Quiet Spaces

June 20th, 2009

These Four Walls (by premasagar)

She sits, dipping into the quiet spaces that dwell between the thoughts – collage of sounds and pictures that clutter the cerebral walls.

The quiet spaces – cool refreshing pools formed by the rainwater that falls, sometimes a trickle, sometimes a torrent, on the earth.

Where the water falls, seeds planted lifetimes ago find nourishment and begin to sprout and grow. Eventually to flower – petals spreading like flakes of coloured light that catch the Sun.

Petals, like invisible velvet to the fingertips – disappearing between the skin – soft, yet almost imperceptible. Their colours gold and fuchsia, deep poppy red and cornflower blue.

Early morning sunlight enters the window panes. She opens the windows and smells the air – grassy, sweet, fragrant with flowers, alive with birdsong.

The sunlight warms her eyelids, burning away the sleep of night.

Morning Fallen

May 20th, 2009


Morning fallen from the sky
Magpies dive to catch the silver tide
A box waits on the doorstep
With secrets inside.

White Coin

February 2nd, 2009

Noche de luna llena - Full moon night (by *L*u*z*a*)

A white coin
Hangs in the sky.
It turns and turns
Like a twinkling eye.

Spreads its light
Through houses and dens
And crosses the land
Over fields and fens.

Cliff Edge Sestina

November 21st, 2008

not afraid (by shoothead)

A stretch of sky.
My thoughts drop into shadow.
I can no longer beat my wings,
Standing at the edge of this cliff,
Far below, a sea,
Into which I am about to fall.

I feel the fear of the fall,
Grope around for a hold on the sky.
Can I stop myself dropping into the sea?
No, I am sucked under by shadow.
Losing my foothold on the cliff,
Alone and weak in the wings.
Continue Reading »

Question Mark

November 3rd, 2008

Thirty-one and a half weeks (by Roshnii)

Wanted to pop it out
on the page:
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 »

Flurry of Noise

September 24th, 2008

Tea Bag (by cmbellman)

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 »

Let it Flow

July 6th, 2008

Mountain Stream (by _marmota)
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 »

Shamanic Wandering

July 5th, 2008

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 »


June 26th, 2008

Jewel (by Sandra Regina)
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

The Pancakes

June 16th, 2008

good-morning pancakes

“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 »

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