Fiction and poetry writing, recapturing the muse.
20:42
A voice calls out into
the void, expecting
nothing back. Tears
of relief and awe
blur their senses
when a reply is heard.
They’re so overwhelmed
they can’t understand
the words.
20:43
The feel of rolls
digging into the resistant
fabric, cutting deep
and leaving angry marks.
20:40
A reunion with the
person I’ve never
seen the face of.
Recognising a voice
I’ve never heard.
Soul speaking to soul,
heart beating with
yours. Speak a
name you shouldn’t
know and fall into
my life.
20:41
Build a bridge across
the world, promote
peace and equality.
But its foundation,
dear Earth, is built
with dynamite. While
you panic its impending
explosion, no one wonders
who created, and holds,
the trigger.
20:38
Storm Ciara.
Amber, threat to life.
Danger, stay inside.
Money through working.
Amber, lose your job.
Danger, turn up for shift.
Which threat is greater,
Mother Nature, or
Human Nature?
20:39
The house starts
to bleed clear liquid,
forming veins down
the wall, creating
a heartbeat with
the constant drip,
drip, drip.
20:37
After hours, days,
of desperate struggle,
screaming, crying and
rage, there is an
audible click as it
all falls into place.
Combos flow, blocks
timed perfectly, blow
delivered with final fatality.
Learn and connect,
master the timing…
and end that annoying
boss fight.
20:34
Denied the chance
to stand side-by-side,
only allowed yearning
glances from a diagonal
view.
20:35
A dull ache so deep
it blossoms into pain.
20:36
Unexpected wanderer,
oblivious that its
journey heads towards
death.
20:33
Magic meant to help
you sleep grows
jealous as you
return, as always, to
waking. Each time it
strengthens its hold on
you, coaxing you to
slumber until, one day,
you’ll fail to leave.
20:29
Delays now define
your day-to-day
life, more time spent
waiting and hoping,
than actually living.
20:30
You gave me life,
accidentally, but
life all the same,
with the illusion of
safety and love. Fake
feelings spread thin
and snapped, leaving
me alone. Do you
remember me? The
child you couldn’t love.
Or was even that
memory too troublesome
to keep?
20:31
A moment of self-
awareness and realisation
that releases a breath
so uplifting your feet
leave the ground. Tears
of relief and disbelief at
how easy it is to control
the sky.
20:32
A revelation of the
mind is still forced
into the repetition
of the daily grind.
20:28
Left outside, shunned and
forgotten, is a sphere-shaped
walrus, a globe spinning with
no control. Rain trickles
down its smooth surface,
cold stinging skin,
liquid watering eyes, as
stumpy arms fail to thwart it.
Gaia and Terra imprison it,
slowly pushing its helpless body
back and forth, through mud and
sharp stones. It has no grip,
no tread, no way to resist them.
Lights from inside reflect on
its skin, a warmth so close
but unfelt. A man stands
just out of reach, watching.
Round eyes plead to him for
rescue, for his hand to
stop the spinning and simply
rest there on its surface,
to comfort and protect.
The man, unblinking,
shakes his head and
lifts his arms, revealing
two hands made of stone.
20:27
Rain and time are nature’s
weapons, nurturing life outside
your human structure. A well-
tended garden drowns in a
jungle, crawling closer to
your domain. The house
cries out as weeds and trees
grow, piercing and merging
into its brick body.
Misaligned tiles sneak water
from above. Damaged ceilings
drip, drip, drip onto damp carpets,
the scent of abandonment still
lingering in an occupied home.
Futile marks of inhabitation
are foiled as the vines
tap, tap, tap on the windows.
Unwanted life emerges, living
in the walls long before you
claimed the land as yours.
Inside and out are taken,
warriers fighting against
your existence.
Nature vs structure, we
have already won.
20:26
A new person holds the used key,
ready to enter the man-made
structure, built with another’s
memories and dreams. The door
sticks a little, unlocking with
a special jiggle few know. Its
voice is silent, forgotten from
disuse, but the walls still hold
evidence of its hidden personality.
Words are written on its core,
painted over as a treasure hunt,
ready for new adventurers to
uncover and explore. Will the
evidence of previous successors
annoy, or bring an absent-
minded smile to their lips?
Names are carved on windowsills,
claiming an ownership they
no longer have. Did they
used to sit, looking beyond,
while marking their territory?
Were they desperate to be
included in the house’s flesh,
never forgotten, never gone?
Or were they taunted by
the window, craving the
freedom of nature, but
trapped in the structure of man.
Scribbled Thoughts