Poetry

Tales by the hearth

The fire crackles in the grate,

shadows dancing with smoke tendrils as she reads

aloud, cloaked figures sneaking through her voice

to my wondering ears

as I cling to the embroidered arm of her chair.

 

The ritual nightly, yet never dull.

I play with the bobble on her slippers as she pauses to sip

Lady Grey from her fine china cup

then places it back on the saucer.

 

Resuming her place as though no pause had been taken

she leads me into the night

to meet the King of Dreams.

 

When I wake, the fire is dead

and her chair is cold,

its colours faded.

Poetry

Blockade

The wall of brick and bone and sweat

stands before me, blocking my path

to the end, the finish line and the emptiness after,

for what is after

I’ve achieved all my dreams?

Will it be enough to come to that finality,

the conclusion upon which I linger most,

or will the fire inside

continue to burn until I pass the herd

to stand on my own,

hearing my own trumpets and roars,

my heat beating its celebration

not of my ego,

but simply that I can still go on,

still progress,

still do what I love

and not let boredom brick me up

inside my own head.

Extracts/ Flash Fiction, Uncategorized

A little taste of my WIP (which features ogres, dragon-people, fae and many other creatures)

‘What…is all this?’ Max said, tentatively picking one of the hair-wrapped parcels up. He rubbed it against his trousers, trying to get as much dust off it as he could.

‘It’s blue,’ Rae said, examining the neat strands. ‘Gwind, it’s just like yours. It’s exactly the same colour.’

‘You think it’s Fae hair?’ Max asked her. ‘I suppose if it was used to protect whatever is underneath, then that would make sense.’

‘I’ve never heard of it being used for that before,’ Gwind said, ‘but as Silver discovered, there might have once been more uses for it than we think. Perhaps we should unwrap them? Though it looks as if that would take even longer than rearranging the books upstairs. I can’t even see where the ends are.’

‘I could just burn through it,’ Silver said, and before they could stop her, she spat a tiny flame at a parcel by her feet. It touched the hair, fizzling for a moment, and then went out. ‘That’s strange. Our flames should be able to burn through anything.’

‘Let me try,’ Max said, and took out his knife, attempting to cut through the hair. Despite pressing down hard, the blade simply glided over it. ‘Some hair you people have,’ he said to Gwind, failing to keep the awe from his voice.

Poetry

Water Nymph

Sometimes I think I’m water.

Well, technically a substantial portion of me is,

but I’m talking about,

you know,

free flowing water.

The kind that freezes when it’s cold,

or pools in shallow dips when it rains,

hangs around in the air

to fluff up

that girl’s neatly straightened hair.

Except it isn’t my form that changes.

It’s my mood,

my entire attitude

to life.

I’m not complaining, just

observing really.

Once I thought it’d be good to be fire.

Then the wind caught my candle

and blew it out.

Poetry

Orange tongues

Fire. A blaze in my hands that I can craft into any shape I wish. It is my passion, my flame to share. You may call me arrogant. You may call me rash. I don’t care. Of course I don’t. I can wrap my fiery rope around you and change your opinion with little more than an ember of my will. Just give me the fuel.

Poetry

Down the hall

The hall was hot

with a fiery glow,

great wafts of smoky air

swept towards me with mighty blows.

 

I knew what awaited,

how could I not

have heard of the beast

who occupied this spot?

 

 

Staring at me

through the door’s seam,

I saw two green, glowing eyes

and wings cramped against the beams.

 

My hand shook

as I reached for the knob,

after all, a dragon’s breath

could reduce me to a messy blob.

 

But a beast

shouldn’t be trapped

just because some people think

it’ll eat them for a snack.

 

Bravely, I opened the door,

overcoming my fear

as I stepped right into

its tiny, sparse lair.

 

I braced myself for the worse,

yet the dragon shied away from me.

Then I saw the chain around its legs.

‘Don’t worry,’ I said, ‘I’ll set you free!’

Poetry

Open your eyes

Fire climbs up my flesh,

seeping through my pores –

my veins are charged

with impulse.

The ledge of the world is before me.

I step up and finally

see the vastness beyond.

Coiled, my knees spring

to launch

my body down.

I ride the air’s waterfall;

I don’t fear the fall.

Someone will catch me.

They always do.

And if that fails, my shoulders

will ignite with ember-flower wings

to carry me back

where I belong.