Welcome to the Emerald Dragon Archives. You can search (above), you can take your time going bit-by-bit below through all the posts, or you can use the categories on the right. There are author names, post types, and genres listed as categories. Feel free to share and comment alike, as the authors still have access to their archived stories and will love the feedback. The new and improving Emerald Dragon is here.
|Posted on May 7, 2011 at 3:10 AM||comments (0)|
He hates it the week you’re on the rag
As he terms it, the big drag,
Depressing deprivation, but you hate it
For deeper reasons that he can feel,
Another month where your seed’s
Unblessed with life or babe.
You aren’t ready yet, he claims,
Running a finger down your spine,
Hoping to turn you on,
Wanting to romp out of season,
Best wait until the promotion
And the money’s ...Read Full Post »
|Posted on April 29, 2011 at 5:28 AM||comments (0)|
She lives with her ghosts.
Miró sits on her
Walls and walks her rooms.
She has Welsh Dylan
Thomas in her book
Case and sitting in
Her favourite old
Armchair drinking beer
From the Frigidaire.
Her father sits smoking
A cigarette, lung
Cancer no longer
A fear, there is no
Second death. Close the
Window, he says, there’s
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|Posted on April 2, 2011 at 11:40 PM||comments (0)|
Its three o’clock in the morning and me and three other friends are on our way to our favorite casino in Oklahoma City.
My Name is Bryan and I am sitting behind the driver whose name is Marcus, and to my right is Don, in front of him is Calvin.
Just Marcus and I are awake, Don and Calvin are like babies, and they go to sleep anytime a car travels more than twenty miles.
“Hey Marcus,” I said. “How muc...Read Full Post »
|Posted on March 29, 2011 at 6:25 PM||comments (0)|
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It was 6:45pm, and the Auto Shop closed early and the ten employees there, working that day or not working were in the side office celebrating with some food and of course two cakes from Hochington Bakery. The owners bought Chinese food for everyone who worked there and was attending the party. There was a pile of people inside the office, Clayton decided to sit in the closed garage by a light not wanting to be with the pile of people.
He was eating his Chin...
|Posted on March 29, 2011 at 6:03 PM||comments (0)|
Clayton was working at his afternoon to night job at the auto care place in Hochington. Basic duties were to service the cars from fixing any flat tires to fixing any engine problems. Clayton, while in the Corps, had taken some of his college money handed to him from the US Government to brush up on his skills as a mechanic, but never used them until seven months previously. It was something he had took the time to get the certification while serving in the Marine Corps. H...Read Full Post »
|Posted on March 29, 2011 at 5:40 PM||comments (0)|
NOTE: This is just a preivew of Day One in my book Mourning In Hochington Volume One. You can find it on Kindle.
Thursday, 15th of May.
It was a bright Thursday morning in the second week of May, in the town of Hochington. A town with a Main Street and a Union Street with just two traffic lights directing traffic in the main cross roads. A beautiful neighborhood with Victorian Style homes mainly outside of town with Frank Lloyd...
|Posted on March 27, 2011 at 3:23 AM||comments (2)|
And Isis kisses
The breasts of Jodie
Each kiss like planting
A small blossom on
A still small pond and
Jodie strokes her hair
And runs her finger
Down Isis’s back
And outside two cats
Fight and a railway
Train sounds and the bed
Rocks as their hot love
Making takes off and
The shadows on the
Walls see...Read Full Post »
|Posted on March 24, 2011 at 6:51 PM||comments (1)|
There's been some talk in the forum about story ideas, ones we'd love to write but won't or ones we want to see what other people's takes are. Anyway, this is the latter and is my attempt at the shoot a child/let a plane blow up dilema I proposed.
I hope you like it and some of you write your own version.
“It’s quite simple, Jason,” Wal...Read Full Post »
|Posted on March 24, 2011 at 7:42 AM||comments (0)|
It was the kiss of kisses. If Rodin
Had been around he could have made it a
New work of art for a world to see. Her
Lips were moist and warm; he felt them press soft
Against his own; heard the moan; sensed her breasts
Nudge. This was nothing like what his father
Had once said of kissing, something different,
Nothing missing. He sensed her fingers touch
His neck; they slid slowly down, then up. He
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