birds Archives - Spillwords

You Ask Me How The Dead Are Born

Józefa Ślusarczyk-LatosNovember 4, 2019

You Ask Me How The Dead Are Born written by: Józefa Ślusarczyk-Latos you ask me how the dead are born - and when, since there is no crying and no d...

EnglishPoetry1 min read

Oak Traitor

WoodbourneNovember 3, 2019

Oak Traitor written by: Woodbourne @whirred Betrayed by an acorn, let us mourn its ingratitude. Scooping ripe and brown bunches of quercus o...

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Throng of Mornings

Ken Allan DronsfieldOctober 29, 2019

Throng of Mornings written by: Ken Allan Dronsfield @KenKadfield The belltower could be seen through undulating mists. Black skies now give way to a...

EnglishPoetry1 min read

The Thing About Oil Spills

Godfrey HolyOctober 16, 2019

The Thing About Oil Spills written by: Godfrey Holy I watch birds fly bid them farewell as they perforate the thin membranes of time, as they injur...

EnglishPoetry0 min read

GAUGES

G.R. MelvinSeptember 12, 2019

GAUGES written by: G.R. MELVIN “Life is short, and Art long; the crisis fleeting; experience perilous, and decision difficult.” - Hippocrates “In th...

EnglishPoetry0 min read

The Fool

Polly OliverAugust 19, 2019

The Fool written by: Polly Oliver @Polrocksnbones Today I saw a white feather And birdsong filled the woods. After I cried we hugged. Purple flowe...

EnglishPoetry0 min read

A Moment Before Driving to Work

Tracee A. ClaperJuly 10, 2019

A Moment Before Driving to Work written by: Tracee Clapper Summer holds tight in a final bid to remain in season. She sends heat, sifting over my ...

EnglishPoetry0 min read

The Birds That Don’t Sing

Daniel BrooksJuly 2, 2019

The Birds That Don't Sing written by: Daniel Brooks I fear incarceration Like the living fear Death I fear the point of No return I fear that not...

EnglishPoetry0 min read

Curlews

Polly OliverJuly 1, 2019

Curlews written by: Polly Oliver @Polrocksnbones "Stop talking," you said by the estuary's edge. You kissed me and told me to close my eyes. "Let t...

EnglishPoetry0 min read

November Shore

Polly OliverJune 1, 2019

November Shore written by: Polly Oliver @Polrocksnbones Like lost souls gulls cry From shrouding mists. Neither sky Nor soaked earth holds them. &...

EnglishPoetry0 min read

Amour

Gabriela MMay 1, 2019

Amour written by: Gabriela M @shortprose1 amour your secret hides inside my name inside the splendor of the night in which you didn’t say a word ...

EnglishPoetry0 min read

Spring Shall Overcome

Lee DunnApril 27, 2019

Spring Shall Overcome written by: Lee Dunn Bare of snow and ice we were In the winter’s dwindling days And we marked upon the calendar The sea...

EnglishFeatured PostPoetry1 min read

Lichen, I and Nature

AS RijalApril 26, 2019

Lichen, I and Nature written by: AS Rijal In my Nature Lichen that I wonder Wonderful, wonderfully Around lichen I find flowers Rise, Perfume...

EnglishPoetry0 min read

I Saw A Bird

Lynn WhiteApril 10, 2019

I Saw A Bird written by: Lynn White I saw a bird today, just one. I wasn’t alone, many people saw it, more came out to look dusting off their lon...

EnglishPoetry0 min read

Phyllis P. Colucci is a freelance/indie author from Brooklyn, New York. She is currently retired from a Supervisory Administrative position with a Federal law enforcement agency in New York City, and is now pursuing her passion for writing fiction and poetry. She has always had a love for writing over the years, whether it be poetry, short stories or novels; and mystery and suspense is something she has recently gravitated towards with a touch of romance and that "New York edge". Phyllis has three novels, one novella and an Anthology of original poems currently on the Amazon market, and continues to be part of the Spillwords writing community by sharing/contributing her fiction and poetry on a monthly basis. She also has a writing blog under the name of "FictionTarot" where she hopes to entertain readers, take them on journeys page by page - and perhaps make a difference with a blog.

Bodies In The Basement by M. Taggart

It was a crisp, damp, October night.
“When we get to the Church I’ll go down first.” Colin was thinking of the moment when both he and Aaron would be standing at the top of the basement stairs peering down into the darkness.
The old stone Church was perched at the top of the largest hill on the prep school’s campus. Colin’s parents were professors at the school and their house was on campus grounds. They’d been waiting for Colin’s parents to fall asleep upstairs. Both boys were comfortable in their sleeping bags on the screened in porch. The lights had been turned out an hour ago and Colin felt it was time to slip into the night ...