Bettie MacIntyre

Inspiring

Poetry & Blogs

Poetry

Shorn Locks

He was five, and I was three, he led, I followed, a happy me. Carried out a stool and sat me down. Under the Lilac

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Poetry

Window Kisses

The moonlight is reflecting off the ground below, welcoming window kisses in the glistening glow. A little hand on the window frame, a tiny face

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Poetry

Gramp

A man of great height, a gentleman, caressed a broken little soul, with his big ole hands. Embracing her with his arms, he did hold.

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Short Story

Metamorphosis

To me, the word ‘Metamorphosis’ is a colorful melodic noun that has awakened the vocality of my studdering impediment.’ Today’s the day I change and

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