Writer of words. Builder of worlds.

Category: Stories and Poems Page 1 of 7

Unhatched

She found the golden egg in the corner of the coop. With no way of knowing which of the hens laid it, she took it inside to her husband and asked what he thought.

Old Man Tree: A Poem

Old man tree,
Do not cry,
For we have come to better the land.

Old man tree,
Do not groan,
For where you stand will soon be a home.

Old man tree,
Do not sigh,
For your body will fuel the comfort of many.

Old man tree,
Do not weep,
For your death will not be in vain.

The House of Eleanor Canning: Prelude

She lives in a house that stretches from the depths of Realms Beneath to the upper reaches of the stars. She built it long ago on foundation of tears.

Long ago, she had a family. She had a father who betrayed that family to seek his own power and immortality. He sold their souls to the one of the seven Lords of the Realms Beneath. When the Lord revealed that the bargain included the father’s own soul, the man broke his contract and went wandering across distant worlds, distant realities.

A Song o’ Sailing

“They sail with sails of darkness,
They sail with sails of light,
They sail across the endless seas,
Beyond the moonless night.
They sail for dreams of glory,
They dream of making right.
They sail to tell their story,
Before their dreams take flight.”

The finely dressed man at the bar showed no appreciation for the song. “Who are they, then?”

In the Hidden Things

There’s a building that nobody questions. It sits in the middle of the city, squat and grey. Nobody ever has cause to go there, so they don’t, and nobody ever asks why it is there. Sometimes people go in and out, very occasionally, but they are always people you don’t know.

Come and See the Show

Cory and Clarissa turned. ‘Hey Rhys, hurry up!’ 

Rhys caught up. ‘Hurry up,’ he scoffed. ‘You were the ones who left me.’ 

‘Well, the fortune teller might have got us next,’ said Clarissa with a laugh, flicking back her long blonde hair. ‘I didn’t want her grabbing at my palms and warning me of danger.’

Request from a God

We have been here a long time. We don’t remember the beginning, but we were there, in the mix of swirling gases and rock and light. That was us, the light. The energy. The creation.

That is how you should think of us. Think of us like the sun. That ball of heat and light and power. That power has to go somewhere, and we put it into shaping the world before us. It started as just another hunk of rock, but we moulded it and added our own touches. Water. Stone. Plants. Animals.

Dream Fragments

I dreamt a floating city froze in time,
I dreamt its brilliance, glory and its shine.
Its glowing stones, its flashing hues so fine,
Yet the city turned to ashes in the light

Theft of the Tome

The thief entered the bookshop carefully. The place was supposed to be heavily defended, as it stored some of the treasures of the kingdom. But there were no guards. The books simply stood upon the shelves, some of them leaning against each other.

The most precious tomes, the ones of magic, stood on the back shelf. The thief sneered. They weren’t locked up. They weren’t even behind glass. What fools.

Where Does It Hurt?

Where does it hurt?
Where should we start?
Below the surface,
down in the dark.

There’s scars in the heart
and cuts in the bone.
Yet the skin remains smooth
and the face appears whole.

Point to the pain?
But the pain’s buried deep.
Far down beneath
where nobody can see.

Where do we start?
How do we heal?
Shine a light in the dark
and lay bare what we feel.

Page 1 of 7

Powered by WordPress & Theme by Anders Norén