A Medieval Folklore

They said she lived in her family home -a castle erected two hundred years ago;and in her white satin nightgown did roam;oft looking out the beautiful turret window. They said she read many fables and loresbut most of all, loved the poems of Poe;perhaps it gave her some peace to to knowthat others had known…

SINGING IN THE RAIN

I woke up to a terrible storm ravaging my world… An overpowering wind threatened entrance by force as the floor length windows shuddered. The curtains had succumbed to the call of the wind yet remained sucked and concaved into the glass panes, flapping fitfully at the separation. A bleak, gloomy day – pale yellow, as…

Market Square

Is that the cost of inspiration, then? You steal from the artist an idea, a thought, a penny, in the market square and say it's borrowed? Is that the price you pay for a good deed not unpunished; the law of Karma nullified; not returned by another fair and square - stolen, to be returned…

Enjoying obscurity

What a strange breed we writers are! What a strange set of preferences we have - a pursuit of the spotlight, yet also the veil of the wings. We have our grey areas - those frequently trodden, yet still, somehow obscure and personal domain, somewhere between black and white roads, a place to reflect and…

The Calling

I must confess something today, dear reader – for the longest time since my book was published, I felt nothing. Strange, for someone who’d been versifying since the age of seven and working all her life towards that day, to feel nothing, isn’t it? I thought it must be the nerves, or the initial shock,…