• Creative Writing

    Pod 125, Hebrus Valles, Mars

      Pod 125, Hebrus Valles, Mars    Ting bip bip bip. Ting bip bip bip. Ting bip bip bip. The buzzer beeps relentlessly until I point my index finger at the red, flashing square. It takes quite a bit of finesse because it’s located right in the middle of the Pointer Box over the door. Smart move, there’s no way you’d be able to turn it off unless you were fully awake. The switch-off starts the predictable morning routine in motion. I stretch myself up on the bed…A loose term really, it’s more like a flat-packed coffin. The only difference is that it’s made of white recycled plastic and it…

  • Creative Writing

    Spluttering Silence

    Spluttering Silence That night was a night like no other. A night of dark and brooding skies, Blue-tinged clouds and Shooting stars which bore the scars Of a million flickering miles. Slowly, silently, all was dimmed and A moon which hung disconsolate, Its light no longer needed and Useless as a burst balloon, Simply faded and receded. The stillness matched the darkness In intensity and pain, Until from deep within the earth, From its very core, hot like fire, A sound began to resonate, A rumbling explosion that roared and rushed to the surface, Spilling scalding red rivers And Sulphur fumed ashes Upon a once verdant landscape. Earth’s death throes,…

  • Creative Writing

    Adonis

    Adonis “Hi, do you mind if I join you?” Sandy jerked her head up from the book and stared at this modern-day Adonis. In fact, he was way better than that, she thought. Besides having perfectly balanced features, the man had that rugged, unspoiled appearance that only the coolest guys could muster. And, best of all, he was still a living, breathing member of humanity. Wow! This could be my lucky day. Sandy smiled and nodded her head, hoping she looked more nonchalant than she felt. “Yes, no problem.  It’s busy here today, isn’t it?” Adonis put his tray down on the benchtop and squeezed in beside Sandy. She noticed…

  • Creative Writing

    Last Steps

    Last Steps The last steps like the first steps, Cautious and faltering, Seeking for guidance and Aiming for home. The light that was carried and Molded and shared Is dimming and fading With each turn of the stairs. The breathing is laboured The heartbeat unsure But the gift is still carried And presented, unpure. The last light like the first light, Blazing and beckoning, Retrieving the flame and The gift that was given. Transparent hands hold it aloft, Was I worthy? Did I shine? Did I do enough? The flicker of life returns to its’ core, Unseeing, unknowing, undead.     I  wrote this piece in response to the above picture.…

  • Creative Writing

    Last Light

    “Imagine living for a whole century, Stella. Your grandmother was made of strong stuff. They don’t make them like that anymore.” “ I know, Mam. I’ll never forget the day she attacked Doctor Carey about the driving license. She was so mad at him!” “ That was typical Gran. She figured she had her license and that was it. There was no talking to her.” I’m helping Mam sort through Gran’s things, looking for a photograph to put on the memorial card. It’s been almost a year since she died and it’s about time we got something sorted. It’s cold outside but the dining room already feels warm from the…

  • Creative Writing

    Flanders Remembrance

    Flanders Remembrance You and me mate, that was our promise, Whatever happened, we were together. It didn’t matter how awful it was, How the guns blasted our ears, How the gas clogged our lungs, We were together, that’s all that mattered.   They came for us, like thieves in the night, Seeking us out, smelling our fear. But we were men, we fell together, Bled out as one on the field of dreams.   Falling backwards into a void, You and me mate, always together, Lost generations weep for our passing and Earth blushes in shame at the loss.     I  wrote this piece in response to the above picture and the poem In…

  • Creative Writing

    Dance Mermaid Dance

        Dance Mermaid Dance Long years have passed since first I felt your warm, Strong arms wrap my shivering body close to yours. You found me, floundering in low-tide, and pulled me From the gravelly sand that tore through my skin Like the teeth of a barracuda. “Fashioned from my dreams, ” you said And I, knowing no better, took the bait. Was it all an illusion? I felt transformed by love, Like the mermaid whose fishtail disappeared And I learned to dance in harmony with hope. But the curtain has dropped on that performance and I return, lost, to the place of our beginning, Searching for answers amongst the empty shells.…

  • Creative Writing

    Coal Shed Ghosts

    Coal Shed Ghosts Everyone envied the Miller’s. Their secluded Victorian home stood like a tranquil oasis in the cluttered neighbourhood of Westbury. At the bottom of the garden, shrouded by overgrown rhododendrons, stood an old, stone outbuilding. It was once used to keep tackle for horses but now served mainly as Jack’s coal shed. Sometimes, Jack stored other items there, like old paint cans or broken kettles. Things that he didn’t want messing up his meticulously organized garage. Other things could end up locked away in the shed too. Once, it was the turn of Katherine’s dog. ” Stupid animal, peeing on the couch. The only bloody decent wedding present we…

  • Creative Writing

    Prism

      Prism A myriad rainbow of candy-striped Colours come streaming and Screaming, uncalled for, unbidden. Choose one colour , One pattern of consciousness. But each is alone, isolated, insistent, Cascading beautifully to conclusion, No interlocking or blurred blending. How to thread the beauty together, How to reunite the oneness of being? A prism splits me, spills me And I cannot find a vessel Big enough, secure enough To gather me together.     ©Bernie Delaney   Other Poems Sorceress Concrete Footsteps Ice Drop Anchored to the Past The Window   Photo Thomas Ensley on Unsplash      

  • Creative Writing

    Sorceress

      The inspiration for the Sorceress poem Sorceress In dark, skeletal woodland, Limbs of trees hang bleached and broken. Their finger like twigs, now robbed of jewels, Point sharply to the thieving culprit; Sorceress, temptress, fiery queen, Bewitching mistress of the light. Man’s nemesis, found in the sooty Footprints of a ruined forest.     ©Bernie Delaney       I wrote this poem in response to the visual prompt of the above picture.    ” What do you See? “ Other Photo by Angie Corbett-Kuiper on Unsplash I found it later on and thought that it worked with the poem. Other Poems: Concrete Footsteps Ice Drop Anchored to the Past The Window  …