Writer of words. Builder of worlds.

Category: Stories and Poems Page 1 of 4

When to Talk to Strangers

Now featured in StoryFest 2020

Mother had told her not to talk to strangers. It was what she told Red Riding Hood every time she sent her into the woods. The creature looked so very hurt, though. It could barely move, using what little energy it had to clutch at its wounded side. Red crept closer. “Are you all right?”

A Chance Tumble

It was mostly curiosity that brought us here. Really. Okay, we were bored too, and maybe a bit tipsy. Well, I definitely was, and Macey seemed to be. Don’t judge. Benny had just dumped me, and Macey was nearly a year out of work. I’d heard she was probably going to lose the flat. So we both had our reasons for having a few drinks in us at three in the afternoon.

Forest Twilight: a poem

The orange sun setting
Somewhere ahead
Beyond our sight

Through dense wood
Still are slanting
Glimmers of light

Below a carpet
Of red gold leaves
Crunching beneath

We’ll stop soon
Beside this path
And rest well tonight.

Mirenna’s Gift

The priest did not greet Mirenna when he opened the door to her room. Not that she minded. She was more concerned with looking past him into the grand hall beyond, which she had only seen once. All she glimpsed now was a stained glass rose, framed in gold, one of many that had been set in the walls. Her room was tiny in comparison, and so dull – bare walls, a plain chair and table, a wooden shelf she could not reach. She waited until the priest had shut the door and sat himself down before she spoke.

“New dreams have come to me,” she told him.

That Day: A poem

One day
alien archeologists
will dig our bones
out of dirt
and wonder

One day
another species
will hold dominion
over Earth
and they will plunder

One day
all that lives
will be gone
turned to dust
or buried under

But that day
is not today.

Surprise Inspection

The note read: An official from the company is on their way to your establishment. We trust you will be sufficiently prepared to receive him and show him around.

These words were enough to sent the entire place into a panic.

Clear and Bright Festival: A poem

Yeah, so I’m a little tired of using Canva. The poetry challenge is still going well, but instead of regaling you with all the poems (good, bad, and mediocre) I’ll stick to the one that was most personal.

Something people often don’t realise is that ancient China also used a solar calendar. They were farmers, after all: they needed to keep track of the seasons. Clear and Bright Festival, sometimes known as Qing Ming or Tomb Sweeping Festival, is a festival that takes places on that solar calendar, around the 4th or 5th of April each year. Here in Australia, my family celebrates it on Good Friday, so we can easily get the day off. We go to the cemetery, burn incense, display food, and burn paper money, gold, and cloth (the idea being that the smoke rises to heaven and, I guess, brings the gold and money and cloth with it). For global pandemic reasons, we didn’t actually celebrate this year, so I wrote this poem instead:

Poem a Day Challenge, April 2020: Days 1-5

So I’ve been participating in this year’s Poetry Challenge from Writers Digest, only following the prompts a day behind because my time zone means I’m too early to get the actual day’s prompt, apparently. I’ve also done some experimentation with Canva to make them look pretty. Let me know what you think!

The Last Hour

The old god sat in a corner of his workshop and regarded his creation. It was nearly done. He’d laid the foundations of fire and clay, he’d shaped the mountains and the seas, he’d planted the seeds that would grow into grasses and trees. He had spent the last several hours painting each grain of sand just the right shade of gold, each wave in the ocean the right shade of blue, and each cloud just the right shade of silver-grey. This world was his masterpiece. It was lighter than the ones he’d made before, but heavier than the airy worlds his brothers and sisters made. It needed only a few finishing touches: balancing the poles, stoking the fires within to just the right heat, giving the mountaintops one final polish. Once he was done, this world would outshine all the others.

Things I Learnt from Hotel Fulcrum

I’ve finally finished Summer at Hotel Fulcrum. This is the longest work of fiction I’ve completed by a long shot (probably the next longest would be under 2000 words). So this is a really big achievement for me, and a project that I’ve learnt a lot from. Specifically, the following:

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