watching the last colours
grey, mauve, dirty white
distant layers of lost coral
disconnected in the dark
the tip of my nose feels cold
a quiet feeling at five pm
the coral layers are no more
between twilight and the night
my whole nose is cold now
Poetry | Stories | Photography
watching the last colours
grey, mauve, dirty white
distant layers of lost coral
disconnected in the dark
the tip of my nose feels cold
a quiet feeling at five pm
the coral layers are no more
between twilight and the night
my whole nose is cold now
Our idyllic country.
Towering stone walls threaten to stop the moon from shining, yet we want for nothing.
Each morning we chant, “All belongs to all, all move in one direction, all unite to thank our utopia”.
Our idyllic country was built on the blood and bones of lies.
Another book waits
A few already devoured
My books sit watching
Running in the snow. The forest disorientates you.
The face of a wolf in the distance clams you. A familiar.
You slump against a tree.
Too young to freeze, yet too old to endure the middle of winter; distant voices sound.
You wake from a fever.
The cat licks you.
If my brother was alive, today David would celebrate his 53rd Birthday.
It doesn’t seem like 7 years since he died.

Pictures of the three of us
Pictures of the two of us
Pictures of you
The pictures of you linger
The pictures of you smiling
The pictures of you
Pictures of the three of us are all that remains
Pictures of the two of us are all that remains
Pictures of you are all that remains
on your birthday
To find you standing
beside me, alive and well
speaking once again.
Happy Birthday, Brother!
David died in 2015 (not long after his 46th birthday), yet I still think about how my brother used to say my name. I miss him. He would be 53 today.
phosphorescent sea
watching from the dark shore
jolted from sleep
As Matthew walks through the automated doors, a musical voice says, “Welcome, Matthew. We understand your appointment involves the storage of love. Please be seated in the red area.”
Unsure how to react, a smile and a slight nod are all he can muster.
The room has three areas. Green is for intelligence accumulation, blue is for family memory storage, and red is for the storage of love. Each coloured area has a certain number of seats with touchscreens and headsets, depending on what services the client requires.
Matthew takes in the room, notices the green and blue areas are quiet today and makes his way to the red section. A cyborg arranges unusual metal shapes in a line, looks up, scans him, and says, “Hello, Matthew. Please go to seat number 4.”
Uneasy, Matthew looks slightly to the right side and asks, “What do I do?”
Without moving, the cyborg says, “Sit down, put the headset on, select the number of years of love you wish to hold on escrow, and the headset will do all the work for you. You may feel a little lightheaded afterwards; however, most symptoms pass in a few hours.”
Unease intensifies, and an odd gut feeling threatens to take him from this place. However, there is no time to waste.
Disorientated, he finds himself sitting down. Those who wear headsets do not move. It is as if they are between life and death. The uneasy feeling has gone, and there is no longer a gut reaction. Doubt creeps in, then fades.
The neon red screen presents Matthew with several options. He can hold between one and fifteen years of love. He chooses ten years, places the headset on, and presses start.
Thoughts from when he was much younger come to him. He is no longer afraid, for he feels love. Then his first love and their first kiss play behind his eyes like a movie. The memories of love keep moving through his mind. Suddenly the memories stop moving, the word ‘finished’ appears in red on the screen, and he removes the headset.
Matthew has not felt this hollow in some time. It is as though he is missing a part, yet nothing replaced what is missing. Perhaps it is just as his boss explained when he said Matthew should do this to further his career. After all, love has no place in finance.
Restive Saturday
Winter moving through the hills
Watching the grass move
A black and white room
Classical glam with a twist
Envious longing
Colours of your ombre hair
Mix with your blood on the floor