artists Archives - Spillwords

Between Everything And Nothing

Anne GJune 10, 2018

Between Everything and Nothing written by: Anne G @TheInkTruth There exists great beauty in understated simplicity. As I strolled along the many...

Anne GArticleEnglishFeatured Post1 min read

GRAFFITI

Dilip MohapatraJanuary 30, 2018

GRAFFITI written by: Dilip Mohapatra @dilipmo They are commoners not the elite class like murals or frescos nor even hieroglyphics and are a...

EnglishFeatured PostPoetry0 min read

Why Oh Why!

Donna AfricaMarch 15, 2017

Why Oh why! written by: Donna Africa @DonnaAfrica Why oh why to be given such a passionate ravenous & roaring heart, if not to give love an...

EnglishPoetry2 min read

Sheep

Robbie MassoFebruary 16, 2017

Sheep written by: Robbie Masso @robbie.masso Am I not worth your precious time, just because I wrote more than a sentence and it’s not about love? D...

EnglishPoetry1 min read

Il Manifesto del Nostalgismo

Maurizio RicciAugust 8, 2016

Il Manifesto del Nostalgismo poesia by: Maurizio Ricci @MaurizioRicciOF Agli artisti contemporanei. Vi indico una strada, una nuova, che possa portar...

InternationalItalian1 min read

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Gerardine White (mostly called Ger) grew up in wild open country of West Limerick, Ireland. Her country life is represented in her poems and has a strong bearing on her core values and education. She inherited the skill of poetic rhyme from both of her parents and her Grandad – who were all fine poets and storytellers. Her education took place mostly in South West Ireland and the rest of it is gleaned from travel, from life, and from being an avid reader of all kinds of books. In recent years she has returned to poetry writing. This past year seeing her published in four Anthologies from Clarendon House Publications. She sees herself as a Spiritual person, very connected with life in all forms. She is happily married for past 20 years and currently lives in Sussex, UK. She enjoys healthy pursuits of country walks with a nice cuppa tea and chat at the end.

Resurrection by Suzanne Craig-Whytock

On the day that Budgie died, I was young and very sad. He was a pretty bird, always singing in his cage. Sometimes we let him out to fly around, and on that day, the curtains were wide open and he slammed into the glass hard. Momma put him into a shoe box and I cried as we buried him in the back garden among the lilies. The next morning, very early, I snuck out of the house and dug him up with a garden trowel because I wanted to see him one more time. When I took the lid off the shoe box, his eyes were open and his wings fluttered ...