poems and stories

jerbl · 2005-02-22 11:10:16

I will post my "happy" poem (more like prose because it doesn't rhyme though) to kick it off.

A little kitten
My most prized possession
I love it dearly
But I was careless
I found it lying on the ground
Wounded from a car
I thought it was dead
I tenderly scooped it up in a box
And started to carry it away
When it reached out to me
The life creeping back
It had revived!
Never will I shirk again!

Seraphim Moonshadow · 2005-02-22 12:09:50

Whoo! I think it's so cute. ^_^

(YES, MY GRAMMAR ISN'T ALL THE WAY CORRECT ON THIS!!! )

It must have been late autumn the first time I arrived here, lost in the park in a slushy rain. Never before had my eyes gazed upon such a dreary world. Litter seemed to cover the place, even among the twisted black leaves and branches and under the gum infested benches. The earth seemed suffocated, poisoned from the smell and grime of the city. Broken chalk rolled by as well as tipped over trash cans. I kicked the scattered garbage out of my way and tried to take shelter under the weasel thin park trees.

Clutching my coat, I walked through the grass, the scent of wet sidewalks and rain making me sneeze. I stepped off the scratchy walkway and pressing the roll of bills inside my pocket into my palm, I hailed a taxi. I did not hear the click of glass hitting the pavement as I got in.

I did not notice my misfortune until I had settled into a large hotel of antiseptic halls and man-made potted plants dangling from the ceiling. Frustrated, I struggled to dry off my wet clothes beside a holographic fire that produced a certain amount of heat.

The next morning, after a fitful night of half-sleep, I managed to purchase a set of plastic attire at the gift shop on the second floor with a political smile. After adorning my new attire, I gave a warm smile to the guards, and departed for the park.

With a ladylike demeanor I scoured the park, hoping that some criminal hadn?t stolen and pawned it off downtown. But I felt that with effort, I would find my prize.

?Looking for something, miss??

I don?t recall looking at his face then. In fact, I don?t remember being surprised or frightened, only dazed.

?They sold it downtown last night.?

Imagine my surprise, then, because I had to look at the man, knowing he could be an accomplice. But what I saw was not a criminal but a man haggard and wise, dressed in homely clothes. Even in his meager fashion, he held himself like a king, and under his arm was some art supplies.

?I saw you drop it yesterday,? he continued, ignoring my silence, ?I know the shop it was sold to.? He rolled back his shoulders nostalgically. ?I could lead you to it for a price.?

?A price?? I blinked. Somehow I managed to feel pity instead of menace.

?Let me paint you, dear lady. It would be an honor to paint someone as authentic looking as you.?

?Very well,? I nodded and adjusted my collar. It could not hurt to pose for such a dear old man.

I sat under a withered park tree. I unpinned my red curls, according to his instruction, and listened to him speak. The bottle didn?t matter now.

I hardly noticed how the artist sat down to pencil in the drawing nor how his quivering hands dearly held the gum eraser. All I could feel was the growing feeling, a growing friendship, between us, as we spoke. When the talk died down, I noticed that this air was unlike any other I had ever felt before. You couldn?t tell the difference between nature and mankind. You couldn?t tell who lived here or not, for the denizens carried themselves in calm neutrality to newcomers and towards the metropolis itself.

There were the gang bangers, the thieves, the classic businessman to the grunting taxi driver passing by. Some mothers scolded children while others passed by in silence. Even though the people seemed changeless in their own fashion, the city itself seemed a glare of change, from honking horns in traffic to billboards flashing advertisements of new technology to hydroponic dinners ready-to-eat.
?Do you like the city, miss?? he asked, winking at me.

Seraphim Moonshadow · 2005-02-22 12:11:07

The smell of the air wasn?t clean nor sharp but muted, kind of like a candle that has just been snuffed out. It wasn?t displeasing, even with the muted notes of car exhaust and the blend of metallic rain folded with the tang of the sea, but it made my nose itch. Somewhere across the street the smell of food wafted by, rotten and fresh.

?It?s like the sea,? I replied, feeling a mystic power coming over me.

He smiled at me, then. I had nothing poetic for him to say but my words were sufficient.

?And only a conch would know but a third of its mysteries,? he scratched his hand and grimaced, as if he had some kind of arthritis, and furrowed his brows, much like a father reproving his child. And so much like a father he was with his subtle air of wisdom and age. Pulling his palm tree green scarf about his neck a little tighter, he brushed away the eraser scraps.

?If a conch had words to speak.?

?Words can never express the very heart of our souls,? he spun the canvas around for me to see with a sense of peace and joy. From his humble hands he had stained, as others might say, was a perfectly clean canvas but in my eyes, it was a masterpiece. The breadth of my vitality, fierceness, and some kind of ethereal beauty caused shivers to travel down my spine. My curls were longer, as in the days of yore, and instead of my plastic, new age clothes I wore a long velveteen dress. What I saw behind me, instead of a stark tree, was a castle in the distance surrounded by trees.

I covered my mouth, letting my breath hasten away the cold from my fingertips.

?Genius.?

?Do you like it?? he chuckled and I felt that the question didn?t seem rhetorical. It was in the way he asked it, as if somewhere inside his heart was he bursting with happiness encircled with laughter.

?Ah,? I could not seem to respond quick enough. Englesap. That was all I could think. Castle Englesap.

?It?s inspiring,? I said after a pause.

?I?m glad you find it that way, ma?am,? he said in a slightly subdued tone, his right eye twitching lazily. But then with a lightened heart, he said, ?I can only hope that my work brings joy to the sorrowing soul.?

?May I buy you some dinner??

?Dinner?? his parched lips stretched into a large grin. ?No one has ever taken the time to do that. Of course, my dearest lady, for I would linger in your company. However, you are not obligated to do so.?

?Obligation is not what it is when one wishes to give freely to another.?

Seraphim Moonshadow · 2005-02-22 12:12:51

He escorted me straightaway to a caf? near the pawn shop in the poorer part of this electronic world. The pawn shop was closed. Instead of spoiling my mood by condemnation, we slipped into a faded compartment at the back of the caf? where we could engage in small talk without being heard. The waitress skated by on neon orange roller blades that clashed with the pastel purple code colors of her outfit. I ordered a small cup of hot chocolate and a roasted ham sandwich but encouraged the old man to get something heartier for his stomach. Without greed he ordered a salad and a large bowl of potato chowder with extra crushed red pepper, if you please.

I came to learn, as we waited for our food, that he often drew those who passed by. Most enjoyed the opportunity to have themselves immortalized, wether they be vain or humble. But those who were of blackened heart, filled with vengeance or all matter of evil, shone darkly in his work. To those of beauty and virtue, for those who still held their moral standards high, he created masterpieces.

The waitress brought our order and as I reached tentatively for my cup, I told him that I had been slightly surprised at how well he had done. Nevertheless, I continued, I was not angered, as some might be. I didn?t state then that I wondered how he knew where I came from but let it pass along with our meal as we ate.

By the end of our dinner, both of us were set aside pondering, I thinking of him as a saint with credibility beyond this world. In such circumstances, living in his own minuscule, rented studio, working as a janitor for a hotel near the heart of the city, I was humbled by his simplicity. He was only a part of what he dreamed to be but in the heavens, I am sure he was treasured as a worthy soul of God.

Once we had parted and I had returned to the hotel near the witching hour, I found the door to my room slightly ajar, which was unusual, seeing as the doors were automatic. I pushed the door open and stepped inside. Among the sullen shadows bathing in the moonlight, I pulled back stiffly, searching for an intruder about the room. The impression of evil left when I cried out with frost in my voice, ?Get thee hence who walketh in my room!?

I flipped on the light, shivered, and gave a small shriek at what I saw. There sat the canvas, fully painted with its genius strokes, of me sitting before the Castle Englesap. Why had he given me this painting he had so painstakingly done?

I hardly noticed my tears. Somewhere, in the grave of my heart, memories resurfaced of days spent in its caressing halls. But that was all it was. A memory. And so were the memories of the mobs murdering my family and subtly gaining entrance into the government dwelling. And that was only two years ago.

Two long years and worlds away.

At the bottom of the canvas was a note card. It read:?So far away from home, listen to me now, live and rest in peace, child of the long road.?

It was part of a poem my father used to recite to me at bedtime. I clasped my throat and the tears flew faster, heavier. Upon further inspection, trying to see through my teary vision and among sobs that somehow were escaping my throat, I took the card and turned it over. The date it had been written was two years ago from this hour.

If the artist had known who I was, knew my sorrow, then he was surely a servant of God on High, sent to ease my suffering.
The bottle would be his.

?Sir??

He didn?t even turn.

?This is for you.?

?There?s no need.?

?Please, take it, with all grace. You knew.?

?You, child of the long road, need it more than I.?

?You already gave me what I needed.?

His shoulders sagged then. ?Once I looked for that which you hold but by the grace of God, I have found a different path. I have beheld children like you, lost, looking for a path that will lead them away from the pain they once knew.?

?Then you are an angel??

There was a pause, a moment, in which the air was thick and still and a Spirit that was divine, entered the room.

?Every child of God is an angel in disguise.?

?Thank you for what you have given me.?

?Thank only the Lord on High, Lidia. Go and build your home again. Go back. Wander no more but teach and praise the truth of God, as I have always taught you. Teach the people to love the earth, to nurture their souls with the Word of God.?

He turned, then, and in his eyes I saw the soul of my father an in the line of his mouth I saw his happiness and his victory.

?The bottle of life, filled from the ashes of Englesap and cleansed with the rain of another world will bring its rise again. Peace be unto you.?

Then his soul depart and I wept for the releasing of my soul and the promise of a road filled with the glory of God.

lil_red-fox · 2005-02-26 14:11:18

well, I am not exactly sure if my poem will suffice readers after that most wonderfully written and creative master piece of a story... but I can try.

When we finally get to meet,
I'll drop to my knees and kiss his feet.
Then wash them with my tears,
'Cause what he's done for my over the years.
Praise the Lord,
With every word.
He died for us,
He cries for us.
Have you done what is right?
Prayed every night?
Done all you could?
Helped when you should?
Perfection you lack...
You can't pay him back...
Agency was in the Plan,
For the growth of man.
He lights the way,
Every single day...

A proud daughter of God.

Sakura · 2005-03-07 16:11:51

Most inspiring both of you guys.

There once lived a man. He was like most men. He had a job, he had a home and he had a mother. But what made him different is the way he treated the things he had. His job he respected, his home he cleaned, and his mother he loved. Each one a sense of duty, but each one brought the pure love of Christ into his heart. This man from the day he was born was different from any man. He had a goal in life and he strived to do everything in his power to accomplish this goal. Whether he had to go through pain and agony he did not care his only care was to please his father. Yes this man had a father, in fact he had two. An earthly and heavenly father. He respected both and strived to be like both. But of the haevenly father he strived to most like. In the end he accomplished everything he sent out to do. He gave everything he had. His job, his home, and his mother to accomplish his Heavenly Father's request. To this day everyone remember's the day that Jesus Christ gave his life so we could return unto him and his and our Heavenly Father.

Trying to accomplish my goal in life

lil_red-fox · 2005-03-22 11:52:08

What a bug!
Without a shell,
He'll be a slug,
Instead of a snail.

I wrote that in the third grade... I still like it...

Talduras · 2005-03-22 11:53:23

lil_red-fox wrote:

What a bug!
Without a shell,
He'll be a slug,
Instead of a snail.
I wrote that in the third grade... I still like it...

Lol! It's strangely cute. ^_^

Reythak · 2005-03-23 18:34:05

Ill hop on dee bandwagon since it is here, here is one i did in junior high... i think.

Somewhere to learn
Cool place to be
Home to school books
Open to all
Open to you
Let's all go to school

here's another one,

Rock falling down
So a rock falls down
But no one pushed it
And you watched it
So you must have pushed it
Yet you weren't the only one here
Nor were you in a group
So it could have been accidental
Or it could have been someone else
For ever there i see fresh footprints
Yet they are not yours
So I forgive you of all you've done.

Reythak · 2005-03-23 18:43:29

Here's another one that i did in Jun high.

Late to School
Hardly waking up
Barely eating breakfast
Slowly getting dressed
Slightly looking at the clock
Quickly running to the bus stop
Slightly missing the bus
Speedily walking home
Quietly asking if mom will take me
"Very sorry," she says, "the car's dead."
Angrily running to school
Barely making it there for 2nd Block.

I edited it a little, i used "Slightly" too many times (gawsh, me and my teenage vocabularly of nothingness)

Nabeshin · 2005-03-29 19:26:16

I got it. A poem. A good poem. Please don't be angry. Here goes;

Applejuice
I love my applejuice
Cool
Clear
Crisp
Refreshing

I LOVE applejuice!

Seraphim Moonshadow · 2005-03-29 20:13:10

Yum!

Reythak · 2005-03-30 18:18:03

LOL ...applejuuuiiiccceee.

lil_red-fox · 2005-04-01 21:59:58

Alot of poeple, when they go out in public,
They try to mask their face.
Hiding for some reason thier true self,
Thier reason, their color, their race.
Me? No, when I'm away from home,
I don't try to be sumthin' I'm not.
See the true me is too good ta' mask,
The true me will never rot.

lil_red-fox · 2005-04-08 16:01:03

DANCE
Oooh, to move my feet, tap my toes,
List'nin' to the beat, show my killa' pose.
I love this thing, how it clings to me,
Like a bee sting, I just can't get free.
But a poison without pain, seeps through my body,
Rushin' round my vains, it will be with me always.
When I hear the music, it just can't be stopped,
I just seem to lose it, you should see me with a mop!
Shakin' to the beat, movin' my all-too-willing feet,
Up and down the street, the music is just so sweet!

lil_red-fox · 2005-04-13 15:49:34

DRAW
Take a pencil,
Touch it to the paper.
Before your eyes,
Through a misty vapor,
A picture, pure,
You didn't know was in you.
You gotta draw w/ your imagination,
Creative, dream, always sumthin' new.

lil_red-fox · 2005-04-13 15:50:41

hehe!! I started the second page!! I cmae up with that poem as I was typing it in... what do you think? should I try to spend more time on my poems, and think them out?

Seraphim Moonshadow · 2005-04-13 16:45:52

Mm...would you guys like to see more of my writing?

firegem · 2005-04-13 16:51:12

duh

firegem · 2005-04-13 16:52:14

i mean that in a nice way, of course.

lil_red-fox · 2005-04-14 15:02:46

what about my poem!?

lil_red-fox · 2005-04-14 16:22:44

I mean... I would too...

Seraphim Moonshadow · 2005-04-18 15:37:27

I love to draw. Clearly it's part of the heart's desire.

"Midnight Over Frost" (not completed)

When the message arrived, the moon was slung over the high ridged mountains tipped with sleek snow. The sky was frosted with weak stars and below smudged clouds crawled across the winter night. Below, nestled among the prickly firs and eroded, ice covered rocks, the fortress seemed to cower in the moonlight. The half tattered pennants hung low on broken poles from the cold walltops and the buckling watch towers. Guards lay scattered, hardly breathing, on the wooden planks. Their gaunt faces were strained with grief and stained by war. But down below, past the sleepers with dreams that crossed like butterflies on rotten potato sacks, spiraling down past the cellars and down into the almost black room, lay a boy.
His hair was pale cornstalk yellow and his blue eyes, awake with fear, hovering on the brink of sleep. Covered in a brown service boy?s tunic and fairly fresh brown leggings, he looked far more pleasant then the rest of the half-alive warriors from the last of the King Dominique?s realm. Beside him the triangular ears of a gray and white speckled wolf lay, his velveteen nose stuck in the boy?s thin palm. It whined cautiously, then looked up at him with noble brown eyes.
The boy rubbed his hands against the wolf?s crest and gave a gangling smile. His eyes flickered to the torch that burned half-heartedly in its iron checkered sconce.
?I don?t suppose you?d like to go for a walk, eh??
He arose stiffly and lengthened his torso before reaching behind his neck and popping it wearily. Messengers, thankfully, were the most well-taken humans in the army. Their swift legs were so greatly needed that they, unlike the generals, were feed more carefully and preserved more than any other. Most of the messengers were bred from youth to be messengers and since the realm was lacking in the young and overextending the old, they were even more precious. Young feet could not be exchanged so easily as before.
Owyn stared suspiciously at the torch as he rolled his neck back and forth trying to ease his bruised shoulders. Breathing in he gingerly lifted the torch and let Bugal slide past him into the swimming darkness.

In the gleam of the silver-blue moon a shaped rose and beat its terrible leather wings. On its back a man slouched then straightened as he saw the fort. He pressed the dragon in his purple trailing robes and the dragon?s long tail whipped back and forth for balance as it drew back its maw and shook his mighty metal harness. Steam shot out of his nostrils turning to frost as it entered the frigid midnight air. It swayed and beat its swollen wings and breathed out slowly. Despite the small snatches of rest that he and his rider obtained, the constantly outlook for renegade bands of the enemy had worn them down like a saw against a stump.
Then they began to glide, descending like holy angels of hope, towards the battlements far below.

Owyn stomped his feet quietly on the rickety staircase and shivered as he groped for his moth eaten oil and fur coat. Tendrils of misty breath seem to hang in the air, even though he was below ground level. Bugal shook his fur and immediately sent his nose to ground, trailing the footprints of men when the shadow crossed the open grounds of the fort. Bugal?s head shot up and his jaw snapped opened, giving a warning bark to the sentry who was slumped up against the side of the wall, half asleep. The sentry balked and his beard bristled as he shot up towards attention.
?What do you see, lad??
Owyn jabbed his finger at the sky behind him. The guard whirled as a gust of air hit him flat in the face and bowled him over. The great dragon shook its head and cried out like a musical raven and snorted at the lazy, downtrodden man. The man threw his hands over his eyes and then straightened as he recognized the pair.
?Confound it! Can?t yeh have that beast shout a little more in my ear, Sir Benson??
A weary chuckle came from the rider.
?But I have good news to shout.?
?Then shout it!? the guard waved his hand in the air then rapidly wheeled as Owyn appeared at his side, Bugal in tow.
The dragon raised his crowned head and flicked his metallic head before edging over the wall laboriously and settling down in the courtyard that was beginning to shakily awake. Men with bandages over their eyes pawed helplessly against others for support as they struggled to hear what was going on. Their fingers were stiff and some could not even move because the pain was too great or their hunger so intense that they had ceased to move or think. Then the whispers sprawled and opened like a lotus flower, blooming and flaring like seas of fire as the rider announced his news. The war had ended!
Men scrambled to get on their feet, aching to hear more. What news? Who had won? Was there a treaty signed? Wild shouts rang through the crowd. They had won!
And not only that, but there was a nearby village with relief supplies!
However, the only problem lay in the fact that the villagers knew not how to get through the Pass nor the way thereafter to the Fort. Nor could one land in the valley where the food was so dearly needed. Those who had known the way in had long since forgotten, for the trail was steep and treacherous.

Seraphim Moonshadow · 2005-04-18 15:39:53

*!*!*!*!*! THIS ONE IS NOT MORE OF MIDNIGHT OVER FROST! THIS IS CALLED DANCING WITH JACK*~*~

?Dancing With Jack?
(C)By Jami Lynn Danis

?What are you doing?? she asked with a quizzical look on her face.
?I?m dancing,? she said, ?Dancing with a man with no name. He?s always been there for me, you see,? she continued, whirling about the room in a soft waltz, ?You can?t see him but you know he?s there. He?s tall and handsome, just like anyone would want him. His name is Jack.? Among the cluttered room papers flew from her feet as she swirled around. ?Jack is my friend. Do you know what a friend is? Jack. You would like to have someone to talk to, wouldn?t you? I talk to him for hours, for I am his only girl. He never says a word to me...only smiles and puts his arms around me as we dance.? A smile titled across the brunette?s face. ?I?ve known him since 8th grade when he asked me to dance with him. I was nervous. It was my first dance, after all. And I couldn?t have gotten anyone better than Jack. It was a wide open space with few people. I bowed and he bowed and we began to dance in a beautiful ballroom of my own.? She laughed her own merry laugh, like a chansonnier raising his glass in tintinnabulation.
?No one ever wanted me like Jack. Jack always loved me. He never told me he wouldn?t hurt me or that we?d be together forever. We just danced. We danced together like the edge of the world couldn?t stop us from falling down in exhaustion and I was happy. Happy,? she paused and relaxed her shoulders.
?He?s such a graceful dancer,? she giggled and continued on, lightly tip-toeing on the rough carpet as friendly eyes watched her. ?He was the man of my dreams. The one sun among a cloud of stars and a sea of sorrow. He still is. But the thing is...Jack?s not real. He never was and never will be. So he?s just Jack and I?ll be with him forever.?
The music of a distorted carousel grinded its way through her words. On the desktop a globe with two tigers sitting in a bed of grass continued to play as the girl danced across the candy colored room. The soft creak of the floor blended in with the tune, the sharp metallic notes easing into the background of sound.
?But then again, so are you,? she turned to the bed where the ?speaker? had asked her what she was doing. ?But you?ve always been there. Silent, perhaps stoic. Maybe like a businessman on a day where there is nothing but rain and you have to go out. You have a face but no name. Haggard, you look, with lines of beauty etched into your soul. I know you and love you but I will dance with Jack until the end of my days. Jack won?t ever leave me. We?re friends.? As the music stopped she stepped back and curtseyed to Jack, picking up the loose papers scattered about the blue carpet as she bowed. Throwing them onto a nearby desk she went over to the table and picked up another globe, cranking the knob and letting it play once more.
?I always wondered when you?d say you loved me. I wondered how long it would take before you would betray me.? She stopped and arched her back. ?Your words were like soft lyres lulling me to sleep. Every word you spoke was a lie twisted with lust. You never knew the real me. But Jack does. Jack always does. He always has.
?You see, Jack has never lied to me. Jack will never lie to me. With every single step he tells the truth about who we are and what we are. Do you know what it means, to be who we are? To look at our selfish selves and rid the poison of greed from our bodies?? She relaxed her back and drew her arms around Jack. ?I don?t know what I would do without you, Jack...?
She rubbed her hands and turned around to face the bed, her eyes soft and distant.
?I want to dance with Jack. He was never like you,? she muttered and walked passed her patchwork quilt bed. Taking the pink poodle skirt in her hands she bowed regally, like a small girl trying to play princess. But her eyes of blue grey told more of her maturity, her sweetness, and perhaps the small, sad way she seemed to dance. Taking Jack?s hand she began to dance once more, swaying loosely like a silken pennant in the breeze.
?Jack, I love you.?
The words were pure as the deep rivers and as faithful as the hunting merlin to his master. They were the words of a knight who had rescued his fair maiden in another fairytale world. ?You know I?ll never leave you, even if I can?t see you. I?ll keep you in my arms and you won?t have to go. Dear, dear Jack. Why do you look at me so sadly?? A look of concern passed her face. ?Leave you, Jack? Never. I never left you, Jack. I?ll always dance with you. No, nothing will come between us. There?s nothing to fear. I love you.?
Her thin curls whisked across her shoulders as she leaned back majestically, as if she was being held downward. Then she spun in a tight corner, nose to nose with her invisible friend. Laughing the laugh of a carefree empress, the woman grinned in pleasure.
?Yes, Jack, I can?t leave you. You know I can?t. You?ll always be with me. No one can find us here. They won?t make you leave. And yes, I can hear them coming down the hallway, in the kitchen. We?re safe here. Why ever would I let them take you??
She tossed herself across the room, looking about to the imagined audience. ?You see..Jack is you.?
?Annie? Annie, are you awake??
The pounding at the cell door lead the girl to bring her head forward in thought. They were back in the room with the cruel white doors and the antiseptic floors. Here the windows were barred with black and the light that shone through was none too friendly. Without a smile or word the woman moved her bare feet out from beneath the covers and stood, her hair falling about her oval face.
?Yes, ma?ma, I?m here...? Her fingers drifted passed the crumpled sheets as her fingers felt for the fuzzy bear with the pink checkered tie. Holding it to her chest she walked towards the door like a robot. ?They won?t take you away...I?ll kill them all if they try.? Her white knuckles grasped the bear as the lock sprang open.
?Hello, Annie,? the nurse said, bringing in a tray of food. ?Where have you been??
?Right here,? was the cyclical response.
The blond shook her head in disapproval.
?In my mind.?
?Do you like it there?? she almost sneered.
?Yes, I do. Please leave me alone now.?
The nurse didn?t say a further word, shrugging as she left the tray in front of her and left. Annie nodded to her as she left and stared at the food.
?This moment is a memorial...And memorial is the moment in which we begin to realize what freedom truly is,? She whispered to the bear and walked up to the bowl of porridge and then placed it on the bed, pulling back the covers as she crawled in, ?And what sacrifice it takes to dance with someone like Jack. Jack...Jack...Jack.?
She rolled back her shoulders and clutched the bear.
?Jack, will you dance with me??

Seraphim Moonshadow · 2005-04-20 15:44:35

*Poke* Anyone wanna hear some of my novel stuff? By the way, I like the poems here!

Jerbl.com Forums

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#22 2005-04-14 16:22:44

Re: poems and stories

#23 2005-04-18 15:37:27

Re: poems and stories

#24 2005-04-18 15:39:53

Re: poems and stories

#25 2005-04-20 15:44:35

Re: poems and stories

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