Poetry

Silken

A strand shines white,

a glimmer on the darkened street.

The moonlight has touched it,

but its fellows remain that rich brown

hanging down to your shoulders.

Each one a piece of your thoughts,

a ribbon tied fast to the building blocks

that make you.

Old strands gift their being to others,

and then leave.

Fresh beginnings grow in their stead.

Poetry

Tied Up

Every plait

can be separated

out into the individual strands

that make it.

No matter how long they’ve been bonded for.

 

These strands can then go

on to make new bonds

or hang freely

to

catch

the sweetness of the air.

 

Growing stronger than vines,

lush as wild forests.

Why should they tame themselves

for the benefit of others –

small, preserved, squashed –

 

when they can fan out as they please,

dancing on light toes

throughout the day?

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.