Prose
Sometimes I stare at the wad of paper I just chucked at the trashcan; and missed the toss. I could spend two lifetimes debating on whether to pick up that focus of my attention and put it in the trashcan. I mean: what a monumental decision. The choice is to do something – not just something - but something beneficial. To push your body into a stance to stand up, tighten your muscles, lift and place one foot in front of the other until you finally arrive at the destination where you get to make another decision.
2:34 p.m.
Matt parked the ‘97 Grand Am and as the engine roughly idled, he looked out the window at his daughter’s high school. The smell of cheap Chablis jumped from his tongue, hovering long enough to be sucked into his nose. His shirt, the only one he owned at the moment, was a size too small and had a dried ranch dressing stain beneath the first button on the collar. Matt focused on the front entrance to the school and watched several young black students congregating, fumbling through their pockets and fingering the screens of their smart phones.
Read more: Fallen Angel's Day of Purpose
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- Written by: Vangoman/ Dan Van Fleet
- Category: Prose
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“Percy Sledge Sang” When a man loves a woman, can’t keep his mind on nothing else, he’ll change the world for a good thing he’s found. If she is bad he can’t see it, she can do no wrong; turn his back on his best friend if he puts her down. If she plays him for a fool he’s the last one to know, loving eyes can never see...
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- Written by: grunfruaorshell
- Category: Prose
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So I was not expecting this tonight. It seemed a bit mundane the reading. And then I got up in front of the modest crowd and let my words flow. They applauded. Others recited and read. And then the show was over and I thought I would just go have some drinks afterwards with my friends. A man came up to me. Someone I may have passed on the street who might have smiled. He shook my hand and told me he liked my poem. It had really moved him and could he have a copy. I paused. I hestitated. I gave him my information and the sites I was on. But...
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- Written by: Vangoman/ Dan Van Fleet
- Category: Prose
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In her last humane way of touching me, this woman human in love, feels like some exotic silk scarf being dragged endlessly across the submissive lips of someone very much in love, hers is a kind of veiled love that imprints upon the life of lovers by stretching their heart into a bending of surrendering, this is the way of touching by my woman. A woman in search of final midnights of chard submission initiated by me the man who helped shape her glorious free life. Her love is one of those soft kinds of loves that surround the calling to warmth, warmth found only inside the trade winds of the soul or in those sacred moments where the art of the heart is passionately making love.
