Poetry

I don’t remember the title, but it’s blue…

There are times when my palm is super glued to my face.

I can’t even look at another person for fear of something idiotic

escaping their lips and causing tears to spring from my eyes,

wide with incredulity. Said a person in a bookshop,

this morning to their phone, ‘Siri, what books are in this bookshop?’

‘Here’s what I’ve come up with,’ dutiful Siri replied

while her search results loaded and the asker

gazed idly at the bookshelves, an inch or so away.

But of course, Siri could not see inside the bookshop,

and so could only guess. ‘That’s no good. I need to know

exactly what books this bookshop sells.’

‘Here’s what I’ve come up with,’ she repeats. I swear

this time her digital voice is filled with resignation.

Poetry

Grim Street Music – for all your musical needs

Every time I try to practice with my violin,

the world goes rather peculiar,

 

as a funeral march sings out of it

and humanity drops to its feet.

 

My pet mice love it, they get to

dance freely out of their cage.

 

The owner of the quaint music shop

where I bought it did say the wood

 

it was made from came

from an unconventional source

 

before turning back to the coffin

that was the sales counter.

Poetry

The end of the emporium

Neat golden lettering on marbled paper

bleached

by time and its sun.

A pair of scales hangs in mid-air,

weighing the light

of the lamps flickering in distaste.

Half rotten and full of cobwebs,

an enchanted gimmick

made

to float and sing

and make the room smell

of sweet perfumes.

Scraping off the sign has such finality.

We watch,

turning up the collars of our long coats

as we try to warm our ears.

Extracts/ Flash Fiction

Extract: Necromancer’s Cage

Nodnol. The city of alchemy and invention. Its bustling streets were filled with shops of every kind, from humble florists and clockmakers to whole emporiums of spas and beauty parlors, garages for automobile alchemy, and Kerical (alchemy and electricity, a power source hailed for its efficiency) research centres.

Shop chimneys spat out colours from across the spectrum, vibrant oranges and pinks to inky purples and blues, and everywhere, in every street and every shop, was the sense of determination and drive; the drive to be the next big inventor or the one who would make the next alchemical breakthrough.

Well, every shop except for one.

In a small street backing off from Nodnol’s main square was a neat, green painted shop with the words ‘Alchemical Pharmacy’ stencilled above its broad windows in large, white lettering. But it showed no dispays of powders or jars of loose ingredients as one might have expected to find in other alchemy-based pharmacies. No, instead the windows revealed only cardboard boxes, being packed by a silver haired man still wearing his dispensing apron. His movements were slow and weary, as if he was packing away his very life into those boxes.