That Man is Ticking

Thank you to The Drabble for featuring my poem!

That man is ticking
His eyes stare – straight –
A child smiles
On a dandelion green,
Sunlight dances
On top of a puddle.
All unseen.
When he lies
Eyes shut tight,
Dew-laiden dandelions,
Glisten –
Over what has been,
Not might.

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Nocturnal Circuits

My brain buzzes madly,

The flickering hum

Like a bulb not quite yet secure in its socket.

It craves a rest,

To cool down,

Let the calm, restore of darkness,

Dissipate the heat.

To feel secured and reassured,

That nocturnal thoughts,

That spark broken circuits,

Are not an omen for tomorrow.


Written in response to the Three Word Wednesday Challenge: 3WW week no. 463


What is a rock?

What is a rock

But a broken piece of earth

That crumbles, or wears down

Everyday weathering events.

What is a rock

But a solid lump of grains

That can morph, change, adapt,

Under monstrous pressure

Into beautiful planes.




A thousand tiny tongues licking,

Taste the skin,

Metallic voices ringing, pierce venom in.

Burning reds,

Cooling greens – pool out, stain.

This venom counters venom already causing pain.

The tongues taste deep,

Lick the wounds below,

Pain sterilized, brought out to light,

So healing skin can grow.

And the scars repair externally,

To ameliorate the soul.