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poetry and prose by stephen chute
Friday, March 5, 2021
it's not your turn
after falling
from the ship,
i wake up in the sand.
washed ashore.
the sun
on my face.
my clothes wet, and caked
in salt.
the ocean says
no,
not yet. it's not your turn,
come back when we're ready.
it won't be long.
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having steak at home
the less said
over age
contentment
where's lois?
find a thick limb
getting dressed for work
good morning sunshine
watching the detectives
underwater
the unfine china
getting the juice
the long haul
you can only do you
the grass lot
the next great flood
a cat or bird instead
book covers
back to the drawing board
the next hour
a new place to be
the get away car
it's on you
your permanent record
may the best child win
the illumination
fresh eyes
what remains
the final season
holding in place
store bought cookies
best not ask
the taking of the hand
making a new nest
the funny hat
always at work
what we mean to say
your unshaven legs
a bag of frozen peas
the next day and the next day
the sharp knife
from up here
just like me and you
day in day out
wild flower
the wall safe
who do i have to sleep with?
the lost cause
the yellow dress
write drunk, edit sober
my happy clothes
the curled rope
this will change your life
magical things
sending up the bat signal
prosperity preachers
a room with a view
when one door closes
i got nothing at the moment
out of context
the winning horse
the peach fuzzed children
window shopping
a perfect day for rain
the ninth hole
that deadly kiss
some days are worth keeping
all the world's a stage
mister softee
it's time
the gathering crowd
winstons on m street
she fits
those party days
what now?
no time left for you
the easter ham
santa in the sky
the hammock day
breaking glass
wear something poetic...the book tour
the nine dollar greeting card
a world gone stone
they've even chosen you
a drive in the country
people of the lie
boys and girls
no pet zone
upstairs downstairs
going home again
the enormous weight
almost drowning
the coal cellar
a cat in the sun
what's left behind
a single scoop of ice cream
the new yorker subscription
1984
chaos, home sweet home
life isn't fair
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About Me
Stephen Chute
west springfield, virginia, United States
these are all FICTIONAL stories and characters and are in no way representative of any real experiences in my or anyone else's life. any similarities are purely coincidental, except for the dog poems.
View my complete profile
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