Tag: Poetry
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8.12: Sentinel Trees
Sentinel Trees These areher sentinel trees,watchersof her comingsand her goings This first Sundayof the month,frost holdingthe air lowand steadyas she leansbackinto the white breath of a birch. She, once a childof its slow-growing seed,whispers,tell me a story…one about a young womanwho ran awayto the citybecause she thoughtgreenwasn’t enough. And tell meshe knows nowhow her instinctsmove…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Cat’s Bedtime Story The Old Woman is tucked beneath quilts,the moon is a sliver in her sleepy tea,and the cat, perched on the duvet,clears his throat. “Once upon a time,” he begins,“there was a… a mouse.A very… small mouse.With… fur.” He pauses.Blinks once.Twice. “And he… um.He… walked…across a… floor.A wooden floor.It was… oak.” Another…
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6.12: MicroDosing 100 µg
“The heart has its reasons of which reason knows nothing.” – Blaise Pascal’s Pensées It’s December again. The air grows thin and bright in December. Reason sleeps. Another sense awakens. A filament stretched across the dark, humming with a frequency only grief can tune. The clock’s face glows 03:06, not as numbers, but as a…
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5.12: Journal of Thoughts
A Passing Storm Wild, breathless, untamed. Lightning is a beasttorn loose from sky,its white-hot snarlsplitting the nightwide open. She steps into it.Laughing. Almost —as rain claws at skin,as wind pulls at herlike something thatrecognisesits own. Reclaims. The earth trembles,and so does she. This is the momentshe was made for. Raw, electric, untranslated. And when thunder…
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5.12: A Poet’s Thoughts on Grief
A Poet’s Thoughts on Grief I have found grief’s pain remains.It does not leave. It does not soften.It evolves. It ceases to be a personal affront,a fist shaken at a betraying sky. It ceases to be a question that demands an answer. It ages.It becomes a quality of light.A longer shadow.A poetic quality. We learn…
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1 Dec: The Liturgy of Pepperbright Canticle
Liturgy for Pepperbright Canticle (reading time: 1 minute) I. The Nature of the SparkPepperbright Canticle arrives as a glint.Vivid. Gold-green.Like sunlight striking a brass bowlof crushed herbs. It tastes of citrus heat, wild laughter,and something faintly medicinalthat refuses to apologise.It does not ask permission.It simply is:truth slipping out sideways,a confession madewith a mouth full of…
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Day 30 NovPAD Challenge
The Architecture of a Moment Notes: Rooted in the oldest English tradition, Anglo-Saxon accentual verse follows the rhythm of breath and heartbeat rather than syllable or rhyme, where meaning is carried by cadence, image, and pause. The Architecture of Next Forget the gentle transition,the slow cross-fade into the next scene. This is the guillotine bladestalled…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Cat and the Penguin Inquiry (A Winter’s Tale in One Act) The cat is pressed against the cold glass,the garden becoming a white sentence,watching the snow like it’s televisionfor intellectuals. “When,” he asks,without turning,“will the penguins arrive?The documentary said snowmeans penguins.And ice.And… formal wear.” The Old Woman looks up from her knitting.“That’s the Antarctic,…
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Day 29 NovPAD Challenge
The Architecture of a Moment Notes: Rooted in the oldest English tradition, Anglo-Saxon accentual verse follows the rhythm of breath and heartbeat rather than syllable or rhyme, where meaning is carried by cadence, image, and pause. This is experimental. The Architecture of What a Cello Remembers (long version) I remember handsbefore I remember sound. Fingers…
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Day 28 NovPAD Challenge
The Architecture of a Moment I. Written for Ink In Thirds The Meal The table is set for the living and the goneEmpty chairs hold their stories, their namesA sun that never truly leaves the table’s light II. For November’s Poem-a-Day Challenge The Architecture of What Is I have an acute and well-earnedunderstanding of loss.I know,…
It's Still Life 