D. J. Reddall

Joined June 2022

894 stories

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I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.

Achievements (15)

Stories (894)

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The Raveled Sleeve of Care
You will know you have Slept soundly when you resent Being awakened
By D. J. Reddall2 years ago in Poets
Spinal Tap
So many spines ache for your warm caress That of a slim, yellow novel has won For the nonce, but I suspect your largesse
By D. J. Reddall2 years ago in Poets
Utnapishtim
I do not understand most local tales But the gossip and rumor I can get Imply that, beneath his many, bright veils About death, Utnapishtim does not fret
By D. J. Reddall2 years ago in Poets
Camera People
Camera people In the stories of our own Laughably brief lives
By D. J. Reddall2 years ago in Poets
Understudies
Perhaps, we are just The parent we liked the best Played rather poorly
By D. J. Reddall2 years ago in Poets
In a Single Bound
Do what you would do If everyone found out and You were glad they did
By D. J. Reddall2 years ago in Poets
Just like, google it
Do not mistake your Internet access for a Way to know it all
By D. J. Reddall2 years ago in Poets
Eada
No one understands running as you do It is not merely a task you complete Nor a hard role rehearsed and played on cue
By D. J. Reddall2 years ago in Poets
Memory's Blossoms
“What a strange thing!/ To be alive beneath cherry blossoms.” ― Kobayashi Issa, Poems So many, simple pleasures are destroyed
By D. J. Reddall2 years ago in Poets
Fossura Horologium
“Think of yourself as dead. You have lived your life. Now, take what's left and live it properly. What doesn't transmit light creates its own darkness.” ― Marcus Aurelius, Meditations
By D. J. Reddall2 years ago in Poets
You're Grading
You’re grading, and I mustn’t interrupt I understand what you are going through: Waiting for a new idea to erupt From that turgid pool, that dark, bitter stew
By D. J. Reddall2 years ago in Poets
Sigmund's Symbols
March 5, 2024 I’m worried about Edward. He hasn’t returned to the park since the plague struck. He has seen his share of winters, no question about that. Could it be that he just stopped running altogether, as all of us eventually will? Was he slain by the plague? Did he get into some sort of trouble for giving me that special food, which has made so much clear that used to be muddy?
By D. J. Reddall2 years ago in Fiction