Micropoetry: Language
It’s a mystery, how the mind leaps from primitive sound to intricate, webbed sentence,
Micropoetry: This Moss is her Island
This moss is her island, its dewy green . . .
A Poem for Poetry Day Ireland
When the bough breaks and my oak tree heart is joined by an echo,
Micropoetry – Piebald Rug & Flood
Burgundy-earth patches on cream, soft as calla lily.
Flash Fiction: Maple Leaf
The maple leaf stops them. Its veiny palm invites examination, as peach and pale green cross shades. Autumn does this to maple leaves; scorns their attempts to cling onto their tree of birth, strikes them down, flattens their flame. And then, somebody finds the leaf, finds charm in its crown-like edges, its slight resemblance to…
Poetry – Heron
A solitary heron, silver-grey, his stature great, resides within the river village, old man hunched and scouring.
Poetry – Pebbles
Tricoloured pebbles, the sand stepping-stones of a shuffling huddle, or shifting land – a clinking crowd at ground.
Flash Fiction: Soap-White
She assumes her position at the sink, everything greasy from the day’s befores. She scrubs at silver insides; the eternal circle from clean to unclean. The water pounds in and she thinks of the river; a rat’s tail – just the tail, moving through rushes.
Poetry – To Ahenny
To Ahenny where slate spills from the land like prehistoric teeth. I bite back, snap with my new camera, angled for scenic views, fail to capture that dead outreach,