  http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ericajwilkinson/976023/ The hills surround meLike obedient dogs.They tumble and slideBut sit quite still and unmoving.The air around me like the puff off a cigar,Churning dizzily in the circular wind.I stand in performance.My audience: Sheep and cows.The socks in my bootsAre damp and heavy.So is my hairAnd so are.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ericajwilkinson/975785/ I stood in the hall with one hand on the brown front door, holding it ajar. I could see a sliver of the house across the road and the rusty yellow Jeep in their driveway, waiting patiently for summer holidays. A sudden breeze flew wildly through the door and stuffed the temperatu.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ericajwilkinson/975765/ I clutch at the brown paper bagWith the care and gaietyOf an archaeologist,Having just excavated a rare bone. It could be a fish, in the bag.Bubbling and squirming Inside a plastic homeIn the close heat. Or perhaps wasps,Buzzing fuzzily inside A brown paper nest.&n.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ericajwilkinson/975755/ My broken logic beats unkindly:Fear, fear, fear.I want to go out into the worldNo more than a father rabbitWants to watch his childrenCaught, skinned and sewn Into a flush women's coat.Cruel society will win its wayAgainst the dying, noble lifeLike a rip tide drowningAn old salubrious.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ericajwilkinson/975315/ I deplore him.His skin, his eyes unseeingStaring through my bodyLike two tiny dead embryos Facing the mothers that aborted them,Whom they so stormily resent. Oh, wild and cruel dislike!Can you not be tamedAnd calmed for simple sake?Can love not be restored To balmy field from thisNoct.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ericajwilkinson/975304/ Villanelle http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ericajwilkinson/964214/ You cannot lie here And give me your loveAs well as your time.Which is why we have always been a piece shortOf paradise.  http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ericajwilkinson/940419/ You're getting older.Me too.So is my mother andThe man who lives on the side of the road By the corner shop.I deplore myself(or the 'myself' I deemed myself to be)You know, this does not denoteThat I love you any less. Somewhere, a new born baby Is screaming. SingingIt's first mo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ericajwilkinson/939327/ Fog on a winters day,Billowing down from the hillsLike pillars of cigarette smoke. The rise of steam from a cows backMakes me push my handsFurther inside my pockets.Writhing passions within meWould often do anything to be freeFrom this battery farm,But on a morning like this one,I cannot begrud.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ericajwilkinson/939306/ A breath full of warmth floods the Usually cold airAnd the shop front lights up like decorations On a Christmas tree, in July.You're such a liar,You unclear dawn.Ice lollies drip down my hand Making my fingers stickyAnd red.The same colour, and texture,As the blood of the fly a little.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ericajwilkinson/939127/ She is whole, not half.She is full, not empty. Like a seedless fruit she does not understandHow pure she truly is. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ericajwilkinson/935112/ I'll punish myself, for the thousandth time.I recollect my oh so fruitful dayI fooled myself, into believing you were mine.You, my sweet, insignificant mystery.  http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ericajwilkinson/933561/ Why did i trust you?This wreckless welded handHolding my light insides within its delicate walls.Hit me. Hit me.Twice, I never knew she would!By the grass triangle, not ten yards from your door.Conceal your care.You never liked me so dont begrudge me fearing you.This pencil, a memory of happier days.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ericajwilkinson/929461/ My reflection:A thin greasy face and terrified mouthRings from glass to eye.The flickering bulb conditions my wide eyesTo blink, stunned. Auburn hair hangs. Limply Framing my bony cheeks, Textured with oil and flesh.I am not beautiful yetHe loves me. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ericajwilkinson/928286/ Itold you “don’t come”,Butreally I was waiting for you.Themetal bench was cold Andthrough the slits Icould see large tree trunksJuttingout of the crumbly earth,  Reachingfor me. Itwas a lonely day.Aflock of birds f.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ericajwilkinson/910525/ GreeneyesSkins fairDeep brown hairYou hold my gaze,You smile; cheeky.Soft handsStrong hipsGentle lipsYou’renot scaredA velvet voice: Oh the trickery of you. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ericajwilkinson/902632/ A black felt tip clunks clumsily Against the bone white pearls in her wide mouthAs she sits at the table drawing her father riding a bike.She gives him blue hair and orange skin. A compressed juice box lies on its side,Dribbling apple and mango juice Down the crevice.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ericajwilkinson/897520/ If I could have one wish,Of anything in the world,It would bee to bee a bee. To bee a bee would bee lovely.If I were a bee, I’d make honey.To bee a bee would taste sweet. It would bee homely.It would bee wonderful.I would bee happy. .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ericajwilkinson/896877/ When I was 7 years old,I found a bone in a pub garden. I was hiding from my friend In a berry bush And there it was.Lying innocently in the soil, Half buried,Half not.  At the time I thought it might belong to a dinosaur….. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ericajwilkinson/896873/  There is tell of a small boatThat crosses from green walled docks,To distant waters and lands Where wild creatures roam, free and safe From the sour lick ofman kind.  http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ericajwilkinson/896840/ Lady in fur and feathers,You are ‘beauty’.Undissolved by the rain and the fog,Weathered in body and mind.Your being fathoms allOf those who fear, flee fromAnd admire you. Beaded wire engrosses Black, yellow and red skin,Whilst lorikeets flock.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ericajwilkinson/896758/ Pelican, feather skin.Swim, swish, skim.Fish, driven to another life,If it lets them in. Beaks striking, left and right:Splash, spike, Snap.Fish flailing in distress,Whilst feathers overlap.  Movement stops, the body works,Slip, slope, slide,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ericajwilkinson/886435/ It is notstone that fills this creatures chest.It is a heart.That beats.Warm and pulsing.Sending blood to veins and muscles, human as I am.This skeleton;A home,A past feast.It is where they choose to perch,Frowning up at the pulsing sun.Unhappy, scrawny flesh Does no.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ericajwilkinson/886403/ You have theedge of a man,Though you are just a boy.Crow to me, loveCrow to me.Feed my yearning with your tales.Eternity awaits you,Oh little one.Do not cry, loveDo not cry.You have no one to mourn...   http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ericajwilkinson/874431/  She is noanimalYet fur costumes her torso And mushes her hair to neck length.What is so lovable about this so normal girl?Whose mind is conventionalBut wise in a way that could sicken. These ostrich legs Pound along with a friend Who lives purely o.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ericajwilkinson/874343/