Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Self Preservation For Dummies

I slept as best as I could,
surrounded by solemn, strange illusions,
that clung a little to me as I opened my eyes.
It was Sunday,
and all I wanted was the world,
but, first, breakfast.
Ice cream at four AM,
a cigarette in the quiet, crunching garden,
full of frost and forgotten flowerbeds.
There were hills and valleys waiting for my feet to find them,
but I watched the wind advance closer,
silver smoke that settled,
white army, with guns and gnashed teeth,
stomping up my path and all over my dying roses.
I buttoned up my winter coat,
and went back to bed.

The world would wait.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

An Open Letter To Snow

I know that you’re just trying to help.
You’ve seen the way we all admire you when you arrive somewhere scenic,
lighting up the place,
smiles lined across the faces of the cooing crowd,
so you probably thought “I’ll cheer them up!”,
but honestly love,
nobody has time to stop and stare,
and nobody has time for the song and dance you demand every time you show up,
so as well meaning as you might be,
just fuck off x

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Winter Morning

Leaves wave from the almost bare branches,
and though I am barely awake,
I am through with the day already.
The sky is a grey grimace,
glowering down at me,
giving attitude that I don’t deserve,
because we’re both getting going on a day that doesn’t promise us much.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Ever Present Changes

Flowers are fading as winter hangs in the air,
hot chocolate in her hands and a smug smile on her face.
Trees grasp to the last of their green glimmer,
glittering lover’s tears trickling down the solid branches as another departure is dragged out,
winter’s wicked grin towers grim over autumn’s last weeks,
watching the earth wither and die.
It’s okay.
Everything will return,
just as it always does,
if I wait,
I can be here to see it.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Winter’s Influence

Trees reach out with frozen fingertips for their lost leaves,
placed in the eye line of the powder blue sky,
the moon still shyly smiling across from the proud sun,
as the last of the birds go to their summer homes.

Winter has yet to arrive,
but her influence is everywhere.
Frost throws herself across the floor,
claiming the calm streets as snow circles the sky,
with her eyes aimed for all of us.