creative writing

Thank You

Here is a thank you for your left hip,
The curve of your waist and the shapely bone.
I love to hold it when we lean in for a kiss,
And it’s the one that I cling to when I feel alone.
Here is a thank you for your left shoulder,
The one that I rest on as we learn to dance.
The devil perches himself upon it, and whispers,
To hold me more tightly and show me romance.
Here is a thank you for your left hand,
The one that I squeeze when I need you to stay.
When I’m fearful, it guides me far, far away.
It’s the one that will wear my ring someday.

creative writing

Worth Waiting For

We are parched of hope.
Two tulips in spring.
Lost in a field of poppies,
So wild, and unforgiving.

I falter, I wither,
In emotional turmoil.
I pine for your company,
Though anchored to the soil.

Where’s my refuge, my nursery?
I’m a solitary flower,
Come and quench my thirst,
With all the love I can devour.

I seek hope by the water,
Clear as a looking glass,
It reflects the damage of our parting.
When will this menace pass?

Oh, won’t you come and find me?
My strength, you can restore.
Let your touch console me.
You are still worth waiting for.

In response to the Paint Chip Poetry Prompt #21 found here

creative writing

Wand’ring Eye Décima

You took a second glance. I could
Forgive you for a wand’ring eye.
As long as you do not deny,
And just assume I’ve understood,
Given a choice, I know you would
Allow that longing, leering stare
To ricochet back to me where
It will be reciprocated.
Besides, I’ve often debated
To gaze, myself. It’s only fair.

In response to Ronovan Writes Décima Poetry Challenge Prompt No. 6 found here

creative writing

Long Distance Sonnet

Remember when we sat beneath the stars?
Gazing as the waves approached the shore,
I nestled in your arms. The night was ours.
Felt safer than I ever had before.

You turned to me and said you liked the way
It felt to have me in your grasp again.
You held me tighter still, and said someday,
To see you, I won’t have to catch a train.

Though distance holds no power over us,
Why does it hurt so much to be apart?
Then time refused to pause, or to discuss,
The desperate prayers within my aching heart.

My mind began to wander to a place,
Where every day I’m blessed to see your face.

creative writing

Eleanor’s List

Every morning, Eleanor would ride the bus to the beach. Something about the narrow aisle, uncomfortable chairs, and window seat would act as a social catalyst.

She would always use the journey as an opportunity to make connections with the other passengers. She would delve into their past, ask them questions about who they are, and where their ambitions would take them. She would always remember to ask for their birthday.

When she arrived at the beach, she would scribble everything down, under the headings of star signs. She would try to find matches, and make links… Where there weren’t any.

It took years to gather enough information to realise that everyone is unique, and all those years of chasing after her own horoscope had only led to loneliness.

Eleanor did not dwell on this for too long. Instead, she developed a whole new system to match people, and by the end of the week, she had set up her own dating site. She could make some strong conclusions about lifestyle choices, complimenting personality traits, and love.

Her most successful match was her own. Eleanor managed to find her own love story within the pages of her website. As soon as he appeared on the list, she knew their paths would cross and connect.

When things are not going to plan, be flexible. Adapt.

creative writing

Distorted Dreams

One moment I was running, and then I took one look at your face and frowned. It was distorted. You were still beside me, your voice echoed in my ears, and I could still feel your soft skin, but it wasn’t your face. It wasn’t your body or your hair, or even your delicate eyes.

I am dreaming. I must be missing you.

I lean in closer, sensing every part of you, it seems so real. I believe that you’re there, you just look different. Then, I realise we are floating. Floating high above a place that doesn’t even exist. I am holding a cold glass of water. I feel the weight of it, and the drips of condensation on my fingertips. There’s no denying it’s existence.

I wake up, my hand clasped around air. For a second I’m convinced I’ve spilled the water until I feel reality.

I think back to us floating, and that unrecognisable face who represented you. It seems ridiculous now, but it still makes me pine for you and all day I feel a tingle. I wait for the night to come again, hoping for a continuation, but by then it has all faded away.