by Christine

June 11, 2016

The wind comes from the west,

boldly humming his tale of weathered old cottages

staring onto the glassy surface of the cold Atlantic sea

and mushy white and black sheep grazing on

wide luscious pastures of my beloved green Isle.

The leafy little spot hidden behind an overpo...

June 11, 2016

What if we stopped 

wedging ourselves into tight small minded spaces which don’t fit our shape at all

What if we stopped 

adjusting our exceptional voice to the almost unbearable colourless noise around us swallowing our inner cravings

What if we stopped 

chasing shapeless...

April 18, 2008

Dark clouds hang on the light sunk sky

as if they wanted to tell the almost unbearable gleaming of the horizon

to straighten up and behave.

They are heavy and fluffy like cotton wool

like they were dipped in black coffee.

nearly threatening.

The wind which comes from the wes...

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