Violet Winters

Rookie - 71 Points (September 13 / Baltimore, MD)

Violet Winters Poems

1. Between The Lines 9/19/2013
2. A Serial Killer In Love 9/18/2013
3. In A Cupcake's Shoes 2/3/2014
4. Grace's Poem 3/7/2014
5. Luncheon 12/23/2013
6. Prince Of Spike 7/2/2014
7. Cards On The Table 4/7/2014
8. Black 4/14/2014
9. What I Never Meant 12/5/2013
10. Our Winter 9/22/2013
11. Husband 9/18/2013
12. Hazardous Work 9/18/2013
13. Arm Candy For A Trophy 3/18/2014
14. You'Re Good With Hammers 12/5/2013
15. Writer's Block 7/31/2014
16. Intuition 7/31/2014
17. Taken 5/9/2014
18. Pretzel 5/22/2014
19. Spark Like A Shock 8/15/2014
20. Sincerely, Succubus 4/14/2014
21. Days Of The Week 12/5/2013
22. Minx In The Woodwork 3/5/2014
23. Why Do We Dance? 4/18/2014
24. Tread Lightly 4/22/2014
25. Dollbaby 1/3/2014
26. Long-Passed Days 9/22/2013
27. Anticipation 9/22/2013
28. Oblivion 9/22/2013
29. For The Knight 9/22/2013
30. Questions 9/22/2013
31. Gag-Proof 9/22/2013
32. Four Hundred Words 12/5/2013
33. War Boys 12/5/2013
34. Reality 12/5/2013
35. Happily Ever After 12/5/2013
36. Position Available 12/5/2013
37. August Boy 12/5/2013
38. Too Good To Be True 12/5/2013
39. Crawl 1/3/2014
40. Vindication For My Suitors 1/4/2014
Best Poem of Violet Winters

Between The Lines

Don’t read my work
and claim to see
something that there may not be.
Don’t shred my words
and break my prose,
and pick through for
what you think you know.
A writer doesn’t write for you.
A writer writes like flowers dew;
Overnight, or through the day,
we perspire what we need to say.
It trickles out, we collect those drops,
arranging them neatly
in an intangible box.
And when we find
we’ve found enough,
we take that box
and empty this stuff.
We carve into paper,
or parchment,
or screens,
the mind's imagery,
or ...

Read the full of Between The Lines

Sarge

As I tore down interstate 95
my stomach churned with butterflies.
This man was handsome, hearty;
and I wanted his lips on mine already.
It made me feel bad, but I felt alive.
A foreign emotion in the years that had passed;
my life was predictable and
steadfast.
So I pulled into his drive,

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