Colours etched deep in hues of light and dark, Kaleidoscopic texture, sharp and pure; The world seen from the viewpoint of a Lark, In every image lies a subtle lure. Within this scene, a forest wreathed in mist: Awakening from slumber trees stand proud. A meeting place for secret lovers tryst? Far from the … More A picture of freedom
Never a caressive thought spared for you, Despite all your lonely wanderings. With your deadly heady jasmine scent so pure, So intense it drew them all, inexorably to you. No. You, even in your savage isolation Sought dark places to repel their affection. Still they came, and burned their souls away with The purity … More Damned Belle
A little after Five am, six things happened simultaneously. Already bolt awake, Jim heard four of them. As something was pushed through his letterbox, his mobile vibrated, the tablet on his desk pinged and his answerphone whirred in to life. Unbeknownst to him a note was also placed under the windscreen of his Volvo at … More Wasted- Part 1
I should be burned, dead and buried. God knows, I could have helped them burn. Soap does burn, does it not? I am made of ash and oil. Twas my place to soothe, though. To aid. To cleanse. My current station? To laquer a haunted Thane with fresh layers of guilt, year by year. They … More Thane Of Strife
He was ever Herbologist ere priest, Felt sacred in the living green, Divine! His thirst for cures and antidotes increased, Yet plummeted his faith in scripture line. I was his greatest ever creation, Brewed only once, so deadly was my blood, Made to dispatch those long past salvation, Though toxic, my intentions were all … More Violent Delights
My cursed maker. They bound him within his forge till he finished me, and their goadings finished him. Thrice cursed was his mind, and his body followed. Rather than make any more of their cruel designs he beat his own eyes to pulp with his hammer, and cursing his Gods thrust his clever hands in … More Bane of Cawdor. II
I have not always been thus. A macabre trophy. In my time I have lived many lives, and witnessed countless secrets. We handkerchiefs are confidantes. Conspirators. Carried in places that are seldom touched by others. Nestled deep in sleeves, or bound tightly to corseted bosoms. Always near the pulsing throb of life. Oh, and I … More If a handkerchief could speak. Part Two.
I am now naught but a party piece of the new governor of Cyprus. Stained. Passed around like a whore in a tavern. Devoid of dignity, pride or ownership. Yet once I was a talisman of great import. My maker poured all of her essence and power and wisdom in to me, and gave me … More If a handkerchief could speak. Part One.
It looked like a ghost car, covered as it was in a sheen of dew outside and pearly sheets of condensation within. Silver and sleek, it was more crashed spaceship than car; entirely at odds with its natural green and brown surroundings. As the sun rose the only sound came from the cliff edge, a mere foot … More Early one morning-Part 1.