Providing grounds for the greening of human language.

 

 

 

 

The Pressure of Procrastination by Enoch Thompson

Wednesday, October 2nd, 2013

My teeth sting in my face, the gums feel like they could bleed, but I don’t brush them, no, why do such a simple thing, it would be a waste of time.  Instead I loaf, waiting for the brilliance that’s rightfully mine, waiting for a smell of joy, a salty tear running down to my […]

Me at 18 by Enoch Thompson

Tuesday, October 1st, 2013

At first the hard tile floor beneath the sink was relief from mounds of powder and frost feet and feet deep The silver pipes above my head felt like distant blankets, not soft, or even felt by me but as a sense of found security Whose thin crust shattered in the night when fathers, sons, […]

Attention Deficit by Enoch Thompson

Monday, September 30th, 2013

There is a tornado’s ghost of filth on the floor. A harrowing neglect slinks in through the pores of my legs. Pumping faster, I run off the bend and into the bush. While branches close in, I hunch, curling up, becoming the trees, the soils, a seed, until I never knew any one thing before. […]

The Whole of My Interest by Enoch Thompson

Tuesday, February 12th, 2013

I always assumed death would devour me in his dense boney fingers, snuff out my life, like crushing flies on a window pane; and forevermore I would write of the blackest mold beneath my eyelids. However, books with spines spewing sunshine and colorful ribbons sheltered white sheets of paper inside me. Now, I press at […]

Invitation by Enoch Thompson

Thursday, December 20th, 2012

Excuse me, Winter, Won’t you please come to tea With the rustling wind And yellow, red, falling leaves? And when you leave, Go giving a present– A beautiful flower Or butterfly pendant. But please be swift. The tea will be cooling In the night wind. With Love, Sincerely, Autumn _______________________________________________________________________________ For Enoch’s bio and more […]

Pine Scars by Enoch Thompson

Wednesday, December 19th, 2012

A pine cone Bit through the seat of my jeans, And on that day I vowed never to climb pine trees. Never again would I feel The sap underneath The triumph of A climb’s ending. There would be just the memory… …that, and the falling… _________________________________________________________________________________________ Enoch Thompson is an aspiring poet and storyteller. He […]