Part One Part Two Part Three J looked up just as S was elbowing the bothersome bearded man with the cowboy hat square in the mouth. He shot backwards clutching his face and went the color of a tomato. S had climbed awkwardly off her bar stool, simultaneously picking up her peanut butter milkshake. … More Three Down, Three to Go
S: I hate casinos. J: I didn’t ask you to like being here. I just asked you to be here. S: I would rather be ordering a peanut butter milkshake at that place we drove past on the way into this god forsaken shit hole. J made gagging noises and pulled a face S, looking … More Killing Time
On a hill where wars were once waged, sits a willow that weeps when it rains. It calls to the gods with each blow through the sky; earthed in the pasts remains. The faces and sounds and bloodied grounds; a twisted carnival of shame; hard to breathe even harder to believe that the sunshine isn’t … More Move it, Sunshine.
Part 2 Part 3: “I am going to let go now, Mr Lin… what what it again, J?” J had reluctantly pulled the now purple faced man’s wallet out of his jacket pocket since he had been unable to answer any of the questions given him by either J or S. “Lionel. With one L.” … More The Unsecret Dialogue of Letting Go
S tried her very best to keep a straight face as her friend J appeared without warning at the bar. S came every evening that J was on shift to have a milkshake (even while being given weird looks by other hard-core drinking patrons who likened milkshake in a bar to whores in a sexual … More The Unsecret Dialogue of Hooligans
Your restlessness has not gone unnoticed. Your heavy heart can be heard through the thin walls; it clangs like tins being dragged behind, tied mercilessly to lame footed, wearisome prey. Near surrender. Your pacing has marked the floorboards. Worn bare the carpet, exposing the pattern of your minds repetitive rhyme. Slowing down your own time. … More Dear Soldier
Your veins share a portion of ruthlessness with my rib cage. My blackened lungs. A certain unwavering determination to spit in the faces of those who dont beleive in you. Your hands grew lines a long time ago, etched by Arabic scribe. Fine lines that tell of only dark things. Fairy Tales of laughter, inside … More
S sat on her haunches, head tilted slightly, watching J sleep. It was more of a ‘willing J to wake up’, really, but so far had been choosing to do it silently. With patience not being one of her strongest suits, S took her index finger and jabbed J in the forehead. J rolled over … More The (Un)Secret Childhood Dialogue Chronicles – Ninja.
So, my J and I were talking and although we have been friends for some time now and we know a great deal about each other and can safely say we are very familiar with the skeleton’s that lurk in each others closets. On first name high five terms with the demons that hold the … More Q and A
A ‘do’, Like a Cockatoo. Reminded me, of you. You being the holler-er, of feathered things. Miss you. Me.
writing as a way of life
My ramblings poems and musings enjoy or not no pressure
The varied thoughts of a millennial modern linguist.
Talking about real things
Poetry and Poems
All that is me!
CRIME WRITER
Fabulously Refined/Wildy Inappropriate
A home for the stories and poems that got away.
I Kill My Own Spiders
character limited descriptions kind of give me anxiety
A few new poems every week. Haikus on Sundays.
Mocking Bird Down 