Two hands twist upon the clock face, Inching hour by hour to the new time. The New Year. The calendars run thinner and thinner as the pages fall. <br> Parties pound on. Music and drinks to call in the New Year. People with coloured foil hats. All waiting for the end of the old times….
Author: Jordan
The Shadow Man
For once upon my wall there was a shadow. A shadow of a darkest colours, Not just one but made of many shades of darkness. With silver eyes that never miss a trick. But the shadow was kind to me, at first. It would tell stories from its place on the wall, It would paint…
Colourblind
She was a rainbow and he was colourblind. She sparkled brightly in his scrutiny. Her personality a gemstone in light. But he could not see her marvellous colours. She wanted to be the paint on their canvas. Her bright and joyful images would dominate the canvas of their relationship. A collage of their happiness. He…
The House in the Woods
On the edge of the cliff, the estate agent stood with despair at the task he had been set. In the heart of the forest, his task stood, Long since left behind by the family that had built it up from the ground. All the love and moments now left in a rotting box, both…
Workshop draft
Frigid temperatures of the Winter season give birth to terrible twins: the fluffiest white snow and the dreaded black ice. Both relish the changing environment, gone are the sun’s loving heat, the live green of the foliage and in their place everything is muted. Dull and lifeless. The terrible twins devour all this and wreak…
The butterfly
Once I saw a butterfly in a shaft of light. Its turquoise wings exploded into navy shadows, Shadows that soared and scattered in plight. <br> The lively butterfly was spinning in delight, In front of the shut up windows. Once I saw a butterfly in a shaft of light. <br> Its cobalt wings and body…
The old man and the clockwork fox
There was once an old man, Who owned a clockwork fox. She was kept in a wooden box. He was a Cad and so had a plan. <br> The old man wanted to make fortune, He wanted to use his contraption, To make his life reach fruition. The fox played a broken tune, <br> And…
Nostalgia is odd.
Nostalgia is odd. Pull pieces of memory Across time and place.
Fear.
Golden eyes watch, Scarlet fur bristles in fear. A bushy tail flees.
My Family’s House
My family’s house is older than me, perhaps older than the town that stands a short distance away. It stands amongst the trunks of trees, hidden deep within the heart of the forest. Privacy was its strongest asset. Maybe that and the picturesque views from the windows. The lonely building is empty. Empty of the…
Fox Writing 