Kylan

a night at britt gardens and as the evening spins, a party dress of nebula and solar wind, the violin bows sigh on their bed of strings, heaving up like ...

June -- This is a fantastic improvement on your usual poetry. I enjoyed it. There's still plenty of room to grow, but I can definately see your poetry maturing here. ...

hospice cold, unpitying sun, dropping in through the windowpanes sullen as a truant, cast-off and browsing. the light is unwelcome company, revealing your face like a well-kept secret, white and ...

Thank you all for your reviews! First, I want to let you all know that this is not, not, not, not, not a sequel to The Elephant Boy. Not. Definately ...

Thanks for your input! The character in the third section is Joseph as a child. I guess I'll just have to mention his name more in the other two sections, ...

Connie -- Ooh. Nice ending. I enjoyed this, but there wasn't much to it. Both in plot and writing. You and I, as has been said before, have very different ...

They are always watching. I stand among them. Watching me with their soft eyes. Sluffing the ground with their trunks, brushing around me, so close I could reach out and ...

So pretty! -Kylan

minesweeping what crops are these? unwilling, slumbering goosebumps, appearing along the red wrist of the road, exposed precious rumps, packed dirt what blossoms will come from these? baby-headed lill

For Dems, I have posted piccys of my prom tux. Enjoy. -Kylan

the night is full of snails tread carefully – the night is full of snails hobble-backed aborrances, making their slow pilgrimage, on the shoulders of the grassblades small and emerging, ...

June-- This was a really good, solid effort. I appreciate the personal dimension and you definately have a couple great lines here. Like the opening stanza -- good stuff. One ...

the burning season wildfire in bush canyon today and the sky is doubtful with ash, fluttering like flirting eyelashes. the heat gasps in and lays low over the heavy-lapped valley, ...

An impatient fly tapped against the glass of the door and the old fan spun, struggling against the heat, like a swimmer against a current. I sat behind the counter ...

ghost stories dark staircase leading downwards – an esophagus – and us on the edge, like a nightly prayer, with the moonlight hemming our nightgowns blue and a draft cupping ...