Glass Rational

The biting cold didn’t snap,
At ankles after a warm round of drinks.
So when she was thrown to the snow,
Out through the front door, she hardly blinked.

It was late by now,
And the spotlight moon was high,
Or at least she would have seen,
If it wasn’t for the two men that loomed nigh.

It took her forever to recall what she’d done,
As she scrabbled to her feet,
And confronted the two men,
Who she knew she’d have to meet.

And whilst the cold was hardly felt,
Nor was the first punch,
That landed at her stomach, hard.
The advantages of being drunk.

So when she was left there,
And slept the night in the snow,
She woke with the sun gushing,
Down the streets, but she didn’t know.

What had she done to cause an altercation?
And who should she apologise to?
So to solve these issues, she stumbled,
Through the front door, for another pint of two.


Strong bones,
kind eyes.
Steel bearing hips,
curls alike.

The oracle of transparent lies,
starry skies
and strawberry pies.

She was a queen.

Magical fingers,
brisk at times,
plucking chickens,
solid enterprise.

Watching our backs,
knitting or folding,
her touch, toasty.

We miss her still,
her peaceful faith.

In fate she trusted,
in love she trusts still.

Love never bending,
to the darkness of fear.

Far or near,
doesn’t change a thing.
We love and celebrate her,
awake or asleep.

One of a kind,
a spectacle of alchemies,
folded into a knowing mind,
and dark, watchful eyes.

She knew.
Just one look.
It never ever died.

At World’s Edge – Chapter 7

Mahofon was much the same. This was what he had seen; a tower rotting in the centre to Tink Ravine. It was the beehive that drew from him an unending torrent of curiosity, however. There was something in the hollow nest hanging from the tree that drew everyone’s curiosity. They all stared at it, shifting from intrigue to fearfulness every few moments that passed. “Yumipon!” The magician hollered, “Aim at the beehive.” More moments passed – every second felt like a minute, and every minute an hour. At the resounding silence, he tried again, starring widely, desperately around the band for the archer. “Yumipon?”

A stammer was the only reply, as he drew his bow and slipped an arrow from is quiver. Yumipon drew a long, wavering breath to steady his nerves, his hands shaking almost violently. His trembling came to a close as he drew the steel tipped arrow down the taut string, and, with a twang of his weapon, the shot flew true. The beehive was struck, with the sound of low drum echoing off distant cliffs hidden by the darkness. It cracked and split into many miniscule pieces after contact, and from its centre immerged a blinding star. It shimmered, banishing the darkness in the surrounding area. Embers of bright white light showered the barren soil, emanating from the being that had been released. The band blinked at the sight; amazement was written on every face. “Dear Almighty,” one whispered, barely audible. “I thought I’d be locked up in that tower forever…” the star spoke. At this revelation, Cescar muttered “Gold Hoshipon!” and shortly collapsed, caught only by Dulkatra.

Mahofon recoiled with questioning fear; was this really the being that had forced his far sight to an abrupt, painful end? Surely not, for its golden rays penetrated the pooling dark, and there wasn’t an ounce of evil in this creature. Mahofon shouted up to the star, “Who blocked one from seeing this tower?.” “Ah, your far sight you are referencing, I presume. Well Mahofon, it definitely wouldn’t have been the likes of me; I want anything but to send you away. It must’ve been my captors forcing you.” Hoshipon sailed above the band as he spoke, several meters high. He remained just too bright to look at directly, and his light painted vast shadows across the landscape. The next question seemed only logical now. “Who were your captors?



For I have seen,
The ruins of a grand temple,
hidden now amongst groping vines;
Under a canopy thick with green.

Further North, a basin rests,
With a beast at its heart.
Through the mist, I caught its scream,
As its three spider limbs scrabble in the dark.

“If only I was done, for Mt. Bonochi tires,
Facing an army of clouds, and relentless rain…”
And the story went on; but little did the listeners know,
The temple remained unseen, and the beast in the mist unslain.

Telling the story

Closing this book before it begins would be a tragedy, so we keep re- reading
our lines, repeating what we know is right.
When I’ve fallen close to the ground you keep me floating. How long ‘til you
give in? My heart can’t emerge from below
the ground if you don’t fight for new soil.
Mud dries, pages loosen.
This story starts with you and me.

Your hands

Your hands
Have always known
The way around
My body.
The highs and lows
Where to press
And where to hold.
You studied every inch
Like I’m a hidden map
And you’re looking
For secret treasure.