Life’s Ancient Mountains
Killing-man-jarring-our souls
Yet we all still climb
About the Creator
Lynette Sherece
I just work here…lol. No, as a child I created my own world with my pen because we didn’t have much (but we had library cards 😉). Thanks so much for letting me share what goes on in this mind of mine lol.
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More stories from Lynette Sherece and writers in Poets and other communities.
Powell the Barn Owl
Powell was an old barn owl; it was pretty plain to see. But he wasn't just any old barn owl; he sat high in a magic tree. At least that's what he told me as I stood there looking crazed, as he explained all kinds of things, I was really quite amazed.
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Reaching Out
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
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