Extracts/ Flash Fiction, Poetry

Extract from my current WIP

I don’t usually write poems or songs in my books, but this time the story called for one. And as this blog features quite a lot of my poetry, I thought I’d share it. To put it in context, it gives a vial clue for my characters to find something:

‘And when the snows begin to ease

On mountains high, with cool breeze

Look out to the peaks every morn

From which the ice sparrows are drawn

And watch them duck and dive

Until upon the floating cities they arrive,

Stealing crystals for their nests,

Those naughty sparrows, dragon’s pests.

Poetry

The Neat Gurney

A glimmer catches your eye,

you look closer, taking in

the brightness and separating it

from the image beyond.

There you see her eyes sparkling

blue, full of hope

that tugs at your being.

You dare to believe her optimism

is not misguided,

but then the mirror darkens,

clouded by a storm of muttering.

The doctor says this is normal.

Still, deep down,

you can’t help but fear

the worst.

Poetry

A shadow’s footsteps (draft)

The shadow of the second star

glides across creaking boards and

bloated sails, summoned by its youthful

keeper to sew it tight for the morn.

Safe from adults, hooked and

wigged, who pillage every source

for glittering trinkets and the dust

that brings spells of flight.

Yet twisted intentions hold no key,

only one power can grant the skies.

Belief.

From the full-lipped colours of

wild flowers, to the salt of deepest

seas, in the shimmer of a mermaid’s

scale and the warmth of a firefly’s glow

lies the echo of magic’s pulse, keeping

the ever grasping hands of Master

Time distant as dreams of rushing

hordes and striking clock towers.

Poetry

The Swan (draft)

Feathers leafed across

the silver neck,

elongated by the sun’s

dawn fingers. Reflections

change on the water’s

surface; webbed feet

cracked into separate

toes.

Every night as moonface

greets the pale ripples,

a crown of moss

adorns the head,

mocking its gilded

cousin for the barrier

keeping them

apart.

Coarse voice soon

turns to music,

eased by lips instead

of beak. But the instance

is fleeting, a rolling

waiver shimmering with

the false promise of

escape.