Saturday, 10 October 2015

Flash fiction 14: Forever in time #2minutesgo

Well, yesterday it was Friday and write with JD Mader over at his website, Unemployed Imagination - The idea is to write for 2 minutes - some people write longer - and you just go for it, without looking back and editing. Have a great weekend! :)

Forever in time

How they loved to dance. Shocking in the raw splendor of it. Bereft of shame. Watched, idolised even. Nothing punctured the air encircling them as they stepped, drifting, innocent as children on the air. You could not spy their feet; they shifted so quickly, hungry for the beat carrying them, passionate for the music to never end. It would not – forever it would wind, the notes crushing the bodies to one another, in vain trying to penetrate the flesh, to be one, as one, only one. Yet they were fated to be two, lost in time, woven together as the seconds spun. Around. In the end only a flicker remained on unraveling film before the dying light lost them to the silent screen.

copyright Vickie Johnstone, October 9, 2015

Thursday, 8 October 2015

#NationalPoetryDay - These twisted paths we tread

A poem for National Poetry Day...

These twisted paths we tread

She slides between these walls
one foot, two feet, a hand and two
this is the space in which she lives
breathes, empties all that she is

she knows, where the eye seeks to spy
through circles drilled into the walls
the hidden, they watch, scratching idly
starving for love, the thing she lost

the ones she forgot were left behind
they hide now like ghosts in the leaves
rustling they leap upon the breeze
echoes of the past haunting mirrors

the scribe knows, he laughs sometimes
knowing all the things he does
it only makes him fail, too self-absorbed
to comprehend what she really is

the ghosts they circle inside these walls
pushing their fingers through the paper
seeking to caress the curls of her hair
twisting, she knows they linger

inside, watching where the beetle runs
trailing all his miniscule unlived lives
between the pages of a book unseen
she lived it, breathed it, all that ripples

thus she dances here alone, casting
rainbow dust upon the bleakest grey
the steel that rusts in crusts of red
rosebud offerings to the elements

laughter so raw covers an ache so deep
like a monster it yearns to spring
inside, where the waiting ends
inside, where the spiral grows

there’s a twist in the passage that eels
a malevolent darkness screams
opening the chasm that yawns awake
stealing tomorrow for its own sake

it twists, but nothing can touch her,
lost as she is in the echoes of her past.

copyright Vickie Johnstone

Sunday, 6 September 2015

A Poem a Day (53): Sing


Some people sing –

It’s a sentiment I crave

Like the desolate moon

Drip-dry of felt.

These waves run to black

As I weave this rolling pattern

Shimmering to the fore

Where we forget this,

The rhythm of the day

The luster of the sky,


A purse lined with nothing,

Scabbed knees praying low

While the blackbird sings

To waken the dead silence

Seeping in a spiral of stars,

Edging into the mind

Where everyone forgot

How to.

copyright Vickie Johnstone

Friday, 28 August 2015

A Poem a Day (52): Smoke

Well, it's been a while... and I'm rusty, but JD Mader's Unemployed Imagination site got me off my butt and writing today. Head over to his place for some inspiration :) A happy Friday to ya, whatever you're up to. 


Grey smoke lists
Twists in the echoes
Of an endless night

Moments of indecision
Breaking under pressure
Until life pauses
Offering itself alive
To be savoured

He sees her as she is
In tunnel vision
Soft as the sea’s roar
Penetrating his shell

She seeks and finds him
Here in the dawn
A blanketed man
Raw in his openness
Hopeful of high heart
Aching to know it all

He senses
A reflection drawn
And set apart
Yet completing him
As she lifts her head
To utter a kiss

She saves his smile
A treasured thing
So fragile and fleeting
To keep her warm
On the journey back
To herself.

copyright Vickie Johnstone

Friday, 7 August 2015

A Poem a Day (51): This sea

Well, it's Friday again. Been out for pizza with a lovely friend, gained some calories and lost a jacket (luckily they have it, so fingers crossed it's there tomorrow), and now it's time to write with JD Mader over at his home, Unemployed Imagination - The idea is to write for 2 minutes - some people write longer - and you just go for it, without looking back and editing. Head over to play or just read. Have a great weekend! :) 

This sea

It sweeps over
This sea
Drowning everything
It sees
The motion
The being
The feeling
In the in between
Secreting inside
This skin

Patience defies
It all
Gasping to be free
To be itself
In the moon tide
Restless in transit
Enlightened, fading
And rising again

The potion
Of the wisest man
Seeks to dispel
This almost knowing
Wishing for clarity
While walking
In grey
In signs still blurred
In lines in twists

Scurrying forth
Beneath this sea
Washing all over
The hands beneath
We dance in circles
Sing in rhyme
Travel in the mind
To find our own kind
In the waters
Secreting our soul.

copyright Vickie Johnstone, August 7, 2015

Friday, 24 July 2015

Flash fiction 13: Strokes

Well, it's Friday again, so it's time to write with JD Mader over at his home, Unemployed Imagination - The idea is to write for 2 minutes - some people write longer - and you just go for it, without looking back and editing. Head over to play or just read. Have a great weekend! :) This is the third piece I wrote.


Colour. I race through colours, all of them – a dipping stream of dizzying brushstrokes zipping the majestic. Me. Just me. I am not you and neither are you me. I used to be an extension, an extra limb, a twin almost to your individuality. The echo of your words, the agreement of your thoughts, dressing in your gawky style. Looking up to you in mind and height. My idea of happiness, for you brought me this.

Skipping on the chalk lines, calling out the purple numbers drawn in curls of magic. Our feet crossing, uncrossing, jumping, stasis. Giggles. And buttercups. Those curved buckets of lemon lips and we did kiss them, but only when the daisies couldn’t see. Our first four-leaved clover, seemingly left by the whitest, brightest unicorn in the land.

Only from the other; the other world. The lies of our dreams. Fantasies worn too tightly, falling loose as we found ourselves in our growing pains. A curtsey to the future while we ran wild, chasing time itself, even as we sensed the curtain must fall one day, when the roses would cease to flood our stage with the perfume of delight.

When once upon a time faded, decay stole into this place, clouding everything in its breath. Including you, my beloved sister, wrenched from my arms before your time. I paint you here with daisies playing in your auburn hair, your elfin eyes creasing at the edges and your lips turned up in a perfect bow. Love racing through its colours. 

copyright Vickie Johnstone, July 24, 2015