Lockdown. |
Here sits the boy, in bluerelating each hue from you, sittingsifting through a locked box, of thoughtscaress the face of the singled safefingertips singing, of cool metalfar too much, to warm, on your...
Posted by MF Colby on Thu, 24 May 2007 05:03:00 PST |
Unanswered calls. |
Unanswered calls reverberate, against affectionOblivious or ignorant?Wave after wave, no swell reaches your watersand I'm left waist deep, &n...
Posted by MF Colby on Sun, 22 Apr 2007 12:00:00 PST |
A short story. |
It hurt within him. Like salt on an open wound. His faltering marriage was obvious. She was rarely around, the ghost or ease and early life. He often thought of w...
Posted by MF Colby on Sun, 14 Jan 2007 03:34:00 PST |
Miscellaneous Writing / Poems. |
Here's a large collection of poems I've writen over the past few years. Some are good, some are not, but they're all by me. Enjoy, and please, if you like one or two, let me know. Thanks.Take your tim...
Posted by MF Colby on Wed, 22 Nov 2006 07:59:00 PST |
The psychology of the Gun. |
Hanging staccato of words, piercing and heated.Semiautomatic retorts and a finger nearing trigger, withsteel against steel, the situation rises against the firing pin.The aim is nonspecific, anonymous...
Posted by MF Colby on Thu, 14 Sep 2006 04:49:00 PST |
The keeper of broken pots. |
There was once a man, who had pots.Some new, some old. Big and small, it made no matter.They were his pots, and he confided in them.They held without question, such good pots.He took great satisfactio...
Posted by MF Colby on Mon, 05 Jun 2006 12:54:00 PST |
