Entries By liz
Displaying 151 To 180 Of 804 Entries
lanterns shining light upon empty roads lanterns in the hearts of lovers who kiss on top of rooftops mudbogs pavement couch cushions their hearts are now full but will someday be broken and shatter into the sky and absorb in the light that filters clouds that rain down on top of their heads hair soaking through transparent skin closed hands clutching at each others cheeks the lantern the only light on this otherwise pale street screams to see more to see more in our dark atmospherePosted By liz On 03.02.2012 @ 8:58 am
It was cold, dark, lonely. It was depressing almost. It was a country road, houses spread quarter miles apart. I was coming up to the first latern I’ve seen in ages. I felt as if It was ages, and I was going back ages, for the fact that It was a gas lantern on a wrought iron pole.Posted By Liz On 03.01.2012 @ 3:39 pm
I often stayed in the cabin when my family would have a breakdown. Well, my mother and I would. And it would be silent, for neither of us had the courage to bring up the trauma. But I often looked to her and felt the guilt of her pain well up in my chest, and I would then think back to my dad, and wonder if he felt as bad as I was feeling.Posted By Liz On 01.28.2012 @ 9:14 am
I’ve laid them. I’ve seen them go astray. Mice, men, etc. I’ve got plans for tonight involving poker and a couple of cocktails. I’ve got plans involving luck. Let’s see how that works out. I had plans today — some of them got left back at one fork in the path or other. Guess that’s the way it is with plans. Or maybe I just didn’t plan well enough.Posted By Liz On 01.25.2012 @ 12:59 pm
Sandy and I (and Deborah?) talked about the notion of poem as window, poem as door, and then I think we talked about the idea of a poem having a hinge. THat was cool. I love this word. The hinge is the thing that makes the turning possible, everything hinges on something else very cool.Posted By Liz On 01.23.2012 @ 3:48 pm
The runway was long and empty before here. No sounds could be heard from anywhere. It seemed eerie, and wrong. There should be tons of people here. But there was no one. She was dressed up for nothing. A few steps forwards told her there was something wrong. A loud kreening came hollowly from somewhere in the distance.Posted By Liz On 01.21.2012 @ 12:42 am
There are Things below her bed. They’ve been accumulating there, for years and years and years, and she just never bothers to go underneath and discover them, afraid of what unpleasant memory from yonder ages she might unearth.
She does go below her bed eventually, traveling down, past the comforter, the sheets, the mattress, the bed frame, until she finds her collection of Things. She looks at them for a while, never touching. Simply gazing. And then she’s angry, going through the Things one by one, each evoking something she never thought would ever hurt until now, post-Him, post-Family, and she sees these Things and she chucks them at the wall, imagining his soft face and betraying back as he walks out the door and leaves her behind. With each throw, she hears the door click shut. With every infuriated hurl, she feels her heart breaking a little bit more. Later, she will realize that this mass purging of the below heals as much as it hurts, and she will smile (wince?) as she drops her childhood into the garbage bin at the curb and watches the billowing truck take the tender reminders of her father far, far away.Posted By Liz On 01.17.2012 @ 7:55 pm
lillies are my absolute favorite flower on the face of the earth! they smell so wonderful and make me so happy. i wish i had fresh lillies all the time. my boyfriend’s daughter just got a little white dog and named her lilly, she’s precious.
lillies make me thinkPosted By liz On 01.08.2012 @ 3:32 pm
She lugged her old trunk behind her, clopping noisily down the staircase as it hit each step. It was cumbersome, but she refused to go anywhere without it. The peeling leather had too many stories, too many strange places imprinted on its skin to be left behind in a dark closet somewhere, unable to breathe in more memories.Posted By Liz On 01.03.2012 @ 7:32 pm
THe trunk is red I like ur trunk Fuck my trunk How big is ur trunk Is my trunk bigger then yours? how old is ur trunk I dont know what to write about Umm college sucks this is kinda werid how was ur day mr. trunk? brrrahhhh i dont know what this is. OMG TRUNKS R AWSOME APPARENTLY I love myself and nones else and my trunk BBBBBBBBBBBRAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWERRRR TRUNKSPosted By Liz On 01.03.2012 @ 4:19 pm
Patricia drunkenly walked through the kitchen with the champagne bottle in her hand. “Fabian!” she slurred as she saw the young boy getting a snack. “You should talk to me.”
Fabian rolled his eyes at her. “Drunk again aren’t you, Patricia?” he asked the girl.
“You bet,” she answered. She walked closer to him and suddenly fell into his arms. “Oh whoops!” she squealed. “Sorry ’bout that.”
He shrugged. “It’s alright I guess.”Posted By Liz On 01.02.2012 @ 5:16 pm
The gown was everything she had ever wanted. The silk was gold and sparkling, and each of the pickups had a little red bow on it. There were intricate patterns of embroidery and lace and the sleeves showed off just enough shoulder to let the imagination do the rest. Sighing, she put it back in its box and handed it to the one who would be wearing it. Others were always taking her dreams.Posted By Liz On 12.11.2011 @ 7:22 pm
I viewed the letters and numbers on the board. i looked on with nervous determination as I placed both my hands on the planchet; this is dangerous alone, I’ve been told. But no one would help me. I needed answers, and I was determined to get them. So this was the only way.
I’ve been obsessed with spirits and ghosts for two years now. I can’t get them out of my head, ever since I saw that psychic on T.V. I’ve yoked myself to the idea of contacting the dead.Posted By Liz On 12.09.2011 @ 6:11 pm
She sat, slouched in her chair, desperately waiting for the bell to ring. Would the teacher ever shut up? She twiddled her fingers in her hair and chewed on the pencil. The teacher was droning on about some ridiculous thing having to do with figurative language when she heard it. “Chandra, what do you think/”Posted By Liz On 12.01.2011 @ 3:57 pm