Heartbreak. A prose poem.
My heart was broken, and the pieces lay scattered across the floor like so much fractured crystal. It lay where it fell for days, weeks, months. I fixated on my shattered heart for a long time. Everywhere I looked, everywhere I walked, I was in danger of cutting myself on a fragment. Visitors and friends stepped delicately around the shards like navigating a minefield. Every once in a while I would think about tidying up. But the strewn slivers were a reminder both comforting and saddening. One day, I awoke to find the pieces were gone, as if they had … Continue reading Heartbreak. A prose poem.
Haiku Friday. Three freaky haikus.
Message I got a message, anonymous, confusing. “Don’t wait up,” it said. Nerd Glasses, weird hair cut, quirky disregard for all. “Grab a seat, player!” Dog All dogs love me so. Must be my cool aftershave. Or meat in pocket. . Haikus, those wonderful little 5/7/5 syllable Japanese poems, are usually serious. I decided serious is not for me, today. Cheers Steve 🙂 Continue reading Haiku Friday. Three freaky haikus.
Guest Post: Mind Matters
I’ve never had anyone do a guest post before, but I was chatting with my sister-in-blog Donna, of mind matters, and asked her if she’d like to write one. Donna and her family were traumatised while living with a religious … Continue reading Guest Post: Mind Matters
Dead Men Deep. A poem.
Hulls of broken ships, scattered like white noise. The sea bed, as black as a charcoal cellar. It welcomes sailors to their ends, bloated corpses sleeping in hammocks of crusted ribs, drunk on briny, antique wine. Coral wreaths and sawdust mouths; barnacles, the new tattoo that marks the passage from man to martyr. Here among the starfish and crustacean shells, unworried by the weather, seabed tales in whale song punctuate their empty dreams. Continue reading Dead Men Deep. A poem.
Writing…stuff.
So, I’ve posted a few things about writing. Not that I’m an expert or anything, but readers seem to like me rambling on. I’ve made it a ‘thing’ (I like to do that–‘Haiku Friday’ anyone?). So, now you can find … Continue reading Writing…stuff.
City of the Lost. A poem.
I looked to the city. The lights were on, but nobody was home. I was alone. I expected dust devils to whirl as I walked through my world. Behind every door a Marie Celeste, of empty chairs and still full plates. Always alone. Wherever I looked reigned emptiness, yesterday’s news and mild distress. The dust and dirt of memories clung to my walls like tragedy. And then the lights went out. That was when I knew, without a doubt: I would always be alone. But what was always there, that I just couldn’t see, were all the souls surrounding me. Continue reading City of the Lost. A poem.
Mutant Year Zero – Gamma goings-on in the wasteland
I said ages ago (yes, literally eons, in a time when winter frost covered the land like icing sugar. Hmmm. That’s a stupid simile) that I would review some Tabletop Role Playing Games, as I am a complete nerd nut … Continue reading Mutant Year Zero – Gamma goings-on in the wasteland
Options. A poem.
So many options. So many numbers, so many keys. A lifetime of choice compressed into one, mechanical drone call. Menus designed to send me on my way (but not in a good way, or a satisfied way, or a new way). Menus, like life, with far too many options. Continue reading Options. A poem.
She Loves Me (Not). A poem.
She loves me, She loves me not. I suppose I’ll never know. She loves me, She loves me not. I have to let her go. She loves me not. And that’s how it always ends. Continue reading She Loves Me (Not). A poem.
The Art of Observation, Character, Dialogue and Navel Gazing. An occasional post on writing.
Do you suffer from depression? If so, you’ll know the Black Dog. If not, click here or here before reading on. An Observation on Observation Every writer should be an observer. Every writer should watch the people around them, taking … Continue reading The Art of Observation, Character, Dialogue and Navel Gazing. An occasional post on writing.
Clockwork. A poem.
Causal expectations and experience will say that I will just gain nothing from this long and tedious day. My movement winding down, corroded, insecure, scattered springs, nuts and bolts and thoughts abound, unsure. Who’s to say my automation is better than before? Let cogs and gears grind on and on as I cogitate some more. I was once wound so tightly that I thought I’d never slow, but now my springs are stretched and worn, so tired and overblown. Tick tock, cries the clock, round and round it goes, this clockwork man keeps winding down, all the way to zero. Continue reading Clockwork. A poem.
Hate. An Acrostic Poem.
Her apple eyes look through me, Auspicious in ambiguity. To think, I thought she liked me. Extra ego in perpetuity. Continue reading Hate. An Acrostic Poem.
Haiku Friday. Three Haikus pour vous!
Fence Sitter Here in your desert, every choice a mirage; each oasis lost. Silence Shy, foolish man child, so terminally quiet. Silence will end you. Bloom I wish love would bloom. In the field of broken hearts, loneliness grows strong. . Well, it’s that time of the week again. Haiku Friday demands three line poems with a 5/7/5 syllable structure. And what Haiku Friday demands, it gets! Cheers Steve 🙂 Continue reading Haiku Friday. Three Haikus pour vous!
The Great Australian Novel. A pondering.
So, what exactly happened with the writing of my great Australian novel (and I use the term ‘great’ very loosely)? I don’t have writer’s block*. I know a lot of writers suffer from this, and I am always sympathetic (did … Continue reading The Great Australian Novel. A pondering.
Fall for you. A poem.
The light is fading, you’re walking out; she’s reclining luxuriantly. The light in those magical eyes is enough to blind a man, before you question why. That smile, combined with sylvan form, is hot enough to melt a man (raised on a diet of ‘avoid’). Like a supernova sundae, take him out at the knees, leave him confused and dazed, with thoughts, indiscreet. Get out of there before that brazen temptress (Who doesn’t know her power over all that exists) enthralls you with her siren voice; makes you fumble, stumble, makes the floor your only choice. Escape while you can, … Continue reading Fall for you. A poem.
Laidback DM: SteveStillStanding.com 