Time has a face and time has two hands Time can be water and time can be sand Time can pass quickly in the flash of an eye Time can pass slowly when you're waiting to die Time is everywhere, but it cannot be found Time is neither in the sky nor the ground Time … Continue reading Time
writing
Jump
Breathe. Look. Peer, Breathe again. Step- Closer to the edge. Close your eyes: Shuffle forward... Do not look down, Take a peek, No. Breathe. Calm. Remember why, Step forward again Now jump-
Lost in words
I want to get lost in words not weeks, I want to drown in love not sleep, I want to dream of cloudless skies not debts I want to wake to see the sun rise not set- I want to dive into a crystal river not a sea of paper, I want to climb green … Continue reading Lost in words
Chapter two from my novella continued
Although we had many servants, I rarely saw them and on the occasion we happened to meet, I was always met with startled and apologetic mumbles and perhaps unremarkable small talk. As a young girl you can understand that this was not interaction enough. I would dream of meeting other little children, of sharing my … Continue reading Chapter two from my novella continued
Beginning of Chapter two from my unnamed novella
My childhood years were spent in a beautiful stately home in the south of England. An imposing stone masterpiece set within the rural moor speckled countryside. The house had several hundred rooms and a gloriously stocked, high-ceiling library. My personal room was situated towards the front of the house. I remember the large sweeping bay … Continue reading Beginning of Chapter two from my unnamed novella
The first lines of my short story: Rise Again
As I stood on the roof I watched as the orange sun sank behind the ruins of London. The shard looked as if it were on fire, the fractured glass reflecting the burning sunset behind it. Ash still fluttered down from a blackened sky onto the empty shell of the city. The London eye now … Continue reading The first lines of my short story: Rise Again
Chapter One
I had always thought the curtains in this room were opulent and graceful; they perfectly matched the rich colours of the dark wine walls-for they had been designed to- they were made from the finest crushed velvet, and hung in rippling waves of extravagance from hand-made golden rails. Now with great effort I turn my … Continue reading Chapter One
Alicia Jones Poetry 