Poetry & Prose by Carol J Forrester
Good morning lovely readers. It’s been a while since I wrote a chatty post, hasn’t it? Months, in fact, so with the year coming to an end, I thought I should crack out the virtual ink and let you all know what I’ve been up to. At first glance, I wasn’t sure I’d managed to do that much, but then I delved a bit deeper and it turns out that 2021 was really quite good.
Continue reading “How Not To Write A Novel – Poetry, Sketches, and Short Stories”
It feels as if we are introducing you to Autumn. Slowly, and with care. Small hands, fingers fisted before bursting open like early fireworks. Breath-taking. Quite literally. Little face, big eyes, shadows for brows. All of these things change as the season steps in, lifts you from your bassinet, pinks your cheeks.
Look– at how much you’ve grown, at how the leaves have turned so quickly, these layers forming one over the other. Breath, and breeze, across your vocal chords. Outside a storm is cooing through the branches, changing notes, the strength of it lifting tree roots from their standings. When the winds settle, we sweep all the chaos beneath carpets, smooth the lines till their crisp. Pat you stomach. Tell you, that this fire is good.
The sky is beaten grey,
the metallic sheen of swords
unsheathed and waiting.
Pretending to linger
I make a show
of standing on the threshold
one shoulder inside
this room we’ve filled with moments,
cheeks smooshed against windows
limbs spilling, grasping
from cupboards unclosed
and floorboards lifting loose
to show the bodies
no longer hidden, buried beneath.
Time tests all things,
makes steady work of wearing out
these old duds,
till they fall off and run like sand
along the length of your hourglass,
or come back into fashion,
following along worn grooves
and ever turning cycles
deepening down each mark.
Writing and Works