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, 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

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, 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,



Fiction, prose

it’s January second afterall…

Confused by the vapid voices of renewal that languided out of the new year cake,
they did used to jump, she recalled,
she thought it was time to do something.
Something had to be done with this pile of the unsaid.

She searched for that wisdom file,¬†the one they’d all spilt wine on at the new year’s eve party. How they laughed. Such a good night.

She wondered if she should rake through those coals over there. Some were still smoldering.

Melancholied by the cold she had a better idea.
As she cast the pile onto her knitting needles,¬†she was struck by how colourful it was…



Fiction, prose

Tinkerbell’s song

It was going to be a normal day. If it was the last thing they ever did. A normal day of picnicking in the sun, like normal families. On a sunny spring day. With a packed basket. And a blanket. And outside games. And other normal things that nobody they knew ever did. Because, well, they did time travel to get there.

And this was where they were going to meet her grandmother. She told them she had the secret to normal and she wanted them to have it. It would be in a little box. And normal people carried such things around. Although, she had never opened it herself. She was just going by what her mother had told her.

And sure enough, it was labelled “normal”.
On one side. The outside.
The other side, the inside, was a lot more than they ever did not expect.

Fiction, prose


What was that word again? The one that was on his face?”
I don’t know. I DON’T KNOW.
“What was that time again? You know, when he was in that place?”
Stop. Just stop.
“And what was the song he played? The one from…?”

Her fingers recoiling, it slipped from her grasp.
The urgency was suffocating and all she heard was line
after line after line after line
of how not to do it.

And he would die if she didn’t.

Fiction, prose


mt beauty

How would they find it? She couldn’t remember the rules and every step she ran, she jumped two steps back in clarity. She hated that he got to the formula before she had, and now she was paying for it.

He decided to surprise her. The last thing she would expect from him. He knew it was against the rules, but he would take her back. To the beginning. The problem was,¬†the only vivid outline was from their last fight.¬†Why couldn’t he find the bridge? He had the formula after all…

Fiction, prose


lake bonney

the halfway sigh


He was right.
There was¬†something exhaustibly hilarious about the situation. She just couldn’t remember what it was. After all, it had been a few days since the operation, and they assured her it would grow back. ¬†But she was the anomaly, wasn’t she?¬†Was that the funny part?

She looked over to the bucket of words but it was almost empty. She sighed. Her sighing normally turned things inside out beautifully, but not this time. This time she stopped half way.