Comments Posted By helen
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It had been at the back of the shop, already filled with compost. Small green shoots labelled beans. SHe’d brought it home, left the planter on the patio last night when the rain had come unexpectedly. A huge downpour. Now the clock by her bed said 8am but it was still dark. Rattling against her window huge green swirling branches. And a foot, climbing downwards.
» Posted By Helen On 05.28.2019 @ 5:22 am
it is a kind of human financial activity that people put their money into some programs they believe they will get profit from, or those is aiming at public interest, like education and environmental protection. it is also similar to the word devote.
» Posted By helen On 03.11.2019 @ 8:50 pm
Her boots were coated with mud when she finally got back on the path. She had been lost for what seemed like it had been days, but had really only been hours since her vehicle stalled on the dirt road. It was getting dark. She was lost, dirty, and cold.
» Posted By Helen On 08.15.2017 @ 6:31 pm
Little by little the cement began to crack as the stubborn roots of Mother Nature forced their way through. The first, naturally, to break the barrier were the dandelions- so aptly named for the tenacious predator. Sweet, but deadly. Next was the common grass and after that
» Posted By Helen On 08.02.2017 @ 1:10 pm
She was gorgeous. Blue eyes, red hair and those lips that curled to reveal the ugliest grey teeth. I wanted to lick those teeth and taste their greyness, revel in the ugliness of beauty.
» Posted By Helen On 02.26.2017 @ 11:52 am
He watched as her graceful movements took her around the room. She smiled and nodded, stopping to chat here and there as she passed out canopies. Her long silk dress clung to her hips and fell in soft folds to her feet.
» Posted By Helen On 07.20.2016 @ 9:52 pm
the phone is still ringing..
frozen fingertips against glass screens
eyes fluttering asleep
dogs still barking into the dead of night
all that I know is that I can’t hear you
where are you?
can you give me a call?
the phone is still ringing.
» Posted By Helen On 12.01.2015 @ 10:30 pm
sad, and mad, and a bunch of other feelings. something that is hard to get over. something that is not welcoming. something that no one likes. it is not good.
» Posted By Helen On 11.10.2015 @ 6:14 am
You do it on accedent. You don’t mean to do it.
» Posted By Helen On 09.21.2015 @ 7:26 am
It means you are not having fun. Also
» Posted By Helen On 09.10.2015 @ 7:29 am
It means you are not having fun. Also you are
» Posted By Helen On 09.10.2015 @ 7:27 am
How does it feel to be driven by compulsion? Spurred into becoming a Se t of climbers when the blood rushes to your heads? It throbs or perhaps it swells. Either way you’re racing towards the top, hoping to find some hidden sacred cave in the cliffface, the hieghts and depths of which you have yet to fully understand. Maybe you’ll never get past the physical sensation and therefore never question. So this transcendence escapes your human tongue, but you know beyond doubt your soul, or whatever you want to call it, is wrapped up in the thrill of the experience. Fight the urge as much as you like, the challenge is a siren’s song all torch lit on a moonless night.
» Posted By Helen On 05.01.2015 @ 10:40 pm
Fierce possession. A life’s possession, in the garden by a pond – a reflection, and so invoked was this lesson: “…live deep and suck out all the marrow of life…” And that I will or that I might.
» Posted By Helen On 04.26.2015 @ 1:44 am
Know this word is a means to an end. It’s a directive based on entitlement, invoked when someone or something is claimed by a hand of power by “virtue” of a “divine right.”
» Posted By Helen On 04.25.2015 @ 11:46 am
Sometimes I read.
Sometimes I write.
Sometimes I combine these input-output-outlets.
» Posted By Helen On 04.14.2015 @ 8:12 pm
“Choice Kingdom” does pop to mind. It’s got a woodland, cottage-garden, spritely vibe to it.
» Posted By Helen On 04.08.2015 @ 5:44 pm
What is it like to be owned? that is the question I get asked most often and the one that i have the worse answer for. I can’t describe it on words. it is more a feeling.
» Posted By Helen On 04.05.2015 @ 6:18 pm
“See a penny, pick it up.”
Free form. Free mind.
Connection, direction, dot to dot.
Pop. Pip. Pop.
How many bullets in a Walther PPK?
6 in the chest. 1 in the mind.
» Posted By Helen On 04.04.2015 @ 5:54 pm
» Posted By Helen On 04.01.2015 @ 5:58 am
Thoroughly Modern Milly pops to mind. As does the knowledge that some people are incredibly self-deluded in a grand stage sorta way. Also Tamyrn, “Mild Confusion.” Heavily influenced, that sound.
» Posted By Helen On 03.28.2015 @ 7:40 am
Stressed syllables like syllabub the saudade and souffle the bombay.
» Posted By Helen On 03.25.2015 @ 3:33 pm
The mist stopped swirling. It had been cool and light as no fat drops of condensation sat heavy on his skin. He was confused and dumbfounded.
On its side an intricate blue glass art nouveau bottle rested upon a mahogany table, which was inlaid with mother of pearl depicting curling flowers and vines. Next to the bottle the dainty silver leaf and cork stopper sat askew.
“Simply tell me what you need in a way I will understand,” She said finally.
» Posted By Helen On 03.24.2015 @ 2:16 pm
You know the American romance seems contradictory at times, but the fiery beast of love has a way of melting pots. One lick of its steamy breath on your neck and the next thing you know you’re all hot and bothered. Then boom, just like that the bottoms have fallen off the pots and in the wet ash and molten metal are new forms compounding. Contracting until the new thing is cool enough to the touch. Watch out, kid, this place will burn you up and spit you out if you’re not careful.
» Posted By Helen On 03.23.2015 @ 11:51 am
In my music library are a series of classics sometimes relating to ballet. Fire Bird is not one of them, but maybe someday. Until then there is Swan Lake, the Nutcracker, and Sleeing Beauty. Perhaps it is a childhood memory of Peter and the Wolf that keeps that old favorite in the music queue too.
» Posted By Helen On 03.21.2015 @ 12:49 pm
Once I read this play, it was about the death of a man named Willy Lowman. Arthur Miller might have been a little heavy handed in naming him, but so it goes. A man commits suicide because he believes this is the only way to provide for his — the wonder that is “self worth,” I tell ya.
» Posted By Helen On 03.19.2015 @ 9:03 pm
She couldn’t just write about a bear could she? Everything had to be portrayed as some surrealist, pop reference to grammar and other obscure things like paintings and songs from 2010 or whenever. It was like whatever popped to mind became fodder for a symbolic world of texture and interplay, often resembling a labryrinth or a puzzle to the average onlooker not concerned with decoding so many layers. And it was selfish really, for this was her own personal rorschach test in words. Readers are just bystanders anyway. Whatever happened to the simplicity of looking upon a creature from a realist perspective? Zoo animal or wild endangered thing or stuffed toy creation – a panda by any other name is color code for something clearly.
» Posted By Helen On 03.16.2015 @ 2:11 pm
The house looked old and shabby but she was glad to have found a rented property. So what if there were rumours about hauntings, they were just rumours weren’t they?
She switched on the light and settled down by the fire to read, when she heard a knocking noise coming from upstairs. It must be the wind, she thought. But when the knocking got louder, she decided to investigate.
“Could there be any truth to the rumours?” she whispered, as she started to climb the stairs…
» Posted By Helen On 01.06.2015 @ 1:13 pm
He grasped the slate tile to prevent it from crashing to the ground. An owl hooted from a far off tree. He knew which was her window. Reaching it was easy, he’d done this before you see. But he told himself this would be the last time. All he had to do was persuade her. He knew she was the only one for him. After all hadn’t he been following her for the lasts six months, much longer than he had followed the others.
“I’m coming my love,” he whispered as the sash gave and the window slid silently open.
» Posted By Helen On 01.01.2015 @ 7:01 pm
She loves headbands, every sort she can get her hands on. The cheap hard plastic ones, the skinny cloth ones, ribbons, cords, everything. But she has a special fondness for the cloth headbands with beading and sequins.
» Posted By Helen On 12.08.2014 @ 8:27 pm
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While they wanted to bump up the profits, the founder was adamantly opposed to outsourcing. “What’s the good of hiring cheaper labor in India if we lose customers who are pissed because we don’t provide a living wage for our workers?
» Posted By Helen On 12.05.2014 @ 1:29 pm