Poetry

Elemental Hunter (inspired by The Witches of the Glass Castle by Gabriella Lepore)

With clouds of dust about my feet

I gaze at you, my prize so neat.

I reach up and take your chin,

my nails pierce your dimpled skin.

The roaring of blood in my ears

enables me to look past your tears.

You turn your mouth from my lips

ignoring the wind that starts to whip.

Come now, darling, don’t you see?

You were the one who came looking for me.

I am a Hunter and you are my prey,

next time, stay out of the forest’s way.

 

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New video: Violet books

Hello everyone, today I uploaded the last video in my rainbow bookshelves series, this time focusing on violet (ish) books. My list features poetry, Neil Gaiman, Roald Dahl and The Dark Crystal.

You can view it here.

Poetry

H.U.Gs

We sell heaters for 99p. They’ll not oil filled, or gas fueled; not even blower heaters. They’re fleshy and warm: heart utilization generators. H.U.Gs for short. Most people walk straight past them, not trusting them to be efficient enough for their needs. So they sit there on the shelf, year in, year out, gathering dust. I thought I’d tidy them up today, display them a bit better. I sold two in twenty minutes. The buyers were the happiest customers I’ve ever seen.

Poetry

Toast

The butter didn’t just melt on my toast this morning.

It oozed itself lovingly into the pockets of air

to become one with it. The bread was very fluffy.

 

The other day, the toast burnt. The butter simply sat

in a puddle on its blackened surface.

I swirled it with my finger; it looked like a golden elixir

gone wrong. I used it to write my name on the table.

 

She didn’t like that. I had to wipe it up immediately

using a kitchen towel. The yellow liquid stained the fabric.

My name had tarnished something of hers.

 

I make my own toast now.

Poetry

Return to sender

I don’t want to stand out here in the dark

waiting for a train that may never come.

All the others have been collected,

but no-one wanted me.

They looked at my identity, flicking the tag

away in disgust. Waving me off.

 

It’s quiet now that the crowd has gone.

And cold. I wonder if my parents ever considered

that no-one would take me in.

I was sent away. Now I’m being sent back,

returned to sender. I am useless

like the unused gas mask around my neck.