Roshnii

Wanted to pop it out
on the page:
Painless,
Perfectly formed.
But it takes time
and patience
to slowly shape it
into something
rhythmic and whole.

Two minds,
two hearts,
two bodies.
A spark,
A beginning.
Continue Reading »

She looked down at her knees and sighed and cried and wished she were thin and that the birds outside would stop their whining. The leaves hung limp from the branches like discarded clothes. She tried to force a smile but her cheeks burned with misery and she could not remember how to turn the muscles of her mouth upwards.

His footsteps still sullied the hallway leading out. Always out. Never in to where she sat waiting. Her fingers fumbled the jewels around her neck, cracked and useless like broken glass crunched beneath boot soles that slammed in her face. Continue Reading »

What I call ‘Stream of Consciousness’, also known as ‘Automatic Writing’, is when you write non-stop for a given period of time.

The idea is to literally write each idea as it comes into your head, not stopping to alter or control anything that comes onto the page.

For me, the results are often extraordinary. By switching off my normal analytical, critical mind, I open up a channel through which the creative mind can express itself.
Continue Reading »

Shadows fall on the ground
Draw dark lines
Across the children’s faces
Like tribal markings of holy men
Who crouch over a fire
Stirring worries
And thick magic
Into a spewing bubbling pool
Of liquid lava.

Their eyes flash like fireflies
In the darkness
And draw out the spirits of the dead
From the leaf mulch
That carpets the ground
Beneath their bare feet. Continue Reading »

Like a cocoon of silk
Wrapped in jewels
Her hair
Wisped in the wind

A shell curled round a string
Like a forgotten thing
A talisman
Of ancient wonderings

“I’m going to go for the smoked salmon bagel, I think,” Maurice said smiling as he drummed his fingers lightly on the laminate table top. Betty smiled softly too, for that was what he always said when they came for Sunday brunch at Roni’s. And he’d have a filter coffee, an orange juice and end with a jam-filled doughnut.

When Donny, the owner’s grandson came to take their order, Maurice reeled off his request, which Donny dutifully noted down on his pad, just as he did every Sunday.
“And you Ma’am, what will you be having?” Betty looked up at the young man, his sparky eyes, nose dotted with freckles. She bit her lip, hesitated. Donny raised his eyebrows. Continue Reading »

The platinum waves
curl in, crash and crumble.
A fleck of spray
lands on my lip,
(the Earth’s spittle).
Wind blows my hair
into a frenzy.

Can you feel it, Little Bean?
Feel the tide rocking,
the stones humming.
From the safety
of your cell, your shell,
Can you feel it?

The road full of fallen
branches and stones.
Bare skin of toes
Pierced
by jagged shards
of wood and flint.

Though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
that clawed at my throat,
threw my hair up to the sky,
howled down the canals
of my ears,
I walked on.
Steady purpose burning
between my eyebrows.
Continue Reading »

She waited.
As one can only do when one is alone and quiet.
Waited for a story to come,
for the last shrill tear of the seagull’s call.
Waited for the final shred of warmth
from the autumn sun’s rays.

In the silent, stirring, yearning depths of herself
an unheard song like a hushed whisper
called for some magic to weave itself into a spell
that danced on the page.

She felt nourished by tales of wizards
chased by shadows
and turning to hunt the darkness
with a staff bleached in light.

And she longed to tell a tale
not unlike those she poured over;
thinking that maybe in that
lay the quenching
of her soul’s thirst.

This website is work in progress.
It will soon be possible to view my photos, read my writings and listen to my music here.

For now, you can browse my Flickr Photostream.
or read my entries on Dharmasphere, a collaborative blogging project.

Check back here soon for more action!