Posted in Nature stories

Guest Post: Skyline Figures by Dara Lafayette

ivan-mani-QdwR5aRGkbs-unsplash

Alone at dusk I connect the dots,
stars and memories in my mind.

Because I cannot see the future, only feel,
I might as well imagine

and dip my head into the dark sky, awake.

-by Dara Lafayette


Dara Lafayette is a fellow writer from Ireland, a musician and a budding artist. He is a dear friend and my favorite critic who has helped me articulate my thoughts in words.

This is why he writes: “My creative energy draws me to write with passion; to create a scene full of tone and story, and mystery and mastery of words. Writing is breathing to me. It helps me accept the simple and intricate bittersweet beauty of life as I breathe in the woods, forests and beaches. I’m a member of a non-fiction writers group and have done several public readings. Currently, I’m editing the first draft of my debut book of poetry.”

You can find his other pieces of poetry on his writer’s group: https://corknonfictionwriters.blogspot.com/search?q=dara


Photo by Ivan Mani on Unsplash

Posted in Nature stories

Guest Post: Sound by Dara Lafayette

cameron-vaughan-0AV7XLABuZk-unsplash

How can one man be so happy,
with so little,

All you have is,
books and friends and food,

The sun only guides your footsteps
during daylight

Fire of night
is made of simple wood

And even now your lifelong heart
is only just beginning to forgive

Your sights
are only strands and streams,
though fitting

Seats that do not creak
are dry and solid sitting

Toast of thin honey,
and butter slender spread

Distilled life
into only

One body
One heart
One head.

-by Dara Lafayette


Dara Lafayette is a fellow writer from Ireland, a musician and a budding artist. He is a dear friend and my favorite critic who has helped me articulate my thoughts in words.

This is why he writes: “My creative energy draws me to write with passion; to create a scene full of tone and story, and mystery and mastery of words. Writing is breathing to me. It helps me accept the simple and intricate bittersweet beauty of life as I breathe in the woods, forests and beaches. I’m a member of a non-fiction writers group and have done several public readings. Currently, I’m editing the first draft of my debut book of poetry.”

You can find his other pieces of poetry on his writer’s group: https://corknonfictionwriters.blogspot.com/search?q=dara


Photo by Cameron Vaughan on Unsplash

Posted in Fiction

The Penthouse

febrian-zakaria-A6_YMPF1XpY-unsplash

So far, he had avoided sitting on the pristine bed, as if it carried a disease.

Earlier, when she had flirted with him during the meeting in her penthouse, he had gone along with it. She was a tough client, and the deal was too important. When, she asked him to spend the night—an opportunity to please her—he didn’t think twice.

Now, he wondered why it made him uneasy. They were both consenting adults and none in a relationship. He’d had casual relations before for fun.

But he was interested in those women.

This time, she was just…a cheque.

Pleasure for money—does this make him a prostitute? Why hadn’t he accompanied her in the bath like he usually did with women? Why was he already planning to leave before dawn to avoid the ‘walk of shame’? Why was he still hoping she’d change her mind?

The faint sound of the bathroom doorknob made him choose quickly.

Hastily, he gathered his most charming smile, ready to serve his master…in every way.


Photo by Febrian Zakaria on Unsplash

Posted in Fiction, Poetry

Prayers Late at Night

We call him

Over and over again,

Sitting next to the phone,

Waiting

And praying,

And crying,

And praying again;

That he had reached home safe

And fallen deep asleep;

Or switched off his phone

After our fight last night;

Or run away

With the guy

His father is so against.

Anything’s better than

What the Police states…

They’ve found a body

In the bottom of the lake.

Posted in Fiction

Old

andrik-langfield-ST2R_tlO3RE-unsplash

I’m old.

With more than 50 years behind me, I’ve some fond memories. I remember bringing Eddie and Chris home the day they were born–such wee little things. And when Eddie married, I drove the happy couple to their honeymoon. I held his daughters as babies and even took them camping when they grew up…

It was fun while it lasted.

But nobody can carry on forever. So now that I tire easily and my joints make me groan, I spend my days sitting in the sun in the yard while the new generation does the hard work.

Sigh! Well, I had a good run…


Photo by Andrik Langfield on Unsplash

Posted in Fiction

The Lighthouse

Sigh! I simply love this lighthouse. The view from the top is breathtaking, especially on starry nights. I can sit here and look at it forever. The same stars that light up the sky also shine in the ocean; you, in the middle, feel like you’re floating in the outer space…

But people avoid this place. They call it haunted!

Earlier, I tried to talk to the few people who came here, probably on a dare. I assured them there is nobody here but me. I should know—I’ve lived here for more than a thousand years.

But they ran away! What Ninnies! Well, nobody can say I didn’t try.


 Photo by Introspectivenl on Unsplash

Posted in Fiction, Poetry

Things I Do for You

It’s my personal hell

In my little town–

The wall by the pond

We graffitied together

To scare the passers-by

Snickering all the time–

The one that we openly

Laughed at later…

How well you knew

I was scared too!

 

With you gone under,

I throng that place now

Even though it creeps me,

Knowing you too well,

Hoping you’ll come back,

To scare me.


Photo by Bryan Debin on Unsplash