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Me?

these days it’s so hard being a word artist

popping out words like pills

choosing them carefully

the right combination 

to stir feelings and thoughts

to get a reaction

well here’s a reaction

this right here

I’m so aware of me

of you reading me

I don’t know what I am any more

and

I want to be more

more than just the words on this page

and on this screen

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Mantelpiece

She put me on her mantelpiece,

a place I could watch the world –

Her world.   

I’ve watched her through her happy days,

and sleep through thunder and hail.

She sang sometimes

and even cried.

Sometimes she shouted, but

That was alright.

.

She put me on her mantelpiece,

all those years ago.

.

Her loving eyes poured into me,

moments where I’d hold my breath,

and trace the new lines on her face

and new pendant around her neck.

.

She left one day,

a sunny day,

and she didn’t come back home.

Her parents packed,

boxed up the flat,

until her room became a place

I couldn’t call home.

.

Still, she put me on the mantelpiece,

a place I could watch the world.

She left me on the mantelpiece,

All those years ago.

 

 

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Echoes (1/4)

Law fumbled with his keys, as he locked the door to his flat. Down the corridor, the building’s cleaner, Ember, paused from her work in his presence, briefly looking up from the floor that would never look clean. Every morning the low buzzing and humming of her Henry would fill the corridors, as the rest of the building’s residents began to stir from their sleep. Her movements and rattling, floor by floor, had become a constant in the background noise. She was a kind of security: she existed within the fabric of the walls, peeling corridors and stained carpets. She would still be here long after she was meant to be gone.

….And so would the big black bins downstairs, with their mountain of junk growing outside, rather than inside, of them. Black bags, on the mountain’s side, slouched against the ground, gutted open, oozing intestinal household waste and drugs. Sometimes Ember would sift through the junkyard, before leaving it in a state more or less the same as when she had first got there.

….‘Good mornin’, Mr. Law,’ she said, after a few seconds. She had that edge in her voice that was present in all the teenagers living on the council estate across the road. Law was thankful he could speak like a decent Londoner. His cheeks flushed at having standing too long outside his door and having an observer watch his battle with the lock.

….Law went to Costa, and got himself a cup of filter coffee and buttery crumpets. He sat down with his journal, by the shop window, and flicked through the pages. He reminisced on the days he spent wandering the city and its streets.

….Once he took a walk through Hyde Park. The grass was tall in some places, so he stepped carefully, to avoid finding himself stuck knee deep in it. Sometimes he stood still and watched as the wind blew across it, creating ripples and waves, like a breathing ocean, or a Mexican wave. The soft rippling effect looked like it was emanating from a source – a point where a stone entered the water in a pond.

….This choreography repeated itself over and over again. These actions in nature were copies of one another: the grass behaved like water in the wind, and not like grass at all.

….Everyone seemed to be around that day. Like a river, they cascaded past him on the footpath. They moved beyond him, beyond his vision… beyond his page. 

….Law devoured his crumpets, and continued reading through several pages of his journal.

….At Marylebone Station, schools of people emerged from London’s tunnel network, and deposited themselves at the top of the escalator in regular intervals. It was another repetitious occurrence in the city. A cycle, a pattern, just like the ripples in the grass. London lived and breathed the same way everyday, in a constant loop: churning people out of the ground and transporting them on boxes with wheels. 

….Law drank the rest of his coffee, and left Costa. He decided to take the Tube around the city.

….On the Tube, he stood his back up against the glass, opposite the rows of seats, and watched people shuffling around in the door windows. Some of their heads elongated and stretched out, as the window curved inward around the top. A couple sat silently for a while. They seemed bored in each other’s company.

….Every few minutes, the lady fixed her short hair in a little mirror, and checked her teeth. Her male counterpart spread his arms and legs out to his comfort, invading the space of other Londoners sitting near them.

….They dressed well. The lady dressed formally, wearing an expensive looking coat, giving off the impression she had just walked out of her office, in Canary Wharf. The man, on the other hand, dressed casual, opting for a coordinated theme: white t-shirt, black biker jacket, black trousers, and white Nikes. A beanie sat on his head, with a curl of brown hair styled up at the front.

….In the window, Law imitated the man, pushing his hair to the side with his fingers. But, his straight hair fell flat and he gave up.  

 ….Law consulted a diagram of the London Underground, next to an advertisement about popular TV box sets, that the whole nation was buying. He used a pointed finger to trace out several train routes. Then, he hopped off of the Tube at the next station.

 

The shiny, tall buildings, in Canary Wharf, loomed over Law. Light tickled on the surface of these buildings, like a sunset on the ocean. The city was empty here, at this time, save for a few people. The lone clacking of someone’s heel on the pavement bounced in the air, on the dome entrance of the station, and on the glass that held J. P. Morgan together. There was something about an abandoned city that was appealing.

….Law stood there, letting the echoes – sounds, reflections, copies that radiated from their source – float around in his head. The clacking faded away. Then it all clicked. He took out his journal, and drew circles and spirals that collided into each other. In the centre of them, he wrote:

….We’re all echoes in this city. We pass and go through life, leaving a tiny trace of ourselves behind when we’re gone.

 

Law got back to his building in the early hours of the next day. In the lift, he found a black hat on the floor, and put it on his head. He adjusted the hat, as he approached his front door.

….Down the corridor, a door creaked open. Ember came out. She walked towards him, as he fumbled with his keys and lock.

….‘Goodnight,’ she whispered, as she went past. Law tasted the alcohol in her breath. The lift doors opened, and she seemed to disappear into the walls of the building.                  

….As he entered his flat, Law pictured Ember with her Henry, rattling and humming, floor by floor, as the rest of the residents began to wake up, just as he began to fall asleep.


Thank you for reaching the end of this story! I feel like I’ve achieved so much by writing it. It’s the first story of four that I wrote for an assignment – the whole collection is called City of Echoes. The next story will be up next week – stay tuned! x

The Universe & I

I scream at the sky. I know my voice merely tickles the universe. It has no strength to create ripples, like the ones you’d see in a little garden pond.

Unlike me and my puny little scream, the stars show off their existence through their burning souls. They merge with the beauty of the darkness, their home. They create the coldest warmth that I long for. Or is it the warmest cold?

The Sun is a volcanic dragon, spitting her embers and secrets away. Secrets that cannot reach me. Secrets that can’t be kept. Sun can’t hold her tears in any longer and my voice cannot reach her and reassure her. Sun, I want you to stay.

I sense laughter from a distant galaxy. Beautiful radiation, please stain me. If a supernova gets too close, I will let it tattoo my skin with impossible colours, that are too real to be on Earth.   

I want the stars and universe to scar me with their secrets and their lies. I wonder if they can see me: my wide, curious eyes gazing from a little window at night.

Moon looks like a pearl – raw and iridescent. I don’t think I’ll catch a supernova tonight, so Mr Moon I bid you goodnight.

Kale’s Cookie Jar (2)

It was around noon when Kale realised there was something missing from his cookie jar. His cookie jar was in fact a replica of Pooh Bear’s hunny pot; Grandmama had gifted it to him after she had gone to Disneyland and had forgotten to take him along. So there it was, Kale’s Pooh Bear hunny pot, now cookie jar, in his arms, who had fallen victim to a heinous crime.

In his mind, Kale couldn’t comprehend who in their right mind would do such a thing. Kale replayed the possible scenario in his head: hushed footsteps; a head carefully tilting, checking the surroundings; a grubby hand reaching for the hunny pot-cookie jar’s head; the other taking the goods from within; the head is replaced. Yes, a meticulously thought out plan was needed for such a task, Kale thought. His eyes scanned the vinyl tiles on the floor of the kitchen. His bare feet were getting cold, so he wiggled his toes. He noted the odd crumb and chocolate chip on the floor. His precious cookie – gone.

Kale was a passionate and skilled baker. Mother had taught him everything: that the details were the most important. If the flavour was not quite there, then it was the details themselves that would be the key  to winning the hearts of those who received the treat. Cookies were his speciality. He could bake one for just about any occasion: birthdays, weddings, celebrations, presents, teatime, boredom, pranks, thievery. Of course, there were times when he produced something foul and bitter from the oven (just like mother had said – mother was hardly ever wrong). Kale knew when his batches were good or bad, and smiled to himself. He never failed the detailing of any treat he produced.

The minutes and hours seemed to disintegrate as he stood there, stock-still. On his wrist, the clock hands and Pooh Bear’s smile curved up in the same V shape. His baker’s hands were firmly around his hunny pot-cookie jar. A thunderous thud sounded above his head – the sounds of war.

His mother walked into the kitchen just then. She had a pleasant expression on her face and smelled of cupcakes with a healthy sprinkle of icing sugar and candy hearts. She ruffled his floppy brown hair and hugged him tenderly. “You alright, hun?” she asked. “Oh, I think Jake has taken something of yours,” she added.

“Of course, the last one left is a bad cookie.” She chuckled warmly, getting out some mixing bowls and flour.

Kale held onto his beloved cookie jar, like a hand grenade, just as he did before. Five minutes had passed since he had found out about the great crime. Those five minutes had ignited a fire in his baker’s heart.


Hello Everyone!

It’s been a while since I last posted any of my written work, so here I present you with some prose! A while back I posted Kale’s Cookie Jar before, but since I’ve given it a better story and flow etc. I do hope you like this version (or both versions). This is one of the pieces I officially submitted for assessment (hope I get a good grade!) 

I’ll see you soon! x

On the Hill

We sat on the hill, on the grass. I knew this hill from my childhood and knew the view pretty well too. Your body was stretched out on the ground and I sat beside you, knees up.

“So, are we taking a break from life?” I handed you some dried peach shavings.

Sigh. “Yeah.” You nibbled.

“We’re still living. How’s that possible?”

“Enjoy the peace.” You relaxed.

“Shouldn’t we be doing something?”

“Lie down.”

“I feel dirty on grass.”

My legs slowly stretched out before me. A handful of tasteless sugar went down my throat.

“Let’s do something fun.”

“This is fun.” You spread your arms out, losing yourself to nature’s grip. I got to my feet and started walking.

“Where are you going?”

“On a walk.”

“But why, I mean?”

“Because I can.”

“We were meant to spend the whole day together, were we not?” You sat up.

“It seems you’ve got other things on your mind.”

The grass to the left was taller, so I circled around to the big tree that looked like a mushroom from afar. I would have liked being under the tree, if it weren’t for the pigeons, dogs and creepy crawlies. I spied with my little eye, your figure sat up on the hill. You remained sat up, eyes fixated on the city, when I came around. You could have been a statue, if it weren’t for the light flush in your cheeks.

“We’re so far from it, yet we are right at the centre of it.”

“I hate birds.”

“Where is life?”

“You are life.” He looked up at me.

“You can’t take a break from me, now can you?” You smiled, adorably.

“I’ll run away.” I handed you a bunch of grapes.

“Where could you run to?”

“Where could I run to?” You inched closer to me. “What about with you?”

“That’s hardly running away, now.” A smile creeped onto my lips, just as you got closer and closer and closer. Life was closing in on me.

I’d be lost without you, and that’s not me being cheesy here. I thought. I would never say that out in the open. Never to you.

“As long as we’re together.”

We often found ourselves sitting on this hill – you and I.


Hello everyone!

Here’s a prose piece I’ve been working on for submission. It’s hard to tell if it’s at the right standard at the moment because I only wrote it yesterday. With this one, I had to show evidence that I’ve been inspired by any of the things we’ve done in the workshops this term; I chose Ernest Hemingway’s ‘Hills Like White Elephants’ to be the source of inspiration. 

The tricky part about shorter prose pieces, is trying to convey a story and message through the subtext. If you just feel like you’re not understanding the piece above, then I’ve probably failed to deliver. 

Still – hope you enjoyed it and have a lovely day/week!

See you soon! x

Kale’s Cookie Jar

It was around noon when Kale realised there was something missing from his cookie jar. His cookie jar was in fact a real life replica of Pooh Bear’s honey pot; Grandmama had gifted it to him after she had gone to Disneyland and had forgotten to take him along. So there it was, Kale’s Pooh Bear honey pot, now cookie jar, in his arms, who had fallen victim to a heinous crime.

In his mind, Kale couldn’t comprehend who in their right mind would do such a thing. Kale replayed the possible scenario in his head: hushed footsteps; a head carefully tilting, checking the surroundings; a grubby hand reaches for the honey pot-cookie jar’s head; the other takes the goods from within; the head is replaced. Yes, a meticulously thought out plan was needed for such a task, Kale thought. But in the next moments Kale smiled to himself and announced, “What a grand plan, indeed!”

The minutes and hours seemed to disintegrate as he stood there, stock-still.

A thunderous thud sounded above his head. Strike back operation had commenced. And Kale seemed to finish an invisible conversation out loud, “Of course, the last one left is a bad cookie.”

Kale held onto his cookie jar, like a hand grenade, just as he did before. Five minutes had passed since he had found out about the great crime. Those five minutes had given him all he had wanted to know. 


Hi everyone!

I hope you can appreciate that this piece of prose isn’t in its final form yet – it is currently a first draft for my prose submission for later on. So there may be parts where you don’t fully understand what’s going on (especially towards the end). 

Just a quick update as well: I finally handed in my long Odyssey essay yesterday! I feel very relieved that now I don’t need to look at it anymore. I think I deserve a day of rest before proceeding with more work/reading. Also, it was my birthday on the 25th, so I’m 19 now. It feels strange to know that next year I’ll hit the big 20 and will have no choice but to be an adult.

Anyways – all the same, hope you enjoyed reading this post!

See you soon! x

Tokyo Ghoul – Unravel (piano by Animenz)

Hi everyone!

If you read my anime/manga post a while ago, then you’d know that I love Tokyo Ghoul. It’s so awesome! What makes things even better is that finally, the perfect piano version of the opening song for season one has been put up.

The youtube channel is called Animenz Piano Sheets, and it is my favourite channel for piano transcriptions (hope that’s the right word) of anime songs. I’ll share other youtube videos that I like with you on my blog as well, because it’s just nice to be able to share them with you. 

I really enjoy listening to this so I hope you do too!

See you soon! x