Lee Dunn
@66human.bsky.social
Published writer of poetry and short fiction. ©️
https://secretlifeofcom.wordpress.com
📩pnliimeaim1@gmail.
https://secretlifeofcom.wordpress.com
📩pnliimeaim1@gmail.
Pinned
Lee Dunn
@66human.bsky.social
· Nov 16
~ Tempests ~
Having come from the seas of your storms and decades of disquiet, I step, directionless, on an unmoving Earth. Being tooled for havoc, I despair of knowing what might fill this brazen peace, this wild surcease.
Having come from the seas of your storms and decades of disquiet, I step, directionless, on an unmoving Earth. Being tooled for havoc, I despair of knowing what might fill this brazen peace, this wild surcease.
November 20, 2025 at 3:32 AM
~There was that time of peace, soft and slow. Of an unbeknownst contentment. Of being here for it all.
And, in this later day, the notes of that gentle melody are half-heard, reached for in dream, settling on tired eyes...the weight of a nodding head.~
And, in this later day, the notes of that gentle melody are half-heard, reached for in dream, settling on tired eyes...the weight of a nodding head.~
November 7, 2025 at 2:47 AM
~There was that time of peace, soft and slow. Of an unbeknownst contentment. Of being here for it all.
And, in this later day, the notes of that gentle melody are half-heard, reached for in dream, settling on tired eyes...the weight of a nodding head.~
And, in this later day, the notes of that gentle melody are half-heard, reached for in dream, settling on tired eyes...the weight of a nodding head.~
That melody you once heard, but could never find again. The one that came back in a dream, then was lost once more in the surfacing of the day. Look for it, my dear, in the half-heard fade of that nameless tune that otherwise was base and common.
November 6, 2025 at 11:58 PM
That melody you once heard, but could never find again. The one that came back in a dream, then was lost once more in the surfacing of the day. Look for it, my dear, in the half-heard fade of that nameless tune that otherwise was base and common.
~ All in good time ~
November 6, 2025 at 12:55 AM
~ All in good time ~
~ It was night in the dream-room. There were table saws, whistling kettles, a hallway maze, and cushions strewn on the floor. A serious bird that bowed and said nothing. The only light was red, shining into the years ahead...~
October 23, 2025 at 11:48 PM
~ It was night in the dream-room. There were table saws, whistling kettles, a hallway maze, and cushions strewn on the floor. A serious bird that bowed and said nothing. The only light was red, shining into the years ahead...~
Reposted by Lee Dunn
Hello, lovelies. The wonderful Ilanot Review explores character flaws and favours.
I'm thrilled my story is included alongside these brilliant poems, stories and CNF.
Hope you enjoy.
#amwriting #fiction #litmag
www.ilanotreview.com
I'm thrilled my story is included alongside these brilliant poems, stories and CNF.
Hope you enjoy.
#amwriting #fiction #litmag
www.ilanotreview.com
Flaw and Favor - Ilanot Review
Back Cover→ About the Cover Art
www.ilanotreview.com
October 20, 2025 at 6:27 PM
Hello, lovelies. The wonderful Ilanot Review explores character flaws and favours.
I'm thrilled my story is included alongside these brilliant poems, stories and CNF.
Hope you enjoy.
#amwriting #fiction #litmag
www.ilanotreview.com
I'm thrilled my story is included alongside these brilliant poems, stories and CNF.
Hope you enjoy.
#amwriting #fiction #litmag
www.ilanotreview.com
You are different.
You can look into my eyes,
and not look away.
I remember, now,
how to look into a mirror,
unflinchingly.
From what life do you come,
and how came the art of this miracle?
This smile that cracks my lips.
This wanting to play.
You can look into my eyes,
and not look away.
I remember, now,
how to look into a mirror,
unflinchingly.
From what life do you come,
and how came the art of this miracle?
This smile that cracks my lips.
This wanting to play.
October 19, 2025 at 3:15 AM
You are different.
You can look into my eyes,
and not look away.
I remember, now,
how to look into a mirror,
unflinchingly.
From what life do you come,
and how came the art of this miracle?
This smile that cracks my lips.
This wanting to play.
You can look into my eyes,
and not look away.
I remember, now,
how to look into a mirror,
unflinchingly.
From what life do you come,
and how came the art of this miracle?
This smile that cracks my lips.
This wanting to play.
Reposted by Lee Dunn
There ain't no flying straight lines, Beach Crow tells me. Or walking.
Life ain't got grid coordinates. Yer follow yer beak. Or nose.
Wind sends yer off in sweet curves or curlywurlies. Hills to rise above. Or crawl up. Ooh and shinies distract-
She blinks. Where wos I going with this?
#whistpr
Life ain't got grid coordinates. Yer follow yer beak. Or nose.
Wind sends yer off in sweet curves or curlywurlies. Hills to rise above. Or crawl up. Ooh and shinies distract-
She blinks. Where wos I going with this?
#whistpr
October 17, 2025 at 10:08 PM
There ain't no flying straight lines, Beach Crow tells me. Or walking.
Life ain't got grid coordinates. Yer follow yer beak. Or nose.
Wind sends yer off in sweet curves or curlywurlies. Hills to rise above. Or crawl up. Ooh and shinies distract-
She blinks. Where wos I going with this?
#whistpr
Life ain't got grid coordinates. Yer follow yer beak. Or nose.
Wind sends yer off in sweet curves or curlywurlies. Hills to rise above. Or crawl up. Ooh and shinies distract-
She blinks. Where wos I going with this?
#whistpr
~ About dishes ~
Pretend, at the sink, to be enthralled
by those sheeting waterfalls.
Those rebellious spoons
that always lay just so,
contriving their founts of rinse water.
Float that pasta pot.
Let it bob,
see its handles whirl like a time-lapse sundial,
softly,
softly to bed.
Pretend, at the sink, to be enthralled
by those sheeting waterfalls.
Those rebellious spoons
that always lay just so,
contriving their founts of rinse water.
Float that pasta pot.
Let it bob,
see its handles whirl like a time-lapse sundial,
softly,
softly to bed.
October 18, 2025 at 2:07 AM
~ About dishes ~
Pretend, at the sink, to be enthralled
by those sheeting waterfalls.
Those rebellious spoons
that always lay just so,
contriving their founts of rinse water.
Float that pasta pot.
Let it bob,
see its handles whirl like a time-lapse sundial,
softly,
softly to bed.
Pretend, at the sink, to be enthralled
by those sheeting waterfalls.
Those rebellious spoons
that always lay just so,
contriving their founts of rinse water.
Float that pasta pot.
Let it bob,
see its handles whirl like a time-lapse sundial,
softly,
softly to bed.
In want of an enfolding,
I imagine a bird of Pray.
Winged as an angel.
As bright as a day.
I imagine a bird of Pray.
Winged as an angel.
As bright as a day.
October 18, 2025 at 2:02 AM
In want of an enfolding,
I imagine a bird of Pray.
Winged as an angel.
As bright as a day.
I imagine a bird of Pray.
Winged as an angel.
As bright as a day.
Somnambulant,
I have the night terrors.
In the bathroom mirror,
I am a bearded ghost,
gowned and scream-faced.
Adrenalin pumps-
a syringe to the heart.
The earth shrugs us off with her manic quakes.
The nattering television cannot help me,
for it won't listen.
Won't listen.
I have the night terrors.
In the bathroom mirror,
I am a bearded ghost,
gowned and scream-faced.
Adrenalin pumps-
a syringe to the heart.
The earth shrugs us off with her manic quakes.
The nattering television cannot help me,
for it won't listen.
Won't listen.
October 18, 2025 at 1:44 AM
Somnambulant,
I have the night terrors.
In the bathroom mirror,
I am a bearded ghost,
gowned and scream-faced.
Adrenalin pumps-
a syringe to the heart.
The earth shrugs us off with her manic quakes.
The nattering television cannot help me,
for it won't listen.
Won't listen.
I have the night terrors.
In the bathroom mirror,
I am a bearded ghost,
gowned and scream-faced.
Adrenalin pumps-
a syringe to the heart.
The earth shrugs us off with her manic quakes.
The nattering television cannot help me,
for it won't listen.
Won't listen.
Reposted by Lee Dunn
October 10, 2025 at 7:10 PM
Reposted by Lee Dunn
Seagazing, I wonder. These sparkles must be telling secrets.
Nah, Beach Crow says. The sea whispers her lickle myths into shells. All about moons & stars & comets.
But that's how most water began. As comet ice flying through space.
Cor, says Beach Crow. That's why she's full of sky.
#whistpr
Nah, Beach Crow says. The sea whispers her lickle myths into shells. All about moons & stars & comets.
But that's how most water began. As comet ice flying through space.
Cor, says Beach Crow. That's why she's full of sky.
#whistpr
September 21, 2025 at 3:57 PM
Seagazing, I wonder. These sparkles must be telling secrets.
Nah, Beach Crow says. The sea whispers her lickle myths into shells. All about moons & stars & comets.
But that's how most water began. As comet ice flying through space.
Cor, says Beach Crow. That's why she's full of sky.
#whistpr
Nah, Beach Crow says. The sea whispers her lickle myths into shells. All about moons & stars & comets.
But that's how most water began. As comet ice flying through space.
Cor, says Beach Crow. That's why she's full of sky.
#whistpr
~ Pleased to meet you
face to face,
you windblown leaf
with heart of lace.
And, I'm so glad
you stopped to chatter,
never asking
what's the matter. ~
face to face,
you windblown leaf
with heart of lace.
And, I'm so glad
you stopped to chatter,
never asking
what's the matter. ~
October 15, 2025 at 3:37 AM
~ Pleased to meet you
face to face,
you windblown leaf
with heart of lace.
And, I'm so glad
you stopped to chatter,
never asking
what's the matter. ~
face to face,
you windblown leaf
with heart of lace.
And, I'm so glad
you stopped to chatter,
never asking
what's the matter. ~
The old man
still dreams
of French kisses,
and stays in the curb lane.
He knows that the speeders
and the weavers
aren't the ones
who are in love.
still dreams
of French kisses,
and stays in the curb lane.
He knows that the speeders
and the weavers
aren't the ones
who are in love.
September 30, 2025 at 1:14 AM
The old man
still dreams
of French kisses,
and stays in the curb lane.
He knows that the speeders
and the weavers
aren't the ones
who are in love.
still dreams
of French kisses,
and stays in the curb lane.
He knows that the speeders
and the weavers
aren't the ones
who are in love.
Some sour long-nosed elf, eyes a-bulging, is stirring the pot with a long-nailed and dirty finger. With a thin-lipped and gap-toothed smile, he breathes a breathy whisper… “and so. Just so.”
September 3, 2025 at 3:51 PM
Some sour long-nosed elf, eyes a-bulging, is stirring the pot with a long-nailed and dirty finger. With a thin-lipped and gap-toothed smile, he breathes a breathy whisper… “and so. Just so.”
In the booth across from me she sits.
I knew her from the drugstore,
when she was blonde.
Legend has it
that she was fired
because she never smiled.
I liked her, automatically,
‘cause her eyes had seen lives.
Today, she’s mystery.
With the blackest crown I have ever seen.
I knew her from the drugstore,
when she was blonde.
Legend has it
that she was fired
because she never smiled.
I liked her, automatically,
‘cause her eyes had seen lives.
Today, she’s mystery.
With the blackest crown I have ever seen.
August 30, 2025 at 3:08 AM
In the booth across from me she sits.
I knew her from the drugstore,
when she was blonde.
Legend has it
that she was fired
because she never smiled.
I liked her, automatically,
‘cause her eyes had seen lives.
Today, she’s mystery.
With the blackest crown I have ever seen.
I knew her from the drugstore,
when she was blonde.
Legend has it
that she was fired
because she never smiled.
I liked her, automatically,
‘cause her eyes had seen lives.
Today, she’s mystery.
With the blackest crown I have ever seen.