Sunday, 28 May 2017

A Poem a Day (61)

Another for JD Mader's 2minutes go... kicking my writing arse... something needs to!


Linger

You know the glass reveals your smile
Try as you will to hide it away
I can see it even in this dark
When the sea breaks and splits the light in two.

If I kiss the curve will you stay?
If I turn and walk away will you follow?

These days are meant for learning
Awakening thoughts in me I’d forgotten
Lost in a drift upon a breath of yesterday
These things I touch to find them gone
And yet your smile remains
Calling me to remember and forget the rest.

Copyright Vickie Johnstone, May 26, 2017

Saturday, 27 May 2017

A Poem a Day (60)

Another one for JD Mader's Friday 2minutes go session :)


Walking

He practised the art of forgetting in the time of stillness
Where the widest lines seemed to promise desolation
If he stayed long enough, tried hard enough, in his
Unfathomable desire to escape into an echo of bliss

He sees himself sometimes, a fleeting glimpse of sometimes,
When nothing is and the playing brings only emptiness -
This loitering in a life drifting into days of commonplace
Against a background song reminiscing in a broken key.

Here the dusted wind blows in on the second-handed chord,
Cleft in his fist is the starstruck face that the moon left behind
On a January night when the sea turned black against an iced earth,
His footsteps cursed in the art of sleepwalking through his life

This is desolation’s severed promise of a blood-red emptiness,
The heart scooped out and wrung so dry beneath a faithless sun,
Leaving the spider-web loneness of something so real it hurt
Lost in the years left behind, scattered like dandelions blown.

Copyright Vickie Johnstone, May 26, 2017

Friday, 26 May 2017

A Poem a Day (59)

Written for JD Mader's 2minutesgo writing challenge - still the only thing kicking my writing arse!

Distance

Somewhere in the sands I catch an echo
Of where you walked in the yesterday
Kicking up dust in the arch of memory
Only to vanish in the buttercup misted dawn

No more sound in the disintegrating sun
A flash upon the roar of a wave of ebbing fate
I spread my fingers through the chill of it
Summoning something long forgotten anew.


Copyright Vickie Johnstone, May 26, 2017

Friday, 12 May 2017

A Poem a Day (58): Casting Colours

Written for Dan Mader's 2minutesgo writing exercise. 



Casting colours

It starts…
The beginning casts colours in the light
Sacred thoughts transcend the real
Aglow in the dry heat of summer,
A kaleidoscope of raw emotion
Spun tightly, wrapped in the soundless
Instinct killing itself nightly,
Caught in a web it seeks to unravel.
Locking the heart within a keyless box
It feels like time has no end.
Choices lost in a cloud of nothing,
This trivial heart knows no distancing,
Seeking self-destruction in a second
Of perfection it can never hope to find.

It ends…
The falling triggers memories of dark
Where the spider creeps in strewn dust
Waiting for the silent stuttered scream –
These things born of bloody nightmare.
Screwing the twisted seeping heart,
Shadows awake from the silent walls
Where hands seek to drag and play.
He builds a fortress across these skies
Inside the beat of a solitary star
Sent adrift where the dreaming lies,
Echoing the curved moon’s absent lover
Here to stay til the dawn tide roars –
A subtle kiss is the only thing he knows.

copyright Vickie Johnstone, May 12, 2015

Flash fiction 19: Bitter guest

This one was written for Dan Mader's 2minutesgo writing exercise – the only thing managing to kick my butt into writing lately. 

Bitter guest

It’s only words. Letters conjured up. The he said, she said. Cast adrift, spiralling like smoke twisting from a cigar. Set adrift upon the breath, usurping the light. The story took on a life of its own until it walked and talked, ate, drank and laughed its way inside, taking root in the recesses of the mind. Never questioned. Never asked. It stayed for years. A willing guest, received with a warm welcome by those who hungered for it. It never wondered why. The story stayed, grew and rested, spilling its scented anger and bitter streak wherever it drifted. An invisible guest always chattering, nothing sensible escaped it. Only bile. But no one thought not to believe it as the smoke choked. 


copyright Vickie Johnstone, May 12, 2017