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Poetry
Excerpt: My name is Denis Henderson, but everybody calls me Denny, guess that's my nickname. I'm ten, and live in a big old house near the corner of Magnolia Street. Some people say our house is haunted, but I didn't believe it until I saw the ghost myself! Our town is in Louisiana, a little bitty place called Magnolia Springs. I was born here, in the hospital at the center of town. Mom and dad like it here, they say it's real quiet, hardly any crime, no drugs. I have lo...
Fiction Literature
Excerpt: In a twinkling of an electron You are transported there, Into a virtual cyberlair Of beasts lying in wait, Where nothing is as it seems, Role-playing dangerous games In a forest primeval, wandering In a dark wood of anonymity. Your real identity is hidden, Concealed by a clever nickname, And you are assured no restrictions Apply in this doomed paradise Of primitive enchantment, grandly Roamed by those whose black dreams Are evil in search of violent means.
Excerpt: Dr.Carl Sagan, the noted astronomer, tells vividly of his childhood fascination with the stars: While searching for information at the library he asked a kindly librarian for a book on the stars, which she located for him. He looked through the glossy photos and pages of familiar movie stars and handed it back to her, saying, No, not these stars. I mean those stars, and pointed upward.
Excerpt: Tonight I thought of you, a media sensation, Back in those reckless years of the 80s; You, who were free and full of life, A fierce falcon, no mercy for your prey, Wings unfurled, talons sharply seeking Victims who had no clue of your speed - Wings spread wide, your flight soaring high, Then diving, spiraling down in a dangerous descent.
Excerpt: I once read a book in childhood titled, There's No Such Place as Faraway by Richard Bach...and after corresponding with people all over America and the world, I honestly feel I could apply that title to my adventures via penpalling. My love affair with correspondence started when I was 10 and exchanged letters with a young boy from India; I felt I was leaving my narrow world in the American South and experiencing a foreign culture through his words. That proved ...
Excerpt: My memory still lingers on the rainy, dreary night when my grandfather sat by a flickering fire telling about his narrow escape from death. Years have passed and he died an old man, but his brief experience with near-death haunts me. In his early years, my grandfather was a coal miner. Living in the South during the 20s and working in the mines was a grueling, distressing existence. They did what they called drift mining. The mines were entered at a level angle ...
Excerpt: Violence - Angry young boy, where are you going? Can you get there not knowing That anger is a fury that destroys? Raging young teen, what is your destiny? Can you get there from your block Or will evil rage stop the clock? Insane rap music screams anger and rage From the loud-speakers of life, And you young man are listening, not hearing. Young man, confined man, lost man, Sitting in your prison cell, Angry screams ringing in your ears, Raging faces even in you...
Excerpt: Introduction - By W. Stuart Harris. There is a place I often visit when I am in need of solitude. Located on the banks of an almost isolated lake, near the remains of a town which once flourished at the turn of the century, but which vanished over fifty years ago, the area has a seemingly haunted quality.
Excerpt: Helen was exhausted. The long trip from Birmingham had worn her out, and as darkness approached, she felt the chill of late January in the bleak surroundings. Although the monolithic National Forest was graced with plentiful rich green conifers, the oaks, maples and other hardwood trees stretched thin, barren limbs to the metallic skyline, ridging high hilltops, almost touching the leaden underbelly of clouds.
Excerpt: In this place // No trace // Of a hectic pace. // In this place // Children can bask // In simple acceptance, // Feeling family peace.
Excerpt: Dusk. Dark descending slowly, the horizon a vague shimmer of something unseen. An old knotty oak tree, bare limbs scratching the reddish skyline. It all looked bleak and bleary to Tom Winston as he rocked with the wind on his motorcycle. It was that indistinct time between daylight and darkfall, and he had slowed in awe of the Mississippi delta landscape, a flat portrait in amber mystery.
Excerpt: The fog deepened; the shadows lengthened; the streets gleamed in the misty dusk of a rainy twilight. Paul Winslow turned up the collar on this trench coat and shivered slightly. A tall, handsome man of thirty-five, he was unusually agitated on this murky evening. Leaning against the corner streetlamp, he reached in his pocket and took out a cigarette, lit it and inhaled deeply.
Classic Literature
Excerpt: Another bleak, dreary morning. The month of February could be so gray, so dim. A slight shadow from day's dawning crept beneath the windowshade and ran slender threads of light across the patchwork quilt, gradually illuminating the couple lying peacefully in sleep. The old four-poster bed was cozy and, as on previous mornings, the two were deep in slumber, oblivious to the new day.
Excerpt: Goodbye can be said In so many ways, From the heart and soul, Gentle, never cold. Goodbye is a permanent sound, Like that of a dying sun, Burning down into a shadowy ground. Leaving is a step toward the dark, Parting, a sad sob below the stars. Goodbye is the end, As final as the black descent Into emptiness...
Excerpt: Wrinkles speak of ageless wisdom, Tales untold, perhaps yesterdays Not known by today's youth. Is there really an old? Or is it only timeless memory In the eyes of our elderly?
Excerpt: Evelyn Jeeters stood at the window of the rough-hewn log cabin, peering out into the dimming afternoon. Soft golden shades of late afternoon were descending over thickly grown evergreens outside. She pulled the faded muslin curtain aside and stared at a narrow dirt path leading away from the cabin. Surely Andrew would be home soon?
Excerpt: Collected Poetry - The Forever Way // To live or die // Seems to be // The question: // Is there a choice, // Or is it predestined: // A vague shadow // Having been written // Before us // By a moving hand // Of Fate?
Excerpt: lit up a Virginia Slim cigarette and feigned nonchalance, glancing up in my rearview mirror. The beatup Impala was still two cars behind me on the interstate, swinging over to pass rapidly. As it zoomed by, I felt a flash of irritation.
Excerpt: Chapter One - As Miranda Stewart pushed open the door of Martin's Market, she realized her worst fears as an officer of the law: a young boy had a gun aimed point-blank at the store owner, William Martin, who was ashen and shaking.