Don’t stray too far White tears drop onto rose-white faces, into black lashes and as they melt they slide into tender blue eyes. White fur is wrapped around soft warm hands, around little fingers, and clasps around slender white wrists. White stars fly, play, and chase between sliver gold curls, Laughter bubbles from blue-red lips … Continue reading *Don’t go too far*
my work
Finders Keepers – A Provocative Insight Into Museums
Walls ripped out from chapels are crudely stitched together to craft this room; like a homemade skin graft for a burnt hand, except the colours here don’t quite match and the skin was stolen from a poor man’s leg. A puzzle made of stained glass windows from Paris, columns from Rome, alters from Madrid are … Continue reading Finders Keepers – A Provocative Insight Into Museums
Time
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
Rush Hour Crush
Grey, bleak, skipping past tired faces, sweaty lips, creased brows White knuckles clutching yellow poles, chewed nails with broken paint fiddle with split ends Empty eyes stare desperately into phone screens, typing but never pressing send; there’s no signal down here We’re being pushed through time and space in the dark, under a million people’s … Continue reading Rush Hour Crush
Falling Rain at Dawn
The distant sound of gentle drums drift into my dreams, I flutter into consciousness, I tear myself from the comforting darkness clinging to my skin under the sheets I'm pulled into the waking world quickly. A deafening throb of hearts beating, blood pumping, lungs filling, lashes parting, reassures me. Cold air from the night still … Continue reading Falling Rain at Dawn
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
My Jar of Smoke
On my wooden table, there lies a jar of smoke. Dark grey tendrils curl and twist inside the glass. I look into my jar to reminisce and to remember- The days which have long since passed. I look into the heart of that ashen black unfurling cloud, To see my life, my loves, my fears … Continue reading My Jar of Smoke
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 