Fiction, Poetry


this rake isn’t as heavy as I thought it would be,

I feel your suggestions as you’re watching me

make¬†these corrugations –

portal permutations,

at least,

they were in my dreams,

the ones

bursting from the seams

of my mind’s eye.


From here below periphery,

silent door’s epiphany,

you hear my eyes as you look at me…


one of my current ear worms. if you need a little energy boost, or a push through a portal or something…(and if this video doesn’t play for you because you don’t live in the best country on earth ūüėČ there is this acoustic version:)


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the tears, like that sky, were blue,

balmed in a constant, gentle stream.
Filled with achingly quiet strength, healing purpose. Vibrating with the tenor of a generation.

He carefully strung his violin with them, using the instructions in the back of the book he was holding.
A journal he had found in, of all places, the attic.

His beloved father’s journal.

Sigh. What a beautiful performance.


Featured image: my husband’s

Fiction, prose

fugitive (draft two)

photo challenge 12

The water stung her eyes.
Darn it, it must be the black and white. Probably too acidic.

This memory did¬†look good on her wall, but she couldn’t remember why it was there.
She had dived in, of course, to find the details, but the pain in her eyes caught her off guard.
Being two dimensional, also caught her off guard. It shouldn’t have. But it did. She was new at this, after all.

New plan –
to back away from this old plan. To get back, at least, to three dimensions.
It would, surely, all come to her then,
when she caught the now…


My chocolate levels have oscillated today, and with them, the way I feel about this piece. I took it down for a while, then rewrote it a little. So sorry to those of you who read it earlier. But this is definitely a work in progress…more like some doodling…and the character found herself laughing in the mirror a little as time went on…


Featured image: my own


Fiction, prose

no one is around (part one)

“Can we just lie here for a moment? She knows what to do
and it’s so much easier to make out the words if you press
your ear against the stone.”

He hated this place. But she promised it would be the last time.
And it had started to snow. It would hopefully slow the others down.

They needed to leave. He was too scared to look at his watch
and he was struck by how beautiful she looked in this light.
That pink light, reflecting from the tears frozen on her face.

He pulled her gently up from her mother’s grave.


mother they are coming again
they come to shoot what we already lost
mother they are coming again
our silver covered by their rust

father they are coming again
they come to jail the things that i have seen
father they are coming again
burning minds to keep the ruin clean

no one is around

‚Äělittle girl there‚Äôs safer ground
follow the sea and you will find that place
little girl there’s safer ground
come take your years and put them in their hands“



Fiction, prose

Assiduous Respiratory Therapy

She drew back the curtains¬†with all the care that wasn’t in the world. It was the only way she knew how. To stop the time. To restart his breathing.
(I could have that wrong – it might be, that she was the only one who knew how to do it. No one remembered. No one cared.)

The air was so thick with the calligraphy they had forced out of him. She uncurled it and  admired it in the twilight/non-time.  All things considered, it was still exquisite.

She had a new idea. And when he read her thought, he sat bolt up right, smiling.



Fiction, prose


Now the dune crescendoed right in front of her. Had she climbed it? What side was she on? Did it matter? This weary could not answer.

Sifting it through her fingers, she couldn’t find the piece she was looking for. So she let that gentle wind catch them all instead.

She wrapped herself in the cool of the breeze. And when she woke, she smiled, for there was nothing left. Of this dune of memories.

Nothing, that is, but him.


Fiction, Poetry


through her mind's thesaurus
she searched for other words for her wrists, singed
her edges smouldering, smoke fringed
internal edges, that is.

Scrambling through the messages in his eyes
he finds the one he wants to send her, hopefully
she'll read it without doubt, earnestly
not doubting him, that is.

The other he, she should be doubting
he holds that glass, sun's rays re routing
to warm her, that is

what he's always told her...

Fiction, prose
He knew it.
This would be the place. The place at the end 
of the wrong road. And somehow, it was exactly 
how he pictured it.
It looked just like the other fork where he made 
the wrong turn.

His favourite music particles flew past in perfect, 
mesmerising harmony with his non astonished gaze, 
landing at his feet. 
Forming those pages.

He just wished he could remember which was the wrong page turn.


Fiction, prose

she had her grandmother’s laugh

“Nan! I woke up from a dream where I was looking at the postcard you sent me, and the subject was missing.”

Her grandmother nodded. She often did now.

She knew she understood. They had standing appointments to meet in the narrowing corridors of her mind’s labyrinth. Because, just when it seemed they couldn’t get narrower, they would suddenly open to cavernous, multi faceted rooms of beauty, with the aura of home she had never known, and she wanted to be in there with her. It was captivating.

She had challenged her once to find the heart of the story. Especially in the biggest “rooms” or, heaven forbid, if she found herself in rooms of smoke and mirrors.

She looked at her with those eyes. From her childhood.

Then she made her laugh. For the first time in too long.


Fiction, prose

safer ground (part two)


She didn't say anything.
Why wasn't she saying anything?
But she had.
She just couldn't hear her.
She had always heard her through her heart, and now
it was frozen to her cheeks.

He lifted her up as her chest was caving in.
He sang instead. The words she had taught him when they met, 
years before.
The ones she had heard from her mother's friend. Before they
never saw him again.

"Little girl, there's safer ground..."
That ground. Rising up out of the sea of him.

mother they are coming again
they come to shoot what we already lost
mother they are coming again
our silver covered by their rust

father they are coming again
they come to jail the things that i have seen
father they are coming again
burning minds to keep the ruin clean

no one is around

‚Äělittle girl there‚Äôs safer ground
 follow the sea and you will find that place
 little girl there’s safer ground
 come take your years and put them in their hands“
Fiction, Poetry


pebbles in knees blood drips in degrees depending on motion and height of the trees in ways so undaunting and friendships unhaunting we packed up our bags and rode from the taunting within our own mind we pedalled the wind and the twist of the road from siblings unkind

golden the handshakes we never knew everyone did it so we did not too the secrets unfolded then refolded wrong and how we laughed later when hearing that song and promises broken before they were made the pastor’s son kindly spiked lemonade but we did ask nicely and he knew us from…
a minor detail and life moved along and dancing all night our friendship stayed strong…

This was so not like the other door she had opened. This was better.
She had never appreciated their persuasiveness as much as she did now. She made a mental note to thank them after the recording.
Best game show ever.

“I’ll take these.”

Christian, Fiction, prose

she left

She heard them! The chords of cogency. Crescendoing. Pulsating with hermeneutical harmonies that filled her with a sensation she hadn’t felt in years. The clarity descending in notes that burst her heart.
Her heart. That’s what she could feel!

She was right to leave.
And she didn’t just walk. She floated.¬†On the weightless tears of Another.
He turned her back, from face down, and she left forever.
Right out of that grave.


Fiction, prose

you’ll never be home

It was the first time she had come back to his space.¬†They walked into the room where he didn’t do much living and¬†he showed her the place. On the wall. Where he strung up the different shades of pathos.
In the right order, of course.

She was more impressed than she thought she would be.
And now she was scared.
Scared that he knew right where to put her.


(NB. there may be an expletive in here)

Fiction, Poetry

sometimes two darks make a light

he wore his strobe light

to precise his own sight

incising surreal

into a savoury byte


she wore lightning cloud

it fireworked the shroud

the diaphanous shield

of cataract crowd


they met late one noon

not a decade too soon

their time in half life

when lit by half moon


they laughingly shied

and together they cried

out relief of their failing

when hopeless they tried



endless illumination

their timing instead

fuelled love’s fascination-


of dark with the dark

love’s company,