Tag Archives: Thoughts

Firesky!

creative writing, poems, poetry, Uncategorized, Words, , , , , , , , , ,

At an aggressive speed

I was losing my way

I was feeling so alive

Seeing what could never be

The atmosphere burned red

And so I thought of what will be

…from now on

I noticed then what I never see

Chrome slithering roads and bloodied sky

With all moistures weeping in blue

Rolling, cruising, endless

On and over flattening mountains

This is what I’m telling you

Those slow buildings in green

I’ve finally found out what I almost lost

And sensed what I had never seen

All around while dissolving out

Through and into the Firesky!

 

 

 

Magic Stick

Flash Fiction, Memories, short stories, Words, , , , , , , , , ,

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The stick, without a doubt, was unique, magical, no longer was it lost amongst the woodlands fallen, a delightfully crooked stick had tickled my fancy, held my attention without ceremony.

Waiting for me to notice it, call it to my hand; to grasp it, hold it aloft my busy dome, with childish influence.

The stick imprinted its distress and aged decay onto the palm of my soft, puffy hand; in the colours of the earth and leaf.

This staff, or a wand, some kind of weapon of my calling, or just an old warped walking stick, was to defend myself against the unknown, in shadow, as I sometimes danced staccato through woods and hedge way.

Unscathed, my unspectacular home door, now unlocked, into my actual security. I leave the stick outside, importantly, in the back garden, propping up the garage of course.

Now, somehow, my stick has gone, from too much time being forgotten, time stretched so thin, washed out, into an unnecessarily detailed painting of an adult realm, crumbled into invisibility, to earth, maybe it has travelled back to its place where I first owned it… maybe.

 

 

 

The Evil Wallpaper and the Stuffy Room

creative writing, Flash Fiction, poetry, Words, , , , , ,

I cannot speak in this room, my tongue is sewn to my inner mouth like an old rolled up, tatty, old gym mat, left tied in a locked and forgotten storage room.  I am now reduced to a baby regarding my quality of speech, no-one, not even myself will understand my dialect now.

Subsequently, my eyes are like CCTV cameras, tirelessly scanning people I will never know. Such resources require feeding before I again starve myself from predictable individual markets of specialised code. Right now I do not want to buy into anything, other than some much need for some personal inanimate objects, or Mother Nature’s pleasantries.

Then, surprisingly, a section of room clears, I notice someone familiar to me; they sit directly opposite as if waiting in a crowded underground station for a train that will never arrive.

Immediately, faces and limbs move blurrily around them like a meaty aura, descaling time, they somehow cut a somewhat dominant figure with a slouching posture; sitting in an otherwise frenetic sequence of scribbled picture flick images.

All the while, a hideous wallpaper pastes the background; unnaturally large and repetitive design of supposedly beautiful coloured flowers. Seemingly this Rorschach of entangled petals also emits a pungent scent from hells garden, choking our airways ever so slowly. Or, a ladies offensive perfume that loiters excessively as she struts passed on death-defying stilts with a cocktail.

Slowly the wallpapers flowers grow, entwine and weave, swallowing all that stands near it, suffocating the lost and forgotten drones that are top-heavy while on the edge of walls made from verbalised, exhaled breath; an endless wordy fever swells the room into sickness.

Then a sudden refreshingly pure breeze blows playfully, it caresses my moist cheek, my unacquainted companion acknowledges the very same, welcomed oxygen.  As I raise my right hand to my drying face, I notice at precisely the same moment they do the very same, it is as unnerving as it is welcoming.

It is then we leave the room together.