creative writing, original piece, poem, poetry, writing

Angels Light

Angels switch off stars

blackbirds begin a new song

chirping Sun awake

Moon moves on

soothing restless souls to sleep

owls observe from shady trees

Day and Night switching places

following the world’s slow spin

continuing our hearts duet

coaxing the solos of lonely beats

twirling with Times swirl

pulsating to the tick tock

flicking of Angels light.

Advertisements
creative writing, Fiction, flash fiction, original piece, writing

The Street Below


On a twig outside their nest, the old Lovebirds snuggle while observing the neighbours below.

They tweet good morning to the Tortoises who slowly walk down the street, carrying too much knowledge on their backs of all the animals past. They try in vain to calm their pupils; Young Monkeys swinging between trees and lampposts, leaving their wrinkling teachers behind as they skip down the street, pulling each others tails. 

Out of the corner of beady eyes, further down the path, the couple spot a family of snakes shedding their skins down the drain before slithering back to their home, leaving no trail of their former selves behind. Across the road, a young Parrot couple bicker, the argument goes round in circles as they continue to repeat each other, feathers ruffling in frustration.

Then a few houses along the street, the Guinea Pig den grab the old couples attention, causing their feathers to quiver and their beaks to hang open as they watch them having an orgy through the window. Out of the way of the view, their children play in the dirt, caring less than other animals would, about who they belong to. Muttering under their beaks, about the morality of other species, the old birds turn away glad, in a way, the obscene mating can only be seen and not heard, unlike the squawking Parrots down the road.

The Lovebirds snuggle closer, pondering on where they should move to next. They would need to scout a new area, try and find a politer place to set up their nest. But then a small feather waves and lands at their feet. Their grandchildren hop down on another twig in front of them, clicking their beaks, tweeting stories of their own, not caring about what’s happening on the street below.

Photography by J.Broomhead