“There is a part of my mind that tells me to drink– Just a tiny little voice convinces me. Only my kids can stop me
‘Pluck My Strings’
Here’s an old poem wrote during High School _________________________________ If you do love me, then prove yourself. Impress me. Let this night float around us;
Bloodink, Inkblood
A little something that wouldn’t let me go to sleep last night until I had written it down. She writes with the blood in her
Mother’s Watch
*I found that form added important pacing that helped add context and drama to this poem which I could not create in the WordPress blog
Olivia
Angus is going to ruin the ship’s carpet. He’s in quite a state about getting on the boat and the vet says he’s getting fat
The Cruise Party – Mary
Stephen’s Mother, Mary, a widow MARY — “First, I would like to visit the cabin we booked and make sure I prepare everything. Tonight, me,
The Cruise Party – Wang
This is part of an exercise we did in class where each of us wrote a monologue of a character attending a cruise to celebrate
Robbing a Seance
The floor of our minivan was covered in sheets of paper, a sea of black stars and pentagrams. I smoothed the creases of my black
‘Maze’
Another thought, another mood Another swing, and angry again. For nothing. People remain confused By me. It’s complicated, it twists ’round It misleads. I think
Following the Rain
George Maxwell was up at four in the morning again. He pulled his pale, lumpen frame out of bed and shuffled towards the walk-in shower.
Their Walls, Our Walls
Rise, my siblings and my people and my friends. Take your hammers, your crowbars, and your fists and beat the mortar to dust beneath your
Three Folk in a Cafe
A few tables across from me, among friends, sat a gentleman of modest height and of slender build, he wore blue denim and a baggy
Tariaksuq
Long were the shrieks that rapped at the frost-cracked timber of the buckling shack door. Delsi watched from a corner of the dilapidated cabin’s gloom
Ivy Fingers
Ivy fingers keep coming back to me. In their gentle grasp life felt whole. Pieces held together firmer in their place. Twisting around my body
Following Her Beyond the Café
A continuation of the Café exercise Anna realised the time and finished her salad quickly, shooting off a text to Peter that she’d be home
A poem on a Bird
Flight used to only belong to you; soaring through the sky, the heavens were yours Now you’re not alone. The skies are crowded with human
Black and white, romanticised; a collector of shiny treasures. Children know not your darker nature and the blood soaked into your feathers. While the corvid,
Of Where I Long to Be
I find you everywhere Human made or at home In a little pod Tucked under the eaves, Across the fields, A neck, a hand, Always
The Little Jay
It was such a beautiful Jay That flapped its wings and flew away. I miss it each and every night As I look up to
The loneliness of coming home
She comes home from a long day at work to an empty flat, every night. She hangs her keys on the nail on the wall