Broken whistle: I need a pea.
Advertisements
Tag Archives: age
Childhood Lost
Beneath crayola skies, we lingered,
Watching little butterflies flit between branches,
Laughing at the starlings as they caused kerfuffles
That only they knew
And only they could end.
This place of colour, light and creation,
Unsullied by adolescent snobbery
And adult ignorance, bewitched us.
When did we lose it?
When did we lose us?
We sit looking at a leaden heaven
Impervious even to X-ray eyes,
Refusing to divulge either answers or lies
With weights heavier than hearts should be
Pulling at our cavernous chests.
This is not us.
This is not the way we should be.
Childhood has bequeathed us everything
And delivered nothing,
Yet to return is considered a backward step:
It is only step to regain that innocent joy.
50 Word Stories: The Catch
We always said we'd be there to catch each other. You do when you're young and in love. We were so convinced, so sure of our commitment that when we fell, it came as a genuine shock. Well, maybe less so for me. I had my hands behind my back.
50 Word Stories: The Loneliness of Time
There’s a coffee steaming on the table. I hate drinking alone, but you’ve got to do something to stay warm. Curlicues of dispersed heat rise like ghosts departing the dawn; I’m sure one winks. Another day begins with a slurp and a cough. This is my mantra. I’m crying again.
50 Word Stories: Viewpoints
Every elephant carried a suitcase tucked neatly under its tusks. Marching down the high street in one long line, the elephants bowed to each passer by in turn, then wandered out of town.
“Where are they going?” said the adults as one.
“Who packed their trunks?” laughed all the children.
Elsewhere / Somewhere / Nowhere

Time cascades
Where once it streamed
Life pouring over the precipice
In torrents of me
A most magical tumbling
If one accepts it
Of liquid and light
A return to the womb
Cocooned in a separate reality
This curtain of creation falls
Upon a rock-strewn stage
There is no avoiding it
I await the last connection
The hardest landing
Before the water
Washes me away
Elsewhere
Somewhere
Nowhere
Or all
50 Word Stories: Seventeen?
She said she was seventeen. She looked her given age, her clothing fashionable, worn with a hint of disdain, her figure slim and supple. It was her that eyes gave her away. They knew too much. I pitied her then, and she saw it. I regret it to this day.
