Tuesday, 23 August 2011

Love or Something Like it . . .

Graffiti stained granite,

daubed with the markings of life.

Incendiary slogans shout for freedom,

there's a revolution in the making.

The too handsome stranger

has words that spin like plates,

and sparkle like screw top bottles,

all fizz and wasted glass.

Straight backed, he will not slouch,

though fervant desperation

spills from the cracked

cheap vessel of him.

She sweeps up the cold ash

as it falls from his burnt out life.

Cleansed of all her preconceptions,

she is taken by his strange beauty,

enchanted by the wild shine of his eyes,

and the way that the afternoon light

falls gently around his shoulders,

like a cloak.

written for this prompt

Sunday, 21 August 2011

to fill a space . . .


He meticulously bought the cigarette paper up to his lips

with deft and artful tongue he licked the exposed edge.

Flicking at the lighter until the flame leapt

. . . he inhaled . . .

eyes tight closed

as he took that ritual long slow breath.

Pulling the sacred smoke down

deep into his lungs.

Silence fell as he held it there.

Moments passed - like shooting stars.

. . . until he exhaled clouds . . .

Sweetly scented blue grey smoke

curling and climbing the expectant air.

He smiled as peace descended.

He was home.


Sidestepping the arid thoughts

of these, her every day torments,

she swept the kitchen.

Blue broom pushing yesterdays crumbs

over her threshold, and out onto

the cold cement of another day.

The egg yellow sun crawling

over bland suburban rooftops,

scars her morning with its slanted light.

Its luke warm fingers roaming

her upturned face, exploring the weight

of her world on her shoulders, her slow walk

tender footfalls on unforgiving concrete.

In her head she sees the grasses of a distant plain,

and hears the plaintive notes that have become

her internal soundtrack. Playing on repeat,

looping over and over. An accompaniment

to her search for those rusty keys,

and lost prophets,

of home.

I have another blog where I post things written in response to prompts given by the many sites out there that are helping to keep the muse alive and well. They are good fun and help to create pieces outside of my usual style and subject matter. Occasionally if I really like something, (or as in this case haven't written anything un-prompt related for a while!) I will move writing from there to here. This is one of those times! Here are two 'prompted' pieces. Please forgive me if you have already read them and please pop back again soon for some new un-prompted words. - Susannah ;-)

Saturday, 13 August 2011

Too Long In The Dark

Drench me with your summer love,
for I am not immune to darkness.

Smother me, until I radiate light
and pulse with all I have
left unspoken. . .

for I have been alone here,
and you are sunlight
at my

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