Writer of words. Builder of worlds.

Category: Stories and Poems Page 1 of 5

At Witching Hour: A Poem

At witching hour, in deep of night
The magic creatures take their flight
As banshees scream and sirens sing
The silent bells of Faerie ring

Returning Home

Blue fire burns in my hand and I know I have the magic again. After all this time, hiking across the barren desert, watching those sent with me die along the way.

Well. We can fix that.

Danger

They say it’s dangerous to live near the forest where the elves are. They say the elves rob and kill unwary travellers, that they steal children and replace them with their own. I know that’s not so. I live near the forest and the elves are safe.

The Sun, the Moon, the Stars to Me: A Poem

To me you are the sun, my love
The fire of my world
The glorious blaze that warms my days
And shines so high above

To me, my love, you are the moon
The moon so round and full
Your circling dance and gentle gleam
Will always lift my gloom

To me, my love, you are the stars
The jewels of the sky
The guiding lights for travellers lost
So bright, so fair, so high

I’d love to be the world to you
My sun, my moon and stars
So let me bask beneath your light
And admire you from afar.

Abyss of the Birds

The abyss is Time with its sadness, its weariness. The birds are the opposite to Time; they are our desire for light, for stars, for rainbows, and for jubilant songs.

Olivier Messiaen

Time passes. Each moment is stitched to the next, the seams so small you’ll never see them. You thought the water was cool at first, but now it freezes your skin. You thought the wind was a whisper, but now it screeches and scratches in your ears. Yet nothing has changed. Only the moments that have been passing, one by one by one. Time passes and everything in its path is ground down to dust.

Finished—

Sometimes, they even finished each other’s—

—sentences. At least in the beginning, when they were young and new. The world named them Twins, and kept them together, one unit, sharing clothes and beds and hearts. As they grew they named themselves individuals, sisters, plural. Still close, so close. Sometimes, they even finished each other’s—

Dine with me: a poem

If you’d be so kind
to dine with me tonight
Give your time tonight
if you’re so inclined
I will bring some pie
while you try not to pry
into the lies I tell
Time will fly
You’ll stay behind
We’ll eat ’til the light
dies in the sky
You will not whine
though you may sigh
at the meat soaked in brine
You’ll say it’s fine
You’ll say it’s not dry
and then you will try
to never dine
with me or mine
again.

A 2am Adventure

Normally when I’m anxious I calm myself by feeding the ducks at the park at the end of the street. So when I found I couldn’t sleep, I went to the park. The only problem was that there are no ducks to feed at 2am, so I just sat on a bench and watched the lake. It was a calming sight, the smooth surface reflecting the starry sky. 

Just Waiting: A Poem

Just me in this house
Just me and my clock
Nothing left but to look
out the window
and wait

Just me in this room
Just me and my watch
Nothing left but to watch
the seconds tick by
and wait

Just me in my head
Just me and my thoughts
Nothing left but to think
and to listen
for footsteps
returning
and wait

and wait
and wait…

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?”

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