New York Archives - Spillwords

The $80 Champion

Pete BlackMay 15, 2020

The $80 Champion written by: Pete Black February 1956 – New Holland, Pennsylvania It was a snowy afternoon in the small town – the location of th...

EnglishLiterature3 min read

Potter’s Field

Tim GardinerApril 29, 2020

Potter's Field written by: Tim Gardiner @timgardiner3 no room in the cemetery bittersweet vine Good Friday new trench in the potter’s clay searchin...

EnglishPoetry0 min read

COVID-19 PANDEMIC

Phyllis P. ColucciApril 12, 2020

COVID-19 PANDEMIC War On The World written by: Phyllis P. Colucci @FictionTarot You came like a thief in the night without warning. You came alive...

ArticleEnglishFeatured Post3 min read

Guantanamera

James StraussMarch 29, 2020

Guantanamera written by: James Strauss @JStraussAuthor The winds off of Lake Eerie blew cold and hard through the streets of downtown Buffalo. New ...

EnglishLiterature7 min read

Girl Of His Dreams

P.A. O'NeilOctober 24, 2019

Girl Of His Dreams written by: P.A. O'Neil “Yes, Sir, he’s in the second bed on the left. I am sure he’ll have the strength to talk to you if h...

EnglishHalloweenLiterature40 min read

Howl

SpillwordsSeptember 15, 2019

Howl a poem by Allen Ginsberg For Carl Solomon I I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragg...

EnglishLiterary GreatsPoetry15 min read

Tiny Buildings

Alexander DrakeJuly 16, 2019

Tiny Buildings written by: Alexander Drake @drakefable What’s the difference between a statue and a building? I’ve seen lots of buildings and th...

EnglishLiterature8 min read

Father’s Day

Michael NattJune 16, 2019

Father's Day written by: Michael Natt I grew up in New York City as the oldest of three siblings: there was me, my brother Bruce, and my sister Esth...

EnglishLiterature3 min read

Broiled Flounder

Michael NattApril 14, 2019

Broiled Flounder written by: Michael Natt I usually visit my mother in New York in May, around her birthday. This year was no exception. However, th...

ArticleEnglish2 min read

Sheepshead Bay

Warren AlexanderFebruary 6, 2019

Sheepshead Bay written by: Warren Alexander In Sheepshead Bay tires protect wooden boats From concrete piers dotted with pebbles. Mostly men scuff...

EnglishPoetry0 min read

The Operation

Michal ReibenbachJanuary 22, 2019

The Operation written by: Michal Reibenbach You arrived with your husband in New York in the depth of winter. It was delightful to be greeted by a c...

EnglishFeatured PostLiterature5 min read

Jigsaw Psyche

A.M. TorresSeptember 11, 2018

Jigsaw Psyche written by: A.M. Torres @sonic1170 On Broad Street, I stood memories scat they overflow the buildings had loomed. Manhattan now far...

EnglishFeatured PostPoetry0 min read

Penn Station

Aurora KastaniasApril 10, 2018

Penn Station written by: Aurora Kastanias Escaping memories I ran To the setting of beginnings In search of new encounters A rescuer, an owner, a g...

EnglishPoetry1 min read

THE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT

Phyllis P. ColucciDecember 14, 2017

THE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT written by: Phyllis P. Colucci @FictionTarot The Christmas Spirit! Can you hear it? The Christmas Spirit! Can you see it? The ...

12 Days of ChristmasChristmasEnglishFeatured PostPoetry2 min read

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 ...