Vixie's stories

  Some poems I wrote in pubs from Monday to Wednesday. It rained quite a bit! They are all first drafts.     Wet T-shirts   Swap T-shirts in...

  Silver   The Man in the Moon moved. One day he simply stepped down, left his silver boa behind, took the world’s spotlight down. A torch b...

Hi, I'm not sure if anyone can view my blog in Google or search for it. It is no longer coming up at the top of search when I type Vixie...

  The real thing (a prose poem)   You buy it hoping it will fit, but you can never really know. Taste a sample. Is it the real thing or is i...

Pulling the chain   Spend four months kipping in hotels because you don’t have a choice – no job = no flat – and they’ll soon lose their idy...

  Chasing water   You can smell the rain melt into the trees, spray the sidewalk a-glitter, invisible chaser, staring up at sunlight crackin...

Track & trace   It’s track and trace, the age of Big Brother, every day on record.   Can you hear the bounce, the standoff? Sweet fermen...

  Mannekin   Into the cave, bricked up, forbidden love. Wooden tabletops compare sunken contrasts, muted lights flicker in cloudy glasses aw...

  Unfaded   To be unfaded, I’ll trace your reflection in ink, a memory recorded in smoke, a maybe you will never obey. We starve ourselves i...

  Stricken summer   She spoke, she moved, she eloped. It was a stricken summer stripped of steel.   Knock out, step back, repent sideways. H...