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  • Posted in Blogs ·
    Saturday, 15 November 2014

    So who was I at nine or ten? What was precious to me? What gave me fulfillment? What shaped my world? At nine and ten, I was sometimes quiet, and some times quite noisy. I hated kickball, but loved to jump rope. I was afraid of whizzing balls going
  • Posted in Blogs ·
    Saturday, 15 November 2014

    Tiny fragments of pain, shards of random thoughts, the sharp feelings cut deep into my heart~ heart aches ©annettealaine 2014
  • Posted in Blogs ·
    Saturday, 15 November 2014

    Shivering in the cold, she refuses to yield, to return to the scene of the crime~ sharp words left hanging in the air, peace shattered over a bowl of oatmeal annettealaine 2014
  • Posted in Blogs ·
    Saturday, 27 September 2014

    She sits on the side of the road~ arms wrapped around her knees, head bent, shoulders heaving. The white Cadillac idles on a side street, passenger door propped open~ the driver walks to the road, steps gingerly towards her, arms outstretched
  • Posted in Blogs ·
    Sunday, 24 August 2014

    Just for today,I'm going to shut out the chaos, and side step the drama. Just for today,I'm going to quiet the negative voices that echo through my brain. Just for today,I'm going to power down, and sit with the silence. Just for today,I'm going t

Latest Comments

Monika Schott A rickety bridge
18 November 2017
Thanks, Di.
Diane Rampertshammer A rickety bridge
17 November 2017
Pure poetry - very evocative - you are a painter with words..Di
Ken Hartke Lamenting the Lost Art of Conversation
12 November 2017
Thanks for the comments. Rosy -- I look at this sort of social conversation as a healthful thing for...
Rosy Cole First Song
12 November 2017
This is almost like a memory of birth, reviving those sensations, but translated in imagistic terms....
Rosy Cole Lamenting the Lost Art of Conversation
12 November 2017
Oh Ken, how rare that is! A gift. What a lovely sojourn in the byways and an unexpected exchange of ...

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