Bridget

Bayla

v1: Bat signal



v2: Orange Creamsicle



v3: Short Stack Skulls

Smells Like Ireland Last Breath Un-rhymn I love you in Blue

Scorchio on fire

written for SCORCHED!
a sudden bolt of lightning
ignites a fire
and from the ashes it rises
climbing the sky, higher


its wings spread between the horizons
possessing the grace of a unicorn
and with the intensity of a pheonix
the majestic scorchio is born


his firey crimson skin
is one to amaze
he is powerful, yet graceful,
as his heart is ablaze.


The burning red sunset
is known only to kings
but you can find the same colours
about the scorchio's exquisite wings.


watch, now, as he soars
as his wings kiss the skies
and the fire of pure passion
burns in the scorchio's eyes.

Smells like Ireland

this is the beginning of a story I was writing and never finished...due to lack of inspiriation x3

Cian peered out of the inch-thick paned -blocked- Frost was gathering around the edges. Beneath, he could see the thick, voluptuous, rolling clouds towards the far end of the horizon. Here and there the cirrus broke, allowing openings in which he could spot the misty green-blue of the Irish Sea. Those waves were so familiar, he'd surfed them plenty times on his beat-up yellow Rosy surfboard. Cian drifted to memories of his family, full and happy at the beach, teaching his mum how to wax a surfboard...

His daydreams were interrupted by a loud crackling babble over the worn-out speakers. "'Hello, passengers. This is your captain speaking. We're on our way into Dublin, so I must ask that you turn off all electronics and fasten your safety belts. Thank you."

The message barely made it to Cian's ears before he was staring back out the -blocked- He refocused, to look at his own reflection, doubled up and overlapping due to the two-paned nature of the plane -blocked- His dark brown hair fell over his face, grazing the lids of his bright green eyes. His fair complexion reminded him of the seafoam back home.

Soon," he thought. "Soon I'll be home."

Flight 23A landed in the Dublin Airport at 18:15 hours. Cian stood amongst the noisy, impatient and irate crowd, waiting for their luggage to come around the carousel. The familiar 'Umbongo' juice advert theme song shot suddenly into the air. Several heads turned, and several unseen faces checked their pockets. Looking sheepishly around, Cain fished the ringing clamshell device out of his pocket, flipped it open and glanced at the caller ID on the display.

A small smile tugged the corner of his lips. He pressed the answer button and held the cellphone gingerly to his ear.

Hi, mum. I'm at the airport now". He spoke calmly, though with difficulty given the task of concealing the joy in his voice. The scratchy, staticized voice at the other end replied with an upscale tone. "That's great! How was your trip?"

Cain's smile widened, for upon hearing that voice, he could envision his mother smiling as she spoke, standing with her arms on the back of his father's chair, the reciever snug between her shoulder and ear. He then proceeded to reply "Long, but not bad...", but was interrupted. His head turned.

A jingling sound of his favourite Hibs keychain sung shrilly, yet silently into the air, a song discernible only by him, as his dull red and battered Eastpak tumbled out of the exit point of the luggage carrier system and onto the carousel.

Luggage's here, mum. I'll be home real soon!" Cian uttered somewhat distractedly into his cellphone. His mother replied with a tone of urgency that increased in speed towards the end of the conversation, "Oh okay hun, love you, love you, love you--"

Cian snapped his phone shut, squeezed between an elderly couple, grabbed his duffel as it approached and made hasty exit for the parking garage just outside the airport, uttering a quick apology as his bag hit the wrist of the old man while he swung around.

Outside, Cain inhaled deeply, letting the air fill his lungs until his chest stood out proudly. Smells like Ireland. Smells like home. Smells like...salty sea air, wild bracken in the breeze, and bonfires on Dollymount Strand. Unfortunately, Cian had no time to take in the too-familiar, yet oddly hazy scenery of Dublin. He hailed a taxi and was soon on his way home to Athgarvan, County Kildare. In that musty taxi with its out-of-tune radio playing softly, Cian thought about his trip to the States. It was everything he thought he'd ever dreamed of. And more.

Last Breath

this is a poem about a dead baby. I know, it sounds awful..but i thought child abuse was a topic i NEEDED to write about.

life shaken out of a child,
gone with his last breath,
he lies cold on the floor
as birth gives way to death.


when his mother came in,
she barely made it through the door
when she saw her angel
lying dead on the kitchen floor.


her hands framed his face,
delicately, feeling for a beat,
finding nothing but a body,
her hands numbly began to retreat.


and as he realized what he'd done
the father was filled with regret
clutching his hair, trembling,
he was trying to forget.

When the authorities arrived,
his mother was enraged and hysterical
but her sorrow turned to awe
as she witnessed a miracle.

from her infant's small body
rose a spiraling, serene mist.
the officers stared in amazement,
the father began to unclench his fists.

Everyone in the small kitchen
felt a sense of release
their minds put to ease,
they knew the boy had found peace.

And now, as we sit beside his stone,
we bask in the sun's tender loving rays.
If you listen closely on the wind,
you'll hear laughter as the boy plays.

Un-rhym

Today, at this moment, in this classroom,
I will become intoxicated from sideways glances
and awkward moments when our eyes meet. When we both realize that we were
thinking about each other,
our minds connected in a way
that we could only dream about understanding.
A way that makes our hearts beat in time,
falling in step with each other, and back out again.
A way that makes my breath quicken,
although everything seems to be in slow motion.
And that moment, all of two seconds,
though it feels like hours longer,
will hold me over until the the next.

I love you in blue

Your smile is addictive,
you're always in my head.
Honey, do I like you in red?


You're amazingly close to perfect,
you make up for what I lack.
Sweetie, do I like you in black?


I think about you all day,
and dream about you at night.
Dear, do I like you in white?


You make me happy whenever you're near,
Just thinking of you makes me feel serene
My Love, do I like you in green?


You've got me head over heels,
I just don't know what to do.
Darling, I love you in blue. :)