Do you feel a little tickle, Right beneath your winter worn feet? Something stores with living memory, Resting long beneath the winter’s gray. Like the fall of a hammer on metal, Ringing in the depths of mountains deep. Does your mind quest to find answers, For something familiar that is now awake. Let the tickle … More A Thought So Stirred
Silent Pressing Hours- Michael Erickson Silent Pressing Hours- Michael Erickson — Read on godoggocafe.com/2020/08/23/silent-pressing-hours-michael-erickson/ Here’s one of my Sunday poems published at the Cafe. Check it out!
Grow roots to deepest places, To nourish the wick of life. That we may come out of this darkness, Which does oppress each heart and mind. Renew vivacity upon a waking stone, To call forth a healing balm. Remember a prayer of green, Only Earth’s healing bosom can provide. -M.E. InkOwl Author’s note: It is … More Waiting For Spring- A Prayer of Green
Here’s a friendly reminder about next month’s writing challenge! This year I’d like to shake things up with a new challenge, one that will hopefully test your limits as a writer. Next month I would like submissions to be about self-love. Not self-obsession, narcissism, or conceitedness, but actual, genuine self-love. As defined by Merriam-Webster online dictionary … More Guest Submissions Wanted
A boy it was, who found the path. He was blind to light from above. Among the dead he walked in the wood, His companion an Urisus of the North. With hand upon silver fur they walked, Companions of a strange world. The dead walked along with hope. -M.E. InkOwl
What was that? He stopped his scream and sat up, mouth still open. Just behind a nearby bush, there had been a cough. No, not a cough, it sounded more like a choking dog. An awful sound, but yet, nothing was there. And then Joshua’s heart stopped. The beasts…the beasts they had told him about. … More From “Election” by Spencer Cook
I can hear the washing machine running above me, slowly cleaning a batch of towels. It cycles over and over, spinning each towel. In front of me I see discarded toys from the day. An everlasting legacy of the children that run around under the roof of my home. There’s small Lego pieces on … More Silence of the Night