she told me once that she longed for a bubble, a room without time or place where she could simply exist. a space to be, without pushing for the next goal or sitting in silence worrying about all the things she could be missing out on by wasting time. a place to stay alive without…
Stasis
Aching away in the confines of a chair, her legs itch to climb mountains run through waterfalls shiver and freeze and collapse at the point of an insanity which never lasts too long. Her arms long to tread water: to swing across a child’s monkey bars to tip one too many drinks down an eager…
Heartland
I have lived in Kenya and Morocco: Traced the Amazon to its source and felt the breath Of Aurora on my neck. I’ve pulled pints in Bangkok, danced with strangers on The Californian coast and sifted through a flurry of faces On the shores of the Rhine. I have lost my mind and gained another,…
how can i tell her
how can i tell her all she is. that her heart has moved mountains in a single beat. that her mind glows auburn in the darkness. that her passion drives others when they have lost themselves. in joy or heartbreak or mere despondency i reach for her hand: she cannot see that gratitude is not…
kiln
fifteen years old, school bag bending her back, she watches her childhood burn. the storm-eyed bears and rounded, plump-cheeked girls, tumbling from regiment to ruin in the blackened echoes of her fantasy. the patent leather shoes are swallowed next, the photographs and paintings, the pine cones rising forgotten from the sand of some holidayed beach…
first
you were the first, i think, in crystal tones with tunes unsung and words unknown pouring from my teenage bones you knew just how the seeds were sown the longing gleaned from every night from angel wings in wandering white whispering secrets to the first light …now tell me if i’ve got this right tasting…
aurora
she is treading the line, one foot in free fall; seconds away she stops and glances up at a polyester sun, finds herself momentarily hypnotised by the vivid passing of night and day. where do they find it, each dawn? the strength to carry on into a life that always ends, that transient glimpse of…
Open up
This is the start, open up, breathe it in, The shaping of a life, this is where you begin. This is spinning in space, this is scandal, disgrace: Open your eyes and take up your place The fighting, the flirting, the blood, sweat and tears There is rage here, and fire, where dreams turn to…
Of the Chase and the Flight
I am walking a ridge at daybreak. The wind crackles in my hair, painting my stinging cheeks red and white. All around is madness and magic. A heavy fog hangs hot and cloying about me, spiralling downwards as I pull my legs through matted grass. I don’t know why I’m walking. A troupe of hailstones…
Ticks and nods and broken hearts
In the end, it was silence that saved her. Her mother used to say that she was born in noise. Her screaming melody echoed into the shaky darkness and her heart, vibrant and fierce, seemed to burst from her tiny chest. She was forged in fire and blazed with an inexplicable freedom, thundering from her…
BOOK REVIEW: ‘A Jigsaw of Fire and Stars’ by Yaba Badoe
First published on Cuckoo Review: http://review.cuckoowriters.com/ A Jigsaw of Fire and Stars, the debut novel of author Yaba Badoe, is a sensitive and beautifully poetic book. Weaving together magic and mythology with real world issues, Badoe is able to create a story that both enchants and unsettles readers. The story follows Sante, a member of…
The Final Battle
18 minutes since I left. I trace the outlines of my heart with my blackened fingertips, stare into the hollow shadow next to me as if he could melt out of it and grasp me again. I clench and unclench my fingers, trying desperately to tell myself that they are mine. Mine alone. These arms,…
Nosy Writer 