A pink-blue horizon, a sky speckled with the softness of uncertain clouds, The waves gently crashing, and the ocean, calling with beckoning mouths The waters melt away the world, stripping bare all the day Holding my breath on all of the words you know I never needed you to say Hair wet and dripping, skin … Continue reading The Beach
personal
Why Don’t You Write Anymore?
I feel like sometimes I have these stories floating inside me, like worms trapped in my stomach eating at my insides. Parasites resting in my brain between the grey-pink folds of me. Most of the time I barely care, like an old oak being strangled by ivy, I hardly notice the infestation. I engulf myself … Continue reading Why Don’t You Write Anymore?
Summer Day Sadnesses
Watching the world turn through a series of paint-marker windows, Of barely square houses, not homes, Drawn poorly and hung on the fridges of week-to-week mothers, With cashed checks strewn on the street, and fathers, all fucking deadbeat, Why do they always pack up and leave? Moments, passing in front of me. Houses all full … Continue reading Summer Day Sadnesses
Children Of Men
Out past the blinking lights of electric existence, far beyond the polluted horizons- A single cry echoes across the clamouring earth. From the dirtied, used, ruined bellies of haggard mistakes falls an angel. Never has anything purer graced the soil upon which that miracle lays- For this glorious moment, all of human filth, destruction, hatred, … Continue reading Children Of Men
A Fictional Letter Of Unrequited Love.
My dear, how do I tell you I love you so that it rings truer than any other triplet of words you’ve heard? So that the sincerity, the profundity, of my honest convictions can permeate into the depths of your well-kept soul. This conundrum would deprive me of countless nights of summer night’s sleep during … Continue reading A Fictional Letter Of Unrequited Love.
Tired
Sat down at a creaking desk, With a broken pen and rusty hands, I write this down; The draft from the window gives my skin a texture, My coffee is cold. It’s raining outside again - I’m yawning once more Huddled in a borrowed jumper, I’ve almost found the right words – But not … Continue reading Tired
Butterflies
A short story about indecision and dissatisfaction. When I was young and naïve, and my world had been delighted between sunlit smiles and white winter snow fights, I formed the error in judgement that would come to be my hamartia. I made the stupid mistake of believing, even in my childish whims, that if I … Continue reading Butterflies
Butterflies
Last night I dreamt of butterflies, made from silk, then light, then paper – Fluttering between my words and breaths, our eyes were ships, and my hands an anchor We were swept away in tides of fallen wings, dark-veined and too fragile to touch – I watched as they crumbled in my irises, into waves … Continue reading Butterflies
Green Stars
Staring at the green stars curl around our gold fingertips, Sat on the floor, like children, between the pillow fort – and infinity Tracing the outlines of dragons made of blue smoke that waft over the sky Above us Then we’re in a rain forest, in the flickering candlelight under a waterfall made from silk … Continue reading Green Stars
Pray For Rain
I think perhaps I may have prayed too hard for rain; The white clouds have been bruised, beaten purple with my insistent demands Water squeezed, stolen from the pores of the empty skies Terrified fling themselves to the Earth - No, it is not water that falls, but tears Tears falling down from her heavenly … Continue reading Pray For Rain
Alicia Jones Poetry 