swampwriter.blogspot.com

SwampWriter

Sunday, February 13, 2011. It was a hot, but pleasant day,. The front porch was cool in the shade,. Inside the house I heard her weep,. And so help me God, I was afraid. Neath a strawberry preserve sky,. Me and my woman shared our pain. All alone, with no one around,. We walked, side by side, down the lane. It was in the morn's early hour,. The sun just peeking o'er the trees,. We spoke not a word as we trod,. The two of us and one made three. A rusty gate opened for us,. I dug with my hands yesterday,.

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SwampWriter | swampwriter.blogspot.com Reviews

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Sunday, February 13, 2011. It was a hot, but pleasant day,. The front porch was cool in the shade,. Inside the house I heard her weep,. And so help me God, I was afraid. Neath a strawberry preserve sky,. Me and my woman shared our pain. All alone, with no one around,. We walked, side by side, down the lane. It was in the morn's early hour,. The sun just peeking o'er the trees,. We spoke not a word as we trod,. The two of us and one made three. A rusty gate opened for us,. I dug with my hands yesterday,.

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swampwriter,strawberry preserve sky,posted by,jerry pat bolton,1 comment,email this,blogthis,share to twitter,share to facebook,share to pinterest,our love,it was spring,our hearts,burning with love,windswept desire,thunderous passion,our arms reaching

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SwampWriter | swampwriter.blogspot.com Reviews

https://swampwriter.blogspot.com

Sunday, February 13, 2011. It was a hot, but pleasant day,. The front porch was cool in the shade,. Inside the house I heard her weep,. And so help me God, I was afraid. Neath a strawberry preserve sky,. Me and my woman shared our pain. All alone, with no one around,. We walked, side by side, down the lane. It was in the morn's early hour,. The sun just peeking o'er the trees,. We spoke not a word as we trod,. The two of us and one made three. A rusty gate opened for us,. I dug with my hands yesterday,.

INTERNAL PAGES

swampwriter.blogspot.com

1

SwampWriter: A Girl So Blue

http://swampwriter.blogspot.com/2010/12/girl-so-blue.html

Friday, December 24, 2010. A Girl So Blue. We knew a girl who was so blue. Why was she sad we never knew. We wondered but we had no clue. Some said she was sad for a man,. Whispers about a girl, Diane,. Who left her and moved to Japan,. We never knew if it were true. She never smiled and would not laugh,. Walked around like a half-sick calf,. And had a neck like a giraffe,. It always looked a bit askew. One day she up and went away,. She left a note and signed it Mae,. Said it was time for her to stray,.

2

SwampWriter: A Female Unknown

http://swampwriter.blogspot.com/2010/12/female-unknown.html

Thursday, December 16, 2010. They found her sprawled in the alley. Dead Asleep in the Lily of the Valley. Obscene and cold, flat on her back. All for a damn hit of ten dollar crack. Beneath the grime and blood and gore. The innocence, before she was a whore. Could not be seen, she met her maker. A one hundred percent street-wise faker. Dead blue eyes, peroxide hair, a wild vine. Earrings in her nose, tongue, a defiant sign. To the world that she's a wild child. Who long ago learned how not to smile.

3

SwampWriter: Our Love

http://swampwriter.blogspot.com/2011/01/our-love.html

Saturday, January 8, 2011. And then . . . Of deceits and lies. A germ of deception. A pox on our house. Slept with eyes open. Into and upon itself. How angry we were. Until the shouting began. Shattering of thrown things. You tried to cut me once. Looking for the sun. To send shafts of light. Back into our souls. Didn't want it to end. Still, our arms reached out again. Searching for lost passion. We'd lost the map. Too dark to see. What was right in front of us. With shame and regret kicking in.

4

SwampWriter: Chance Encounter

http://swampwriter.blogspot.com/2010/12/chance-encounter.html

Wednesday, December 29, 2010. She was ravenous for it. He had hit the jackpot. She knew of a spot in the vicinity. He was a stranger. He was broke and thumbing. She paid for the no-tell-motel. He now believed in God. She was a wild-child. He only tried to keep up. She assaulted the manmeat. He thought he would die. She wolfed it down. His knees were weak. She licked the rest. He lay back on the bed. She slurped greedily at the feast. He rolled his eyes and grinned. She gave him the back door.

5

SwampWriter: A Date For Mona

http://swampwriter.blogspot.com/2010/12/date-for-mona.html

Saturday, December 18, 2010. A Date For Mona. When he gave any thought at all,. To Mona's lovely smile he bawled. He couldn't help that the tears fell,. As he held his daughter Michelle. Moments, when all hope was gone,. Insanity sneaked in quiet like a yawn. Where once he was happy and free,. A dark cloud had covered all reality. The bedroom, that room of amour,. Locked, bolted, nailed shut, the door. Windows painted black sun not let in,. Sealed shut like the wall of Berlin. Armies had searched and cam...

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My Other Sites | Shirley Alexander's Blog

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Shirley Alexander's Blog. Other sites you might enjoy reading. David Agnew Walking Into Eternity. Hays Goolsby, Goolsby Law Firm. Jerry Pat Bolton Swamp Writer. Tikarma Vodicka Twisting Golden Threads. My Poetry on Blogger. My video uploads on YouTube. Shirley Alexander on Poemhunter.com. Website: Here In The Life Of An Unknown Poet. Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here. Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:. Address never made public). Shirley Alexander's Blog.

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swampwriter.blogspot.com

SwampWriter

Sunday, February 13, 2011. It was a hot, but pleasant day,. The front porch was cool in the shade,. Inside the house I heard her weep,. And so help me God, I was afraid. Neath a strawberry preserve sky,. Me and my woman shared our pain. All alone, with no one around,. We walked, side by side, down the lane. It was in the morn's early hour,. The sun just peeking o'er the trees,. We spoke not a word as we trod,. The two of us and one made three. A rusty gate opened for us,. I dug with my hands yesterday,.

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The Murky SWAMP (Blog). SWAMP is a postgraduate Creative Writing publication brought to you by the School of Humanities and Social Science of the University of Newcastle, Australia. SWAMP has been created by Creative Writing Postgrads for Creative Writing Postgrads. Our aim is to discover what lurks in the murky waters of postgraduate Creative Writing workshops the world over, and share the words with one and all. SWAMP is an independent publication of postgraduate creative writing.

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The ramblings and reflections of a middle aged wolf. Also: Dicks. Great BIG fucking dicks. Just so we’re all clear, it is okay to miss people you no longer want in your life. This is so important. Some people genuinely have trouble with never being told this. i am reblogging this post in case that includes any of you in my audience. Original post by impracticalmagics. Feminists don’t wanna live in a world without men, we want to live in a world without patriarchy and violent, toxic hyper-masculinity.

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Your First Day of Swamp Base Trek 14. Day 1 of Swamp Base’s primary Trek begins by taking crews down the Grimmett Canal a calm, four-mile paddle that prepares the youth for the challenges of the dense swamps to come. In the Grimmett, Swamp X guides the youth to take pictures and video recordings of alligators and turtles which are basking in the sun on the fallen logs that line the Canal’s shore. Helping gather cultural and scientific data. What makes Swamp X SPECIAL is the focus on the intersection of h...

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