Love Ages

Heart flutters in the chest

The Mind knows not to rest

First kisses taste the best


Love Sickness at its worst

Longing fit to burst

To deal with Lust’s thirst


Thrills fill the start

Can’t ever be apart

Don’t want to depart


Time shifts Love’s power

It no longer devours

No longer Lust’s hour


Now companions in life

Sharing its strife

And both thrive



Very Short Stories, Week 13

Good morning! I’m glad I survived another week of impromptu problems.

Friday the 5th, I accidentally triggered a massive clog in a branch line for our laundry and kitchen sinks. Friday the 12th, the problem was actually fixed after about $900 had been spent.

The week saw a great many anxiety attacks as I played phone tag with the plumbers, but now… I’m feeling a lot lighter in terms of mood.

However, my very short stories this week may have been affected by it all. Here’s hoping you manage to enjoy them anyways!


July 9th

#Beneath starry skies
Eyes divine the lies
Of an unkind mind.

Inner audience
Applaud a Godliness,
Destructive and callous.

Yet race time’s clock
Like a fired glock.
Dodge Death and decay.

Goals are our souls
Filling the holes
Of mortality’s game.


July 10th

The witch pulled back her dark curtains and watched the costumed children run from house to house. Lips curled in a snarl at the sight of green skin and a wart under the pointy, black hat. Holding an abalone shell, she meditated.

‘How I hate #trick or treating.’


July 11th

#Fury’s hands tightened around her throat. Fingers dug into soft flesh, yielding, and the faint pulse vibrated through its arm. Its black eyes watched tears well in her dying gaze, unempathetic.

Her last breath was a mumbled sorry, guilty.

Her last sight, Hellish Fire.


July 12th

The #tunnel curled, spiraling downwards inside the Earth, and they followed its steep descent. Footsteps echoed louder than the hushed whispers of the ragged group. Their lights caused the coloured quartz to glow, a stunning rainbow that faded in the depths of the rock.


July 13th

‘There’s #precious little time in the day,’ she whispered into his ear and roused him.

‘What’d you say?’

‘I said get up!’ she said markedly louder against his face, ‘We have dinner plans with my parents, remember?’

Finally sitting, he muttered, ‘But it’s nap time…’


July 14th

The sun’s rays shone upon the #boy’s neck, burning skin slow as a snail. Sweat beaded, fell, and formed again; the taste of salt strong on his tongue. Calloused feet carried his bony body forward down the asphalt road. Its stinging heat unfelt by worn soles.


July 15th

A #torrent of rain ripped through the roof. She woke to its cold water pounding down on her and soaking the confines of her room. Frantic, she rushed about, collecting memories in the form of photos and figurines.

She abandoned them when the flooding reached her knees.

Love Is

Love is boundless.

It warms all hearts

Despite size

Despite colour

Despite gender.


Love is infectious.

It makes its home

Despite health

Despite religion

Despite career.


Love is triumphant.

It sounds its horn

Despite trauma

Despite insecurity

Despite hate.


Love is a cure.

Best spread on Hope’s wings

to Everyone

Despite differences.

Bow to No Man

My first priority

should be me.

But my shoulders carry

Lists done daily.


And it grows

Makes new lows.

But here I am

And I’ll be damned

If I fail.

I roar,

not wail.


Take care of him.

Cups filled to the brim.

Still, I push forward

For I’m no coward.


Fall now and then

But I get up again.

Check off my list

With clenched fist

And wear my smile.


I know it’s futile

To fight my role

For it’s in my soul.

And yet there’s apart

Of my beating heart

It says there’s more

Behind closed doors.


And now I say

I bow to no man.

That’s not my plan.

Very Short Stories, Week 12

My traditional Monday post is here! The past week has flown by and had some amazing prompt words, too.

I will say I think this week’s very short stories were somewhat influenced by The Mentalist. Most of them seem to belong in a darker category, but there can be beauty in that, too.

Anyways, I hope you enjoy!


July 2nd

The dandelion stems were a #braid bound by delicate fairy fingers. Yellow petals were balanced atop the dusty curls, a token for their princess. Wearing the practice crown, she twirled before her flighty friends. Her dress glowed in the sun, the sheer silk now a star.


July 3rd

‘Everyone, to the storm shelter,’ he announced over the PA system. Students and teachers hurried across fading linoleum to the door he held open. He stood grim like a statue, unfazed by cries and the odd yell. His #equanimity lasted until the tornado touched down.


July 4th

#Liberty taunted her from behind steel bars, and with the jingling footsteps of guards. But she tasted it in her dreams. The walls of her cell dissolved into an urban landscape, filled with unfamiliar smells and sights.

Another mark on the wall of her ten-year sentence.


July 5th

Her fingers shook, reaching for the rope, afraid her other hand might slip. If I can get off this cliff, I’ll #contact EMTs, she mused. Clutching the rough, woven twine, she climbed with bloody hands.

On solid ground, she glanced down at the crumpled body of her friend.


July 6th

Black paws #unfurled, revealing white claws that scratched the ground. Crimson drops fell from the creature’s fangs and decorated the prints it left in its wake. Red and blue lights shimmered off its silver fur whilst sirens rang tirelessly. Its roar silenced the noise.


July 7th

‘I don’t love you anymore,’ she whispered into the phone and hung up. The words shredded the remaining piece of her heart, but the lie was necessary.

‘He’ll be safer if he doesn’t know or follow,’ her boss said, ignorant to the #sting of her words.

‘I know, ma’am.’


July 8th

‘You tried to #reach me?’ He asked his wife upon arriving home.
She smiled, ‘It wasn’t anything serious.’
Nodding, he let the matter drop and disappeared into his office.
The smile faded from her lips and tears fell in the silence. She sank to floor, swallowed by despair.

A Lone Soul

A cold hand touches the soul
Draining warmth, comfort
And connectivity.
An absence of sound, laughter
Words fail, claimed
By empty air.
Phone buzzes on the table
Is it a friend, family?
No, a game alert.
Flipping through channels
Searching social media
For something.
A need to reach out to another
Yet unaware of its urgency
Until they walk in.
They fill the void
And like a moth to flame
Rush to them.
Or maybe the door
Never opens, always closed
And we hide
Behind curtained windows.