Marilyn Glover
Bio
I am a top Medium writer, editor, and owner of the publication Third Eye Gypsy. Poetry and spirituality are my favorite genres, and I like writing about topics often left untouched. Follow me at: https://gmarilyn009.medium.com/
Achievements (1)
Stories (159/0)
The Art of a Celibate Woman
She emerges from darkness, bearing a golden kiss Her wavy butter-blonde hair streaked with silver Weaves a tale of life gone wrong, things amiss Yet, a glimmer of hope stills her bottom lip quiver A golden butterfly lands, gifting her a pair of fresh eyes Yesterday's tears transform to morrow's sustenance Washing away greyscale horizons to water-blue skies Birthing new life, introducing the long-awaited, Her Eminence Love for herself peeks through the shadows guided by butterflies
By Marilyn Glover10 months ago in Art
Quit While You Are Ahead
Chiming bells and flashing green and blue neon lights encircled a crowd around me. On my first trip to a casino, I won $20,000, betting a single ten-dollar bill. A swarm of bees buzzed around me, each impatiently waiting a turn at the hot seat, drooling to taste the sweet nectar of my fortune. Finally, I grabbed my printout ticket to cash out and leave. An anxious middle-aged woman parked her purse next to the slot machine, eager to dip her hand in the honey pot, and snatched up my seat.
By Marilyn Glover10 months ago in Fiction
Bellowing Meadow
Dew walking, collecting wildflowers, Eden cherished each step of her barefoot experience. Mindfully, she wriggled grass between her toes while brown baby bunnies nestled among blooms of Black-eyed Susans. Filling her handbasket with yellow-orange daisies showered in condensation was her morning paradise.
By Marilyn Glover11 months ago in Fiction
Lost and Found; Rinse, Repeat
Dear lost girl, Not every journey is a skip down the yellow brick road. The straight and narrow, though plain and simple and the favored route, is not always the ideal path to living, to feeling present. Your barefoot trodden feet long for nothing more than to sink into oceanside sand, feeling tiny grains of crushed rock, ground and sorted, sifting between your toes, but sometimes the ends justifying the means entails an altered trip on a walkway lacking sufficient lighting.
By Marilyn Glover11 months ago in Poets