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.
Dear Fellow Pirate, In response to your beautiful poem, I write this letter while holding a telescope, I mean periscope (or whatever that looking thing is called), fighting off a big burly man who wanted to steal my compass, AND also, while growling instructions at my crew. I am pretty sure if I wanted to, … More Come With Me Now
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
With each spin of a gods coin, the constellation of dots join, with each swipe of the palm across salted face, and each footstep in or out of any place; notes are taken. Words are spoken. Nothing is token. Even when it’s broken. Each year that scolds, each day that unfolds, every single moment, breathtaking … More Birthday Poem for J
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.
S dashed out of the bathroom cubicles, clingfilm in hand, grinning from ear to ear. Two minutes later J comes creeping around the corner with a now empty tub of Vaseline. ‘Get them all?’ ‘Yeah! Whoever invented perforated clingfilm is a legend.’ Both girls head off to wait in the dark for the chaos to … More Toilet Seats and Vaseline
So I have spent most of this week – for real – trying to figure out if you (my dear J) are more like the hot green chick who kicks ass, or the small impulsive fox who has some serious anger issues in Guardians of the Galaxy. I have watched the movie several times with … More My Reflexes are too Fast. I will Catch it.
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 