creative writing fiction poetry



She pumps the pain
All access hurt
A short seduction
Four nights of mirth
One drunk admission
more blues champagne
his tears are flowing
tonight again

Allure’s a vision
Synapses reign
in love at midnight
aboard a train
That window’s frosted
and winter thrills
to watch them burning
from fiery sills

Love days are over
those times they were
like crescent shadows
where moon deceives
When tears were falling
with autumn leaves
she caught the dew drops
on silken sleeves

She pumps the pain…

+(❆ڼ❆)~  ∗♞͂  ∗ ♞͂ ∗ ✩ ⃛

Access/Allure | SB

Photo credit:
Monica Bellucci and Daniel Craig
courtesy H&K/JME Photo  via Telegraph UK



highly stylised photograph of a woman in blue, titled, the ice queen

I comfort all souls
in the palm of my hand
so more life will flow
from our primitive band

Fifty thousand passengers
all pearls in a clam
Forty thousand citizens
slow rhythm, love jam

Infinite princes
mix beats on this shore
They’re dancing and laughing
and pass plenty more
embracing the night
as prism’s jet hue
then pull straight ahead
and march in this queue

For one drop in an ocean
(That’s when I am with you)
I’ll rise up and greet
this carnal deluge

(´ε` )

Photo credit and special thanks: Butterfly by Aria Appleford.


La guapa bandolera


In moments of serenity
Habitués, as I recall,
recline in vintage lounges
and sup their timeless treks
The gold flecks in your eyes
define my sacred pledge
Just promise …
you’ll love me if
we ever meet again

We’re moments from serenity
so join me, let us fight
for Love, for real,
uncloaks the darkest knight
Through moon drops let her beam
down rays of silver suns
until our rock’s serene
until all hearts
are won

( ◜◒◝ )♡ ♡〜

Photo credit: Léa Seydoux in Spectre via Standard UK



My heart is burnt at half past light
goes dark against the breaking day
My soul is lost as curtains fall
unveiling streets on other sides

Through filtered lens the sky I see
breathes dragon’s fire on heavenly hosts
It’s like the time when Midas touched
The Gorgon’s braid and turned to dust

But on that street is where you’ll go
merits to reap with subtle boasts
I’ve no more time for morning breaks
No blood was shed
That’s how it goes

After the war
on Temple’s ledge
I dare to stand where angels tread
Their love will pierce the purple clouds
under the sun
at break of day


 Art work: Angel Anatomy by Akreon via Deviant Art

Ancient Past fiction poetry

All Hallows’ on the Styx

Bast sings a melody
for the
Elbows to the chest
we’re on the
Oars to the moon
night’s old as fire
not returning
in the winding gyre

Steer to the left
Souls bare all pain
Face to the knee go Zael and Cain
slouching off to Bethlehem
filled with guilt
Roll to the right
you’re on the Styx!

Chant with the Lion
Cramps this cold
Eyes on the Lion
Pull and hold
Reach for the Lion
Push and fold
Elbows to the chest
Pull and hold!


All Hallows’ on the Styx | SB
(Stay out of the Styx)

art fiction poetry

Requiem for a Throne

(i) Tower


(ii) Descent


(iii) Ascent


 _| ̄|○  Requiem for a Throne  _| ̄|○

When Mercy trumpets her light
to anoint our mortal flesh,
shall we drink the last
red drops from this
holiest of Holy Grails?

When the wisest flake of snow
floats down upon the Lord,
astound me with the hope
we will rule all men as one

May Perpetua guide you, Love,
to sit on this gilded Throne
May she raise her sacred hand
and bless us all the World


 [ – Requiem for a Tower -]
Escala, from the album Escala

Author’s notes: The recommended soundtrack is Escala’s “Requiem for a Tower”, which is a reorchestrated version of “Lux Aeterna” from the film, Requiem for a Dream. This poem, Requiem for a Throne, draws from the Requiem Mass. I took the photos in a glass tower on October 14. Thank you for visiting.

fiction poetry

Confessions of a loved up tourist


Heart points to the sun (namaskara)
I gauge my strength (pranayama)
That’s what I have, a trussed up karma
to trek, amazed, through life (mandala)

+>_<)))”””””””’  (#*_*

Kicking up a storm in this Jedi drama
Gambling luck like a Furyan
Jousting with a hungry itch
while praying for mánna
till I swoon like a loved up tourist


Confessions of a loved up tourist
x SB
Photo credit: “Rey” Star Wars, The Force Awakens via HitFix

Ancient Past poetry

Across the way from Stabiae

October 22, AD 79 Tempus matutinus
Days before I turn to dust,
I embrace heaven in the doorway
and thrust my arms wide to touch the frame.

October 23, AD 79 Meridies
Rumbles drill; they ring closer still.
My part in it, I know not force.
I’m poet, philosopher, lector, and scribe.
One day they will see that …

October 24, AD 79 Opacare
Wide rules I use for rhyme and verse.
My mind is adrift…
One’s blessings are now cursed. 
Black days are rumbling:
(I am not the first; my ancestors’ chronicles
live in rhyme and verse).
Heaven intones in one flash burst
across the way from Stabiae.


MMXV.VIII.XXIII. Photo credit: “Garden in Pompeii” by Pieter BiesemansOriginally published on August 23, 2015. it was revealed that the eruption took place on October 24, 79, and not in August, as previously believed, so I updated the poem to reflect this information.




Ready? Set > Incensed
Swim oceans of defence
Lord watch my feet
In spinner race
towards relief
I stretch that charm
then kick this H8
until there’s land
until I am
right where you wait
there taking stock
with outstretched
hand >>>>>>>>
on Winners’ Block

Swim (to Winners’ Block)
x SB


One of these days

One of these days

Her soulmate waits for “high school days”
and juggles his mind’s song
while she tends her heart’s fire
with standard oil
until that blessed moment
when he pitches forwards
(and clicks)
hors de fosse
into this void

(One of these days)

art poetry


chime to reveal
all revellers unmasked
silk stockings are tokens; salvation’s the ask
tween sips from elixirs
dispensers scream chants
as ashes ascend
from bonfire’s


Ashes x SB
with photography by Stephen Day

I would like to thank Stephen Day at the Iconophile for sharing this mesmerising photograph. It accompanied his reflection, He says: D for Disguise. I could hear a song chiming from a distance and I sat down on Monday afternoon to invite it in. Please tune in to Stephen’s blog for more art magic.



(All languish in, sane, his palaces of lore
where truth floats stills by memory’s rigid lane

Indisciplined, he seeks
hot anguish to defeat?
His upswelled heart
burns charcoal at the core!

“You must,” he says,
“my fallacies endure;
feel me everything
then hand me
all your more.”

creative writing opinion People poetry women


She’ll do anything for emoji
Each tap of phrase, a shameless chase
His sweet reply, her saving grace
Cracks a smile at the fine glass ceiling;
one goal she’s had with textual healing

Cast far and wide, Explorer Class
Heat seeking thrills, two types shall pass
and once you’re in, you’ll see her face
unCatholic in blank disgrace
Now steaming live, let’s start the show
(It’s this marquee just so you know)

Lap dances with Calypso
in floral closets 
on wine soaked Sundays 
after noon


Jagged ends (18 + only)

I might use florid language and possess a vivid imagination but I am bashful when it comes to all matters romantic. I grew up hearing soca music on the radio. Those people do not mess around. I mean, when a song tells you to “Ride the big truck” or “Come dig it,” just imagine the lyrical carnage involved. I also did not dare go outdoors during Carnival weekend.

Jamaica Carnival revellers. Photo credit: Lahwego

I cannot write erotica, so I appreciate poets like English Delicacy, who’s agreed to let me share excerpts from her work with you. I understand the point of romantic gestures, like poetry, but I am practical to a fault, so please make me a table or shovel snow. I don’t know how I would manage a traditional wedding ceremony because slowly walking an aisle while holding a bouquet of flowers is a cannot do. Also, never do this:

Public proposal. Mortifying. Photo credit: Getty Images via the BBC.

Romantic poetry is fascinating even though I’m pathologically squeamish. However, what I find is that I get completely put off at the end of some poems. They all start out with promise. From Kiss (Redux),

Stubble grazes skin, soft lips clustered
Background fades into itself, time stops
Held tight, strong, unyielding touch

In the middle, most poems subtly invite readers to follow along in their imagination. From Natural Feel,

How you talk, and how I listen.
The way that your voice glides over me,
Winding and flowing around us,
Binding us like a charm.

Great so far, and I feel that most poets know what to do with their hands. However, after this point, quite a few poems get jagged. I wrote the following lines to illustrate how endings sometimes sound to me:

He slips swell dagger out of sheath
And belts her roughly underneath
Then with fell and merciless wrath
Chris jams lancet…
up Anastaath

Exactly. It is scary and quite sudden. If someone writes me a poem that ends like a scene from the 50SOG film, I’ll switch into battle mode. And the only reason I’d entertain him after, is to see if he’ll say that again to my face.

 Milla Jovovich in Resident Evil : Retribution
via UniFrance.

My preferred ending for a poem resembles a luxurious helping of chocolate powder over a generous mound of whipped mascarpone. That way, when I’m having my tiramisu, I’ll take a few extra seconds to lick my spoon. At the end, I should be Distracted:

Can’t keep my mind on anything.
Ain’t it grand?

Enjoy more spoon licking poetry at English Delicacy’s blog.

fiction poetry

Leaving Melancholia

Bingo! A failed attempt, first time ever
Is it a great night if it hadn’t put you in melancholia?
No alternative in your mind
Guess I was delusional but we see
Vodka wasn’t helpful in childhood
Tequila ain’t into you, boss
Scotch really made me smile, at last
Not feeling egotistical
I am too lazy to evolve
But let me know a good reason
Still need some solid part of you to hate