Mama and Child

Brown eyes sparkle laughter dances cheerily upon the child’s lips you are precious, mama he cups her cheeks small fingers pat her wearied face Mama returns the smile after a tiring work day these are the words that piece her back thank you sweetheart you are precious, child you always make Mama proud. Written for

Mirror Mirror

The divide between truth and illusion mirror mirror what is it I see? A cold finger against the glass is this the true me? Or am I illusory? Sharp contrasts blade-like black against piercing white mirror mirror. What is it I see? the divide between truth and illusion what is reality? Written for Sadje’s What

Oh Glory!

They hand you Power a halo made of gold circling with promise spinning brimming oh glory! you hail. The temptation to grasp overwhelming blinding brilliant is the fame you belong to it oh glory! you hail. They hand you Power a halo made of gold tightening crushing a charming entrapment oh glory! you hail. Written

Truth, Easily.

The smell of burning paper is what draws me to the balcony. The smoke filters upward as flames eat the leaves. After all, tree pulp and trees are the easiest fuel to a fire. I pick a paper swishing across the floor in an attempt to escape.  When the flames die down, I have a

Raised

“She looks awfully serious. A brooder.” The new owners commented as they stared at the puppy. Ensconced in a mesh carrier bag, the puppy had small upright ears, tawny trimmed fur and a small snout with a patch of white, as though she’d smeared flour over her face. The puppy’s ears pricked at the owners statement.

Jack

Donna sighed as she rummaged through the boxes. Every box contained some antique, a relic from her father’s time as a deep sea diver. Whether they were the precious log books that he’d written over the years or the carefully preserved fossils that he had been allowed to keep after the valuable ones were handed

Evening News

Breaking news
scorches eyelids
apathy and fury
printed ink sways
the turmoil within

The Eye

Paras awoke with a dread. The bedsheets were soaked in sweat. He’d barely slumbered for fifteen minutes. Breathing heavily he switched on the bedside lamp and stared at the framed photo on the opposite wall. Mounted on a 11 x 14 scale a dark iris set inside a greyish sclera glared against an emerald background. 

Open Me

On a fine wintery morning caper
Presents and torn wrapping paper
Exulting children dance under the eaves
Nature wraps itself in snowy relief

Hypnotized

Black and white
You make no sense
Paint me into a devil-angel
You are cruel and kind

Sheet Music

I never understood sheet music
the notes would fly at me
like a foreign language
abstract and garbled in my head