Whimsy. A poem.

Sometimes, I get lost in your whimsy
and my elation at the thought of you
leaves every lowbrow, thoughtless convolution,
standing at the wayside, thumbing for a ride.
I choose to leave them all behind,
because I’ve found a better travelling partner.

Let’s lose ourselves in whimsy,


The All or the Nothing

For more of my poetry, check out The All or the Nothing, my first book, available at most online book sellers in print or e-book formats.
Click here to find out how to get your copy.

Want to support Steve with a donation? Click on the donate link at the bottom of this page. Thanks!

Stealthy. A poem.

You sneak into my world

past locks, alarms, sigils, wards 

down corridors of fatalistic compromise

through rooms of idealistic circumspection

and find me waiting earnestly

wanting, more or less

what you want

no need to be so stealthy 

The All or the Nothing

For more of my poetry, check out The All or the Nothing, my first book, available at most online book sellers in print or e-book formats.

Click here to find out how to get your copy.

Want to support Steve with a donation? Click on the donate link at the bottom of this page. Thanks!

Shiver. A poem.

This shiver, a sliver
of ions up my spine,
a delectable point
of contention on my mind
shaping continuities
of ecstasy, baking
hormones in my pituitary,
activated by your touch
in mine.

The All or the Nothing

For more of my poetry, check out The All or the Nothing, my first book, available at most online book sellers in print or e-book formats.

Click here to find out how to get your copy.

Want to support Steve with a donation? Click on the donate link at the bottom of this page. Thanks!

Your Kiss. A poem.

Your kiss
takes me to places
I’ve been before
and long to revisit.

When the voyage is over
I’m longing
for that travel bug
to capture and
enrapture me again.

The All or the Nothing

For more of my poetry, check out The All or the Nothing, my first book, available at most online book sellers in print or e-book formats.

Click here to find out how to get your copy.

Want to support Steve with a donation? Click on the donate link at the bottom of this page. Thanks!

Twosome. A poem.

You creep up on me
An inveterate stalker
A ghostly presence
A firefly somnambulist
(Shadowing its prey)

You wrap me up
(A Christmas treat)
In sunflower petals
An itinerant limpet
Squeezing me senseless

You take me down
And bleed me until dry
Subcutaneous showers
(That eventually leave me)
Drained and serendipitous

Now we entwined
Seek a sunlight sojourn
(In darkness we are)
A tattooed compromise
Until morning arrives

I write a lot of poems, some from my head, some from my heart. Many don’t appear on this website. For more of my poetry, check out The All or the Nothing, my first e-book, available at most online book sellers.

Click here to find out how to get your copy.

The Cycle. A poem.

Strangers, friends, lovers,
then strangers again.
Lovers and strangers,
but no longer friends.

It seems it’s a cycle
we’re doomed to repeat.
A cycle of madness,
one we just can’t escape.
No matter how we try
to break the cycle each time,
we always end up
back at the start of the line:

strangers, friends, lovers,
then strangers again.
Lovers and strangers,
but no longer friends.

I write a lot of poems, some from my head, some from my heart. Many don’t appear on this website. For more of my poetry, check out The All or the Nothing, my first e-book, available at most online book sellers.

Click here to find out how to get your copy.

You and Me. A poem.

This touch fuelling
wanton and wastrel
diamond moments of
placating needs in
that scorches earth
no longer barren
swollen contempt
and now just
YOU and ME

I write a lot of poetry, some of which comes from my head, some from my heart, and some from my a$&@. Many don’t appear on this website. For more poems, check out The All or the Nothing, my first e-book of poetry, available at most online book sellers.
Click here to find out how to purchase a copy to treasure forever, or at least until some other e-book takes your fancy 😉

The Year of Living Dangerously.

Is love hard to find?

In today’s fast moving and super-connected society, it can be. And for those of us who are shy, awkward, socially inhibited, or just plain old, it can be dang near impossible (yeah, old people use ‘dang’. What’s that, they don’t? Oh, shut up).

That’s where dating apps come in. No longer much-maligned and embarrassing to admit, they’re an invaluable tool for meeting new people.

My Tinder-esque experiences over the last year varied from the wonderful (a woman who appreciates my sense of humour) to the indescribable (foil hat-wearing oddjobs). I can certainly say the crazy gamut of wild and wanton women made my life interesting.

But the time came to put childish things away. I retired my dating app a few months back (only writing about it now? Sorry, had a few things going on).

I’m not saying I’ve found a perfect love (we’re both at the “like ya a lot” stage); we’re still testing the hot waters with each other, occasionally getting burnt, but not bad enough to run for cover. And that’s as good as anything in this crazy old world. Especially for this crazy old guy.

Now, I have to take my woman (oooh, she hates me calling her that…) shoe shopping. And I’m liking it a lot.


Steve 🙂

Paper Hearts. A poem.

My heart was torn,
tiny pieces shredded
like origami shapes
fluttering on the wind.

Just like every
paper person
in my overcrowded mind,
an overcrowded sea
of paper people,
with shredded paper hearts,
like origami shapes
fluttering on the wind.

The All or the Nothing is my first e-book of poetry, available at most online book sellers. To find out how to buy a copy,
click here.

The Not-So-Burning Bush. A short tale.

I haven’t written a flash fiction for a while. Here’s my poor attempt at romantic fiction.


Steve 😊

I was ensconced in the bush, its leaves and branches irritating and scratching my face. Completely hidden, I craned my neck to hear what was said, while trying to maintain some sort of focus on Jenny. I could see her back through the foliage.

“…and I just couldn’t believe what she was telling me, y’know? Like, the guy she’s been going out with has been cheating on her for weeks, and she knows it, and she’s still seeing him. Is that pathetic, or what?” The other girl nodded and they both laughed. A few more words and her friend left for a lecture across campus. Jenny sat on the bench near the tree I was hiding in, started checking her iPhone.

At that moment, a sparrow landed next to me on a branch near my head. It was so unexpected that I yelped involuntarily, spun, fell through the bush and collapsed on my back on the pavement next to the bench. My head hit the concrete with a crunch, and I’m sure I saw stars. Yes, just like in cartoons.

Jenny swore, startled by the sudden miracle of a man from a not-so-burning bush. She stood over me, looking concerned (I assume for my potential medical condition, and not for any perceived mental condition). “Jacob? Oh, my God, are you all right?”

I was swearing. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” I rubbed the back of my skull, tried to get up, decided I felt better lying there. “I take that back. No, I’m not.”

Jenny kneeled next to me, unsure of what to do. Students walked past, amused, bemused, uncaring, or a combination of all of the above.

Jenny raised an eyebrow. “What were you doing in that bush?”

“I think I might have a concussion…” Avoidance is the better part of valour, so someone once said. I think it was me, just now.

Jenny frowned as it dawned on her. “Were you stalking me?”

“No, I was just…resting in the bush. For a moment. Getting my bearings. Bird watching. I love trees.” Lying on my back, rubbing my painful head, coming up with terrible excuses. I was the cover model for lame. “Yes, I was stalking.”

She crossed her arms, tilted her head in that delightful way she did when she was being judgemental. “Oh, my God, that is so creepy. And I used to think you were cute.”

“You thought I was cute? I had no idea.”

“Obviously, or you wouldn’t be hanging out in bushes, spying on me.”

“Would you like to get a coffee, or something?” In hindsight, probably not the best time to ask, but I was hurt, desperate and concussed, covered in leaves, scratches and embarrassment. Probably could try for the sympathy vote. Or an insanity plea.

Jenny laughed. She laughed so much she had to wipe away tears. After about a minute of further humiliation, she smiled. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but okay.”

“Really? You just caught me stalking you like some crazy guy.”

“Oh God, you really are an idiot, aren’t you? I said yes, already. Shut up, get up, and let’s get that coffee, before I change my mind.”

Jenny helped me to my feet. I stumbled a bit, grinning all the while.

“Am I going to regret this?” she said.

“Maybe,” I said. “Maybe not.”

We both smiled.

REckLEss. A poem.

HEre I am

REckLEss when you’re ARound.

Should I STay

Should I GO

Should I CHance the EBb and FLow

A MOment’s INdecision

And I’m CAught up in YOur SHow

ONce again I’m REckLEss

BUt I’ve noWHere else to


The All or the Nothing is my first e-book of poetry. To find out how to buy a copy,
click here.

Half-light. A poem.

Sweat and toil and creaking
springs, grasping fingers and the scent of hallowed
limbs. Perfect and imperfect rhythms in
motion, bestial howls and fire and tender
susurration, collated in the
half-light of a muted TV.

From this vantage point we survey the hedonic
battlefield, where dust and smoke dissipates and we
victors rejoice with liquid tongues and golden
perspicacity. The half-light lingers;
we prepare to charge into the fray again.

The All or the Nothing is my first e-book of poetry. To find out how to buy a copy,
click here.

Backseat. A poem.

Random musings and the
explicit constancy of touch,
a quickening cadence
strafing the scene like
machine gun fire.

This beckoning equivalent,
captured in steamy windows
and whispered expectations.
Here on this unsubtle backseat,
fertile new world exploration
begins and ends.

The All or the Nothing is my first e-book of poetry. To find out how to buy a copy,
click here.

Tinder Time. A poem.

Flick left, swipe right.
A pallid, Saturday night
police line up of unambiguity,
measured by nervous
fingertip and amygdala.
A feature-filled array
of fatuous smiles
and narcissistic natures,
whereby motherly and mad
skip hand-in-hand with the
otherworldly and overwrought.
Consider this winsome
wheel of fortune,
spinning around and around
but never coming back to the one
I truly want
and can’t live without.

The All or the Nothing is my first e-book of poetry. To find out how to buy a copy,
click here.

Waiting, wanting, waning.

I’m waiting at the Legal Aid office to get some advice about my upcoming property settlement. Needless to say it’s a dull experience, punctuated by the typing on my iPhone, the shuffle of papers, the muffled choke of a straining air conditioner and the murmurs of hushed and sullen conversations.

It’s not as depressing as it sounds (alright, it is as depressing as it sounds, but I’m somewhat biased since I suffer from long-term depression). My property settlement has been dragging on for several years now, and needs to be finalised soon, otherwise the process could start getting messy. Hah! As if it wasn’t messy already.

On a brighter note, I’m house sitting for the next few days, looking after a friend’s place while they’re on holiday. It’s nice to get out of my familiar womb every once in a while, even if it’s only to remind myself I’m not a monk. Actually, I may as well be one, since I’ve given up on online dating (meant to blog about that; reminder: blog about giving up online dating) until I’m in a better frame of mind. Based on previous experience, that may be never. But hopefully, sooner. Is ‘sooner’ part of the almost infinite measure of ‘never’? Is it a measurement at all? My brain hurts.

As I’m living in town the next few days I think I might do some busking. Busking, I hear you say? Yes, busking. I’m a poor, mature age student—emphasis on the poor. I’m also a musician, and this is the most convenient opportunity to play (read: embarrass myself) in public and maybe make a few bucks while I’m at it. Or not. Maybe I’ll make enough to cover my on-street parking fees? I guess it’ll depend on how much people enjoy my caterwauling.

Take care, all. I’ll tell you how it all works out.


Steve 🙂

Hello. A poem.

Linked by thoughts
known and unknown;
blinkered and guileless,
liberated, yet uncertain.

Your hand brushed mine
and every inhibition
was washed away by a rain
of dream-soaked inebriation:

You had me at “hello”.

Steve is a sad and angst-filled poet, who needs your help to continue being one.

His first book of poetry, The All or the Nothing, is available now as an e-book from most online distributors – click here.

Guide to the Unrequited Love Affair

Unrequited Love. That thing you have when you don’t have a thing—Clayton’s love (okay, only oldies may get that joke). Here’s a short guide on how to do it:

  • Fall in love with a person who is far too good for you, or is unobtainable. This could be a ‘love at first sight’ thing, or it could be a love that develops over time. Like a bizarre rash or a mild fungal infection.
  • Realise they are far too good for you, so avoid them whenever you can. Make sure you beat yourself up about not being good enough for them.
  • Learn to be miserable most of the time. If you’re already depressed this will simply reinforce how badly you feel about yourself.
  • Try and organise your time so you can run into them by chance. This will fail miserably, of course, because you have no idea what their schedule is as you were previously avoiding them and thus don’t know them that well.
  • When you do run in to them, make sure your conversation precludes any indication that you like them. Once they leave, beat yourself up about how stupid you are. Be miserable.
  • Realise you don’t know really know the person you’ve fallen for and that your conception of them is an idealised fantasy. Beat yourself up some more about how stupid you are.
  • See your unrequited love in public with another person, assume they are together and beat yourself up about it. Find out later this is not the case. Beat yourself up about how stupid you are.
  • Write poetry to reflect your passion and your sad and sorry state of mind. Realise your unrequited love hates poetry. Ensure that your unrequited love never sees your poetry.
  • Spend sleepless nights agonising over why you love this person and how you’re not good enough for them. Be miserable.
  • Find out the person you love is now in love with someone else and write more poetry to address how badly you screwed up. Get used to being miserable. (Oh, you already are. No worries.)

Note: No stalking! It’s weird enough that you’re in unrequited love with a person you don’t know that well, but don’t push it over the line into creepy/illegal territory. 

Come on people! Now you know how to fall in unrequited love, get out there and get to it! A whole new world of infinite yearning and morbid sadness is waiting for you!

Of course, you could try another tack, which is asking said person out and seeing if they say ‘yes’. But that would be too simple for your overly-complicated and insecure mind, wouldn’t it?


Steve 😉

Beached. A poem.

Here, amongst a billion tiny souls
crunching below my feet,
sticking between my toes,
a first kiss of many.

Furtive, restless, heated,
fingers and palms hitchhiking
over a bountiful landscape.
A tsunami flowing through the fields,
disrupting your trains of thought
and once rational mind.

As the sun sinks lower and evening falls;
like time, we shall come to pass on these dunes.
Here, amongst a billion tiny souls
that crunch between our feet
and the small of your back.

Would you like to read more poetry and prevent Steve from starving at the same time?

Steve’s first book of poetry, The All or the Nothing, is available now as an e-book from most online distributors. For more information,
click here.

Peak. A poem.

You conquered me
like a mountain (or a molehill).
Climbed me and then left me here,
another spire to aspire to.

Was I just a rocky crag used as
a monument to your success?
What was my reward, just a
wanton moment, better to forget?

Here I stand, wind blown
and forever circumspect,
a peak waiting on another expedition.
Hopefully, one that’ll show me more respect.

My first book of poetry, The All or the Nothing, is available now as an e-book from most online distributors. To find out more, click here.

Chat(less). A poem.

Fractious conversations;
half-hearted, lip synced.

Frantic fingers tracing familiar paths,
back and forth across time
and space.

How much longer until each
gives in, or
gives up?

Until the melodrama
unfolds, like poorly crafted origami
and becomes
a crumpled paper crane.

Aimless fingers tap dance,
until the music ends.
You need to be somewhere
other than your own space
and time.

Stop typing!
Feel the breeze on your face.

The world awaits.

Tinder Surprise. A poem.

Flip left
Flip right

Or natch?

Just like a toy
in a chocolate egg
(sometimes broken)

Tinder surprise

My first book of poetry, The All or the Nothing, is available now as an e-book from most online distributors. To find out more, click here.

Online Dating Sellout

Okay, okay. I admit it. I sold out. I downloaded Tinder.

If you have read my previous online dating posts (here, here, here, here and here), you’ll know that I was vehemently opposed to Tinder because of the considerably biased rep the poor app, and its users, have (note how I am now sounding more sympathetic). I didn’t want to be seen as someone just looking to ‘hook up’, and being a Christian, it was doubly inappropriate.

Well, I have now tried the Tinder experience and I can say that my opinion is pleasantly changed (read: eat humble pie). I have been on a few online dating websites and they have been somewhat…disappointing. Women with photos that look nothing like them, crazy stalkers and scammers haunt my waking hours (okay, that’s a bit overly dramatic, but I’m a writer. Cut me some slack).

Within hours of being on Tinder (swipe left, swipe right – I feel like I’m in The Karate Kid and Mr Miyagi is abstractly teaching me some new defensive move), I had a few (admittedly vague) conversations.

Within a few days I had a date (yes, remarkable, given my jaded dating history). It was nice: a few drinks, dinner and a fun night. No, she wasn’t Christian, but we had a good time anyway. I have now had a few more decent conversations with other women and will try a few more dates. No, I’m not playing the field. I’m very upfront with my date that if we don’t think we are viable long-term prospects then we move on. Okay, maybe I do sound a little shallow (what does the guilty-looking emoji look like…).

Turns out Tinder is not so bad, after all.


Steve 😊

Superhot. A poem.

My iPhone
is an older model…by a lot.

The outside’s looking dated and she’s slower than she was.
I’m thinking of trading up, because

the new model
is superhot.

Was a time when I couldn’t take my hands off her,
when my fingers traced her delicate contours.
She was at my beck and call.

Some kind of mystical allure, of that you can be sure.

But lately she seems a little…old hat.
Dressed her up in fine new clothes
and that seemed to work a bit,
but the magic, my friend, is long, long gone.
Now, this is all I’m left with.

So, I’m thinking of trading up

to a new model
that’s superhot.

One I can show off to all my friends,
because I like the way I look to them
and showing how


I’m not.

Starving Man. A poem.

I am a starving man
Hungry for love and life
Intentionally bulimic
My stomach groans
Reminder of my hunger strike
Surrounded by the feast
Confounded by the choice
Arms too weak to take
Eyes too dim to see
Lips parched and belly swollen
The starving man stumbles on
Hungry for love

Bomb. A poem.

I sabotage myself
Every time you're in the room
An unexploded bomb
In my mouth
Just waiting
To detonate
And kill any chance
Of being with you

Turbulence. A poem.

They're across a crowded room
And the narcissist within
Is screaming "look at me, look at me"
But the introvert without
It whispers "look away, look away"
Trying to smile is a struggle
As complex and as simple as a Gordian knot
And while the cannibal butterflies
Consume your insides
And the flush creeping up
Makes you look like a fire hydrant
And you're thinking hard
How not to screw it up
They've started talking with another
And all you have left is self reproach
And one big "Doh!"
Better luck next time

For Sale. A poem.

For sale
Older model
Chassis in fine shape, no rust
Engine in good condition
Fiery but reliable
May need a lick of paint
And new tires
Great long term investment
Won’t let you down
Can be driven hard
Or from A to B
Whatever your fancy
Some wisdom and insight required
Best or nearest offer

Going cheap
Reduced to clear

The Dance. A Haiku Trilogy.


Somewhat awkward glance
I should look her in the eye
My reservation


Small talk at table
Wondering if she’s like me
Enigmatic souls


I should ask her out
Fear gets the better of me
Together alone

Love myself some haiku. No better way to express poetic whiles then in the confines of a 5/7/5 syllabic structure. I could build a wealth of poems on such a foundation.

You can read more of my haikus here.

Illiterate. A poem.

Illiterate, that’s me
Unable to decipher
The signals
She’s sending

I’m not stand-offish
I’m just not sure
How to interpret
Italics, san serif and cursive

A woman is a novel
Written in filigree
So difficult to read
And yet all I truly need

Angel. A poem.

I dreamed that my Angel walked with me
And we talked at length
A gentle discourse about books, music and coffee

And on the hill beneath the spire
We explored each other shyly
Espousing our thoughts in their entirety
And we kissed each other meekly
Thinking how wonderful this could be
Stomachs churning with dancing butterflies
Wondering if a love so true could lie

I dreamed that my Angel walked with me
But it was just a dream
And dreams belong to sleep

Saturday Night. A poem.

Streets afire with love divine
Taking names and stumbling feet
Liquor-fuelled lust surrounds
Like ships that sail on silken sheets

Uproarious dinner conversations
Filled with gentle goodbyes
And enthusiastic hellos
And iPhone intermissions

A cello paints the night
In shades of blue and grey
Pining for the one that flew
Internal circumspection played

Each over-revved car drives by
Panthers stealthy, by light they slept
Reanimated by the sunset lie
To hunt abroad for civil prey

And here I am in bed, alone again
Listening to the many voices
Of Saturday night retreaded
And wondering why I am here by choice

Wake Up. A poem.

Her eyes
Moonlit pools to drown in

Her smile
Life preserver to save me

Her laugh
Ecstasy I was addicted to

Her love
Constant life renewal

The dream
Don’t ever wake me from

Too late
Face the truth, she’s gone

Styx. A poem.

A heart full of love
Almost fit to burst
A longing
A lonely, ongoing search
Time is trial
A Herculean feat
A test to see

If you’re worthy of she
Staying awake

Staying alive
Whittled away slowly

While dying inside
Charon waits

His payment, the price
To cross the Styx

To where the dead reside
A heart full of love

Is the only cost
If you ride with the ferryman
All you fought for is lost

Crush. A poem.

She gets by
On creative bent
And poor self image
A love of God
And 60’s music
But when she smiles
She’s Aphrodite
All wonder, shine
And wry amusement
And I’m swept away
Off my feet and into dreams
But some dreams can never be
Because life is pure

Well Met. A Poem.

A blast from the past
We knew each other better then
When our saliva mingled and so did our sweat
Now it’s small talk, not quite the same
About families, jobs and Game of Thrones
Never mentioning once
How we were like vines, all intertwined
Animals unleashed, despoiling motel rooms, back seats and parks
Pretending to others that we just met
Lying to better halves about where we went
Today it’s small talk, knowing smiles
And awkward farewells
Well met, lessons learned

A poem about misguided affairs of the heart.

Swept up and swept away, never thinking about the real price you pay.

Online Dating Scams – don’t be a target and a victim

Good lord, I can’t believe it. Me, a guy who is so security and privacy conscious, who is IT-literate and generally pretty smart, fell for one of the oldest scams in the book.

Well, not quite fell, but almost.

Scams are rife in the world of online dating. Lonely older people are easy to prey on. And having been lonely for a long time, and now in the mature (over 40) age bracket, it appears that I’m now a target.

So how did it happen? Loooong story. How about I try to move on from my embarrassment and just tell you what to look for:

  • Beware of attractive younger people sending you winks/messages. If the message indicates they want to talk via email, rather than the date site’s messaging system, be cautious, and recommend using the dating site until you know them better. If they suggest using a dedicated messaging app like Yahoo Messenger, be aware that this app has been hacked in the past and has security issues. Also, if their email address sounds strange, that’s potentially another warning.
  • If the person provides too much personal information about themselves, especially too early in the ongoing email conversation, be careful: they are trying to get you to provide your own personal details and earn your trust or sympathy. Scammers know that many people use their dates of birth in their passwords, so never give it out. Also, don’t send photos of yourself in emails, scammers can use you info to create false profiles to rip off other people.
  • If the person’s story seems too good to be true, or too tragic to be true, it’s probably not.
  • The scammers will be working on multiple people through that dating website at the same time, so be conscious of slips (i.e. they use the wrong name, or repeat several words several times as if they have inaccurately cut and pasted a response).
  • If the writing in a message has poor grammar (especially where a person has stated on their profile they have high level or University-level qualifications), be aware that scams are often conducted from other countries where English is not the first language. Additionally, look for syntax changes in messages that sound like a different person is writing from the person who wrote before – it could be a team of scammers, rather than a single person.
  • Be wary if the other party doesn’t want to talk with you on the phone or meet in person. If they are working from another country they know their accent will give them away and that there is no way they can meet, so they will put you off as long as they can.
  • The scammer will play on your loneliness by finding out about you and talking about high levels of love/commitment very early, to gauge how easy it may be to manipulate you. They may even indicate that they have plenty of money (e.g. an inheritance or good job) so as not to arouse your suspicions of a scam.
  • Be cautious if the person is overseas or says they are going to be travelling soon. Generally they will be going to a country where they will have a “mishap” (e.g. lose wallet/purse) and will then attempt to get money from you, based on whether they believe they have built enough trust to try it on. This may include bank account details. NEVER give your credit card or bank account details in an email.

Once the scammer is aware that you may be on to them, they will stop emailing you. Block their address so you don’t get anything from them again. Notify the dating website of the scam so they can remove the profile. It may be a good idea to change your passwords associated with the website and your email, especially if you use your name or date of birth in them.

There are lots of sites around that give out tips on how to avoid online scamming – I’ve added a few links below.

I’m glad I didn’t fall for it, but part of me wanted to, and that’s because lonely people make themselves easy targets, and thus, easy victims.

Don’t be a target, or a victim. There’s enough of those in the world already.


Australian Government Scam Watch – https://www.scamwatch.gov.au/types-of-scams/dating-romance

Wikihow – http://www.wikihow.com/Spot-an-Online-Dating-Scammer

Romance Scams – http://www.romancescams.org/

Independent – http://www.independent.co.uk/life-style/love-sex/online-dating-fraud-how-to-identify-most-likely-scammer-profiles-scams-a7553616.html

Magic. A poem.

As if by magic
One world ended and another began
Furtive baby steps into the new dawn
I raised my voice, emboldened, and sang
As if by magic
Suddenly you appeared, I was invested
I was lost in you so deep that before I knew it
My heart was bursting free from my chest
As if by magic
I reached out, brought you close, let you in
Finally moving on from tears and bitterness
All the endless waiting worth it in the end
As if by magic
The better person I had long resolved to be
The impossible you became my everything
And love had finally found its way to me   


Yeah, I’m a bit of a sap when it comes to love.

Still looking. Still waiting. Still imagining.

I’ve got a good feeling.


Date Night. A short tale.

The mirror image was unflattering.

She had been trying on dresses for the last hour. They always looked better on the rack and in the fitting rooms before she bought them. She knew there was something about the mirrors in stores. Like the ones at carnivals, but warping everything to look better (maybe she should get one installed…).

It looked like jeans and a blouse were a better option. Three changes later and she was satisfied. Black skinny jeans (almost a miracle needed to get them on; not quite the parting of the Red Sea, but almost) and a billowy white shirt, untucked (why did her ass and thighs look so big? Where was that carnival mirror…) over a black tank top (she was sure it was bigger, before. Had her boobs grown? Maybe the top shrunk in the wash. That’s okay, it emphasised her cleavage more, now. She would just leave a few extra buttons open to show ’em off. Face palm: that was so slutty.)

All this crap for a blind date. And what if he looked worse than she did? What if he was some loser, no job, aimless? She shook her head. Her best friend wouldn’t match her like that. All her fears and insecurities were rising to the surface. Best push them down, keep them buried, like they usually were. “Yeah, real healthy,” she said to the empty room (hmm. It was pretty empty. Maybe she needed to get a cat? Hold on a minute – that way lay long term spinster-dom and more cats…)

Makeup applied, not overdone, but not sparingly (less whorish, more Watergate cover up. Big sigh). Her phone alarm beeped. Time to face the music, she thought. She pouted to the mirror, mouthing silently “it’s so nice to meet you”. Tilted her head. Silent pretend laugh.

She rolled her eyes and headed for the door. One last glance back. Maybe she would get a cat…


What is this flash fiction stuff? I only started it recently (and maybe my short tales are a bit too long to be called flash fiction. I don’t know). This one is a bit clichéd, but that’s okay – nobody’s perfect.

Not even with the benefit of carnival mirrors.  


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