seen from Russia
seen from Peru
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Singapore
seen from China
seen from Spain
seen from Malaysia
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from India
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Azerbaijan
seen from Azerbaijan
seen from United States
seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from Türkiye
seen from Pakistan
seen from Germany
Buzz
What clamor From the velvet chalice, Deep red and beckoning a deep dive within The heart of the matter, Spilling
Trails of golddust.
What sounded like panic reveals to be fervor At the re-emergence.
A bumble butt backs up.
There she is, Goldisocks.
Taking the brightly yellow wherever she goes, And onward to the next diving in. The silence,
And then the Buzzing, buzzing, Buzzing.
--- 7-5-2026, M.A. Tempels ©
like a flattened beer can, you try to catch the blue filtered eye of the boy in the corner...
https://johnhopperwriter.blogspot.com/
NEW WRITING:
His shirt was ripped and torn, buttons missing, stains looked new. His jeans were gone, but his underwear intact. He sat on the edge of a bed that wasn't his. He couldn't remember whose, at this point it didn't really matter. He looked down and he had two mismatched socks, neither of which were his. He sighed, turned his head up to look at the ceiling, closing his eyes tight shut. He tried to think of nothing for a while, even for a short space, but it never really worked. He let his head drift back down, opened his eyes, and stared at his mismatched socks - pink and blue. Ain't life grand, he muttered to himself. Ain't life fucking grand.
https://johnhopperwriter.blogspot.com/
New Writing:
He rested his cheek against the pillow, against the wall, against the sheer coolness of the window glass. He could have been resplendent in names and voices, in dark shifts of perspective, in the infinite mouthing of thanks upon bitterness - but he wasn't. He moved about the room, endlessly managing infinite film scenes - self-contained pinpricks of sense and essence - while the film in its entirety, rolled on without him.
https://johnhopperwriter.blogspot.com/
New Writing:
Her hand played across his face. Her fingers were long, thin, nimble. He merely breathed and blinked, breathed and blinked, as her cool finger tips fluttered along his cheek, sliding along his jawline. His pulse beat, hers didn't.
https://johnhopperwriter.blogspot.com/
He waved a stupid wave. Fingers caught in a moment, eye lost in another.
This was a micro-life-scene. A handful of words to set a scene.
https://johnhopperwriter.blogspot.com/
You left my heart in a dumpster. Lost amongst bin bags and worn out sneakers.
This has been a micro-scene. A life in a moment.
https://johnhopperwriter.blogspot.com/
"Hi. Remember me?" He volunteered.
"Of course I do!" He didn't.
This has been a micro-scene. A life in a moment.
https://johnhopperwriter.blogspot.com
