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Rocking Chair Wisdom

Mark Tulin·July 9, 2022

Rocking Chair Wisdom written by: Mark Tulin @Crow_writer On a quiet night with crickets chirping, the older...

Poetry English Featured Post

·1 min read

Poemgranates, poetry written by David Estringel at Spillwords.com

Pomegranates

David Estringel·November 6, 2021

Pomegranates written by: David Estringel @The_Booky_Man Lay me down just beyond the back porch, where the pomegranates...

The Witch

Mary Bone·October 25, 2021

The Witch written by: Mary Bone The witch sat on a porch wearing a wicked grin. She...

English Poetry Halloween

·1 min read

The Falling Woman

A Stump·November 22, 2020

The Falling Woman written by: A Stump @astump10 I’ll never forget—it was like a dream. Not a...

Literature English

·5 mins read

Home

Zia Marshall·September 1, 2020

Home written by: Zia Marshall Where masks fly off Literally and figuratively And you kick off your...

English Poetry

·1 min read

Thoughts At Dusk

Gayl Wright·May 6, 2019

Thoughts At Dusk written by: Gayl Wright @GaylWright Out here on the porch swing Writing in my journal...

English Poetry

·1 min read

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After a long career tinkering in telecommunications, Jim Bartlett switched to tinkering with writing fiction, both requiring a stretch of the imagination. In the course of putting his fingers to the keyboard, he's been fortunate to have quite a number of his stories featured both in print and online in several wonderful publications, including a story selected for "The Best of Fiction on the Web, 1996 – 2017" anthology. While mentally he strolls along a warm California beach with his wife and golden retriever (shhh, she doesn't know she's a dog), physically they reside on a special little island in the Pacific Northwest.

Reaper by Sharon Frame Gay

As an orphaned son of an orphan, I always see the glass as half empty. I picture the water murky and lukewarm, a waterline etched below the rim. Maybe with an ash or two floating at the bottom, because that’s what I do for a living. I deal with ashes. The remains of the deceased. No matter how those who pass away see their glass, meager or full, they eventually end up in a satchel carried on my shoulder.
My business card reads “Morton Stark Transport.” I’m called upon to disperse the ashes of the dearly departed and honor their final wishes. People hire me to escort the remains throughout the world ...

Features

This is Our Christmas

Ghost of a Christmas Past

The Spy Hiding in the Bougainvillea

Interviews

Spotlight On Writers – Miroslava Panayotova

Interview Q&A With Jim Bartlett

Spotlight On Writers – Darryl B

Ghost of a Christmas Past

This is Our Christmas

Christmas Baking

Porch Pumpkin

Cats of the Twilight

Summerhouse Blues

Minnesota Sunday

The Days We Have Left

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Rocking Chair Wisdom

Pomegranates

The Witch

The Falling Woman

Home

Thoughts At Dusk

Broken Halo Blues

Cieder Muld and the Boy

The Mirror Did Not Come as Glass

The Leaves of Diablo

Ghost of a Christmas Past

The Spy Hiding in the Bougainvillea

A Dublin Christmas

Christmas Time

This is Our Christmas

Criss-Cross Christmas

Last Christmas on Moravian Lane

An Old Man’s Christmas Eve