Wonderground
Seated in the underground, my shoulder pressed against my neighbor’s dampness soggy wool. Her face is veiled, a glimpse of sorrow in mascara streaks; wilted roses in her hands. Suddenly […]
Seated in the underground, my shoulder pressed against my neighbor’s dampness soggy wool. Her face is veiled, a glimpse of sorrow in mascara streaks; wilted roses in her hands. Suddenly […]
Writing about living in two places (and times)
Poems & Stories from The Author Stew
practising for a whole life
haikai poetry matters
Running in the slow lane
The view from here ... Or here!
“Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance, you must keep moving.” — Albert Einstein
chronicling my quarter life crisis