Creative Writing / 22/09/2020 A Walk on the Beach

The beach is my haven, where I can go to remember. I go when my home becomes too full of melancholy memories. Usually they build up slowly, but today the thoughts are unrelenting. Because they’re the impossible ones. The if-only’s, continually questioning me.    I stare at the rectangular box in my hand, the engagement photo...

Creative Writing / 22/09/2020 A Pier Outstretched into an Ocean

Reached through the ocean, ran through the reef – stopped where the waters turned dark, into the unknowable. We were just kids then: five-, ten-, twelve-year-olds; fingers grasped around the chilled silver railings in front. The wind brought clouds of tortuous form inwards, with full bellies and colours that cracked this spurious visage. We could...

Creative Writing / 04/08/2020 A modern house built on grey clouds

Old hoping thing Go gently now On those dark nights, Where rats huddle in the garden’s compost heap To hide with empty thoughts. Billowing across the street, a black hand demanding answers clutching on to the houses. Trying to rip the windows out of their frames, To leave them choking in a watery mess on...

Creative Writing, Venue / 04/08/2020 Hectic

Hectic. That’s the only word I have for today. Sure, it’s been in the works for months – I signed the agreement weeks ago – but nothing can prepare you for the moment the once empty, internet-trapped room becomes your castle.  Billy cried this morning. He – and I quote – wanted to know why...

Creative Writing, Venue / 04/08/2020 My Illness Has Teeth

  Debby asked me to keep a tally for the number of cups of coffee I drink per day. I keep the tally in my mind. Three so far today, I think. If decaf counts, then maybe four or five more. If strawberry infused green tea counts, then five or six. Maybe seven. Pushing eight...

#BLM, Creative Writing, Venue / 30/06/2020 Just Platonic?

There are relationships doomed to suffer, and relationships that make suffering. Like a cop who kisses his gun at night and lays it under his pillow. The only Black he dares to touch is the butt of his precinct-funded revolver; he tends her like a prized cow raised for slaughter, cocking his perverse killing machine....

Creative Writing

Creative Writing

A Walk on the Beach

The beach is my haven, where I can go to remember. I go when my home becomes too full of melancholy memories. Usually they build up slowly, but today the thoughts are unrelenting. Because they’re the impossible ones. The if-only’s, continually questioning me.    I stare at the rectangular box in my hand, the engagement photo…

Creative Writing

A Pier Outstretched into an Ocean

Reached through the ocean, ran through the reef – stopped where the waters turned dark, into the unknowable. We were just kids then: five-, ten-, twelve-year-olds; fingers grasped around the chilled silver railings in front. The wind brought clouds of tortuous form inwards, with full bellies and colours that cracked this spurious visage. We could…

Creative Writing, Venue

Hectic

Hectic. That’s the only word I have for today. Sure, it’s been in the works for months – I signed the agreement weeks ago – but nothing can prepare you for the moment the once empty, internet-trapped room becomes your castle.  Billy cried this morning. He – and I quote – wanted to know why…

Creative Writing, Venue

My Illness Has Teeth

  Debby asked me to keep a tally for the number of cups of coffee I drink per day. I keep the tally in my mind. Three so far today, I think. If decaf counts, then maybe four or five more. If strawberry infused green tea counts, then five or six. Maybe seven. Pushing eight…

#BLM, Creative Writing, Venue

Just Platonic?

There are relationships doomed to suffer, and relationships that make suffering. Like a cop who kisses his gun at night and lays it under his pillow. The only Black he dares to touch is the butt of his precinct-funded revolver; he tends her like a prized cow raised for slaughter, cocking his perverse killing machine….


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