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By Ghia Vitale Photo Credit: Wikimedia Commons and Pixlr E I.
People are living in my head. They tread upon my thoughts and space. To them, I am not even dead for even the dead have their place. I’ll reclaim what is mine by right: It’s time to build a house of spite.
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The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
By Christine Stoddard and Aaron Gold #comedy #funny #justforfun #humor #watercolors #paperdolls #paperart #cartoony
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By Anise Algin Have you ever lost something unimportant, something that you did not know you cared about, something that sat perhaps in the corner of your desk drawer, day after day, month after month, untouched until you lost it and at that moment it grew tentacles and began to occupy all the corners of your thoughts? For me it was the sewing kit.
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By Ghia VitalePhoto Credit: Francisco de Goya - Saturno devorando a su hijo (Wikimedia Commons) Hail Saturn, god of death and time
who sows and grows all seeds of life! His powers are dark and sublime, thriving in happiness or strife. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
By Lucy Sage A tall wrought iron gate
With black and bronze Vertical lines and curves Opens to a courtyard. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
By Lucy Sage Cloud floats roll past my window--
A parade of images Drift across the blue sky: A peach fish on wheels A white dog with wings A rooster with purple and orange tail feathers A man with a gray Fu Manchu Drooping down his chin. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
By Maureen McDole that led to the upstairs bedrooms
in my grandparent's house marked my safe space between two worlds: the private parties upstairs with whispers that hung ripe in the air, and the laughter, booming chatter and flashes of anger that flooded the spaces below. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
By Maureen McDole I was cast in the nets of a fisherman family in hurricane force winds,
poetry-filled among wounded souls and the spiritually poor. Dysfunction distilled in my barrel from an early age. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
By Terry Trowbridge Invisible ink seeps from sunlight
onto page of a prisoner writing a love letter that his censor-guards will sniff and smell only the cleaners from janitorial duty. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
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