http://slow.writerscafe.org/Perkele The original writings of author Perkele en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1775948511 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 The mime lived where the gutters weep�"a world of static, cracked concrete,where every breath was swallowed downbeneath a ceiling painted brown.No one waved. No one stared.His act was grief. And no one cared.He mimed a rope. He mimed a gun.He mimed the end, then came undone&#.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Perkele/2952099/ Clive walks where the shadows lean�"in backstreets stitched with nicotine,a pocket full of half-spent dreams,and silence bursting at the seams.He speaks in coughs and crooked tones,feeds stray dogs and talks to stones.His shoes are tired. His eyes don’t blink.He smells .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Perkele/2952098/ written in the style of Bob Dylan lol http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Perkele/2952000/ The gulls don’t sing, they scream and bite,Through alley fog and broken light.The docks all groan with wooden bones,And sailors drink in undertones.The cobblestones are slick with brine,Where fish guts rot and lanterns shine.A twisted cat with one blind eyeStalks ghosts that no one.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Perkele/2951999/ In a town made of clocks, gears ticking in place,Lived a boy with no job and a tear on his face.The baker made bread, the cobbler made shoes,But all he could make were small shadows and blues.The butcher would hum with his apron of red,While the boy dragged his feet and just stayed in his be.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Perkele/2951998/ By a crooked moon’s sigh, they silently fly,Ghost butterflies drift through a sepia sky.With wings made of whispers and bones laced with thread,They flutter through graveyards and dreams of the dead.They don’t make a sound, nor shimmer nor gleam,Just flutter through cracks in a h.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Perkele/2951997/ There was an old man who lived by the seaHe'd leave in the morning and be home by threeAnd everybody wondered, you see. Where the man could possibly be?Down by the coastline, out in the bay?"He's gone out fishing!"Someone would say. Just down the road, right past the shrubThere you could see him, do.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Perkele/2929941/ I don't even know. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Perkele/2928588/ another one of those ones http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Perkele/2928231/ Leslie wore a grey shirtMorning night and noonShe'd wake up looking gloomyIn a happy colored roomHer hair all black and mangledHer eyes are black and blueFrom the beatings that she'd give herselfFrom here back to the moonShe always skipped her dinnersAnd her suppers were a bustShe rarely ate a thing.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Perkele/2927659/ This guy from this place Has things going on. And stuff happening too. And with his stuff He goes here and thereDoes one of these and one of those.Tries one of this and even some of that.Goes left and rightUp and down also. Things and stuffPlaces and suchYou get the gist. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Perkele/2927509/ hot nonsense that sits in my head. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Perkele/2927508/ Singing cats on the fenceBoogie under the full moonFaintly in the distance The coyote howlsBack alley madness http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Perkele/2927502/ Real short poem http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Perkele/2926599/