If you haven’t watched / listened to Sarah Kay’s Spoken word poem, A Love Letter from a ToothBrush to a Bicycle Tire, you should:
We moved to a small two bedroom apartment (It’s total space is equivalent to an average one bedroom apartment). We have about 5 families in the neighbourhood. The people who live right next door, in a big bungalow, are the sneaky and clever ones. They are hideous, avoid confrontation, prevaricate to work around lies about […]
The grind of money, working their way to the dreams that are rocks and stones made out of the small particles of sand, shining all sparkly as if they contained magic. At my temporary staying place here in Chandigarh, there’s a family from a small village in Punjab staying in this city. My maternal grandfather […]
This is not a poem. I write some here and here I’m scared of a prospective listener, because they might be online, and the fact that most probably I would never meet them, is all the more, scary, like a dream where you’re doing what you want but you wake up either to an alarm […]
There is an old family house, built on flattened out contours on the left side of a mediocre mountain, that is now void of its makers. One was a nice man, but a drunkard, who had taken his own life insidiously. His wife, everybody called her Maati (माती), was a giving lady. Their son, a little […]
Last night I had a horrid dream. Bone shaking me to my core, I have never had such a sweaty nightmare ever before. I dream very less (if I do, I don’t remember most of them). Last night’s -mare ingrained in my memory very starkly. Details need too much background information about my family members. […]
POET & WRITER
bottled sunshine and bits of tofu
Prose infiltrating the ranks of poetry.
from dark woods to open sky.
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Natalie. Writer. Photographer. Etc.
THE PLACE WHERE STORIES COME TO BE WOVEN OUT OF SUBURBAN AIR
We are all senile in here
Done being told how to behave, where to go, and why to exist.
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Threw a loose net over a sea of words, caught a few fresh flippery tales. Some slipped off my memory, a colourful few stayed.
Hiding a crippling need for approval.
What Are You Speaking Today?
Any old world uncovered by new writing
Arpita Pramanick ~ Author & Blogger
Art in the Everyday | Poetry | Writing
~The Modern Musings of LaRonda Moore~
"Of this I am certain: The moment you said, "You are..." I no longer recognized myself. I am more than the woman you see. "
Software and other dark arts, by Nolan Lawson
Warning: coarse language, moral turpitude, and lewd depictions of sex (surprised?)
Let her mind wander. . .
FAMILY LIFE IN A FRENCH COUNTRY VILLAGE