Strokes of yellow penetrated a thin veil of grey, illuminating gold leaves as they briskly fall. Twirling, serenely in mid air as if on an unseen dance floor.

Their grace was a silent plea for winter’s mercy. The naked trees stood tall; boldly in dark brown oak, salmon as though they were never once upon time those beacons of green and lime.

Stranded beggars scowl for the mistress autumn has snatched their complimentary shade, with her unfriendly temperatures leaving them scavenging for shreds of warmth. With open arms, solitary avenues welcome the homeless and beneath a layer of litter scarlet gold pavements tell stories; of broken hearts, playing children, unfortunate souls and many more…

Alone on a park bench, she sits. Scribbling soundlessly, furiously in an old diary. I see her words fall from the murky ink of her pen to a shocking white page, alike you and me her phrases amount to nothing but pain. It is a fable, nothing less but a myth of how they resent you and me so much so we turn out to be what we were meant not. Perhaps it was true when they said I was a negative influence on you and probably my expressions leak out the stalwart stench to my negativity, this never-ending fury.

However, if I am so wrong for you, if truly you are too good for me why do we dance along profound lines of their never-ending hostility?



Lovers’ plea


Had fate pleaded with destiny

Affections could hath still breed

Spawns of fate, desire and need

These feeble beckoning seconds would be not of greed

Thus every mistake, would be worth youth lovers please.

Madman’s Wish


I’m not perfect

But I’m the light that burns your canvas

when you paint.

And the words that refuse to rhyme

when you write.


I’m not pretty

But I’m the purple violet that dances

beneath the sun’s glow

And the forlorn shadow beneath every sullen cloud

when skies are heavy.


I’m not mediocre

But I’m the red rose that refuses to bloom nor wither

And the smile you feel when you walk into a crowded empty room.


I’ve got no fixed melody, rhythm nor tempo

But I’m the worn-out strings on your fancy piano

And old strings on your favorite guitar


And I’m nothing special

But I’m not the ordinary pages of every book you read

My cliffhangers have twists

My chapters are unmarked and begin at the end

I’m a madman’s wish

Suburban Sadness

These suburban skies fall

So we’re covered in blue

Underneath the rain, roses are blemished red

But then again so are you…



These tulips stole the color from your halo

But you’re still heavenly.


These deserted suburban streetlights faintly glimmer,

So we’re covered in decaying yellow, the ghosts of their shadows.

Underneath their dying glow, the concrete is mellow

But then again so am I…


These love-stricken lilies have stolen our memories

But we’re still a cursed treasury.


These long-winged suburban clouds

So we’re covered in ultramarine and beryl

Underneath the rain, I’m still that very same devil

But then again so were you…


This pencil clock sketched us together from the start

But we’re still two separate pieces of art.


-Blue Carrisole


The lives of Perry and James take a drastic turn when Perry discovers a secret James has been keeping.

After coming so far from his days of self-loathing and attempts of hurting himself she questions whether she can forgive him.

…Will she?

Catch the full story on


Tying the Knot

Bulbs hung low, gleaming.

Her lonely glass sat over the red countertop; the three ice cubes had long melted.

Staring at the red print of her low lip at its brim she traced over her mouth hoping most of her lipstick remained intact.

Miranda tempted to rush to the ladies washroom just to have a quick look but feared she’d miss her partner’s arrival if she did.

“Stupid Miranda” she whispered. Mentally kicking herself for not having the sense to pack a compact mirror.

It was getting harder to breathe in her tight red dress and the unforgiving October air was not doing much to help. Her arms were covered in goose pimples from the wind’s ruthless touch and nerves were causing her stomach to do back flips.

Tonight had to be perfect.

Glancing at his profile once more had doubt creeping in and she wondered why she went with the suggestion of an online planned blind date. Had her mother not put her up to this she could have been home by now, sitting on her balcony with a fresh cool glass of brandy and lit cigarette wearing more comfortable clothing, admiring the autumn skyline.


Faintly, she heard an unfamiliar voice call her name and turned to investigate.

A young man stood beside the restaurant host.

Their muffled words made unclear as to what they were saying but as the groomed usher checked over his black bookmarked reservations Miranda knew what to conclude.

It wasn’t too long before their conversation died out and the two men walked deeper into the restaurant, bypassing the tables to get to the pub.


Both men were taking slow but sure strides towards her with the host leading the way. Taking a deep breath she sat upright “Showtime Miranda”

“Is this seat taken?” the similarities to the picture on his profile were obvious and she was thankful. Although Jack’s dark hair was longer she recognized his stiff jaw and piercing blue eyes that stood to be more shocking within the dim light.


selective focus photography of open signage
Photo by Artem Beliaikin @belart84 on Pexels.com

Swinging me forth and pulling me back

Shadows of time dwell on the past,

Swinging me forth and pulling me back

And fate still whispers of how she warned me,

As every soothing memory holds me coldly.


I’m holding veils of vigor,

They’re swinging me forth and holding me back

Between doubt and confusion,

As happiness’s hollow voice is left in the dark.


The faces of heart and truth watch me speechless,

Swinging me forth and pulling me back,

And belief denies that she deceived me,

Saying the thought of choice is what fooled me.


And perhaps, the worst part is that I knew

we were always meant to say goodbye.


So its no surprise,

Slivers of sorrow prick me now,

Swinging me forth and pulling me back.

And destiny still whispers of how she cautioned me

Of all the things we wanted and how they haunt me now.

©Blue Carrisole

Part devil, part angel

I stand beneath a selfless light

I am my shield

I am my knight

And in my name holds the weight of my pride.


I am my friend

I am my enemy

I am the sandstorm inside my mind

The war between demons and willful spirit I’m trying to find.


I am the questions that need answers

The answers that need questioning

The solutions to unseen mysteries

And the devil’s call that keeps beckoning.


I am all the vixens in the darkest corners of evil

Grabbing pitchforks

And reciting battle cries

As they cheer to self-destruction.


I am the peace-seeking violence

And the malignity seeking kindness

I am the greed that needs safekeeping

And the happiness that keeps grieving.


I am, the lone soldier within my own soul

Part devil,

Part angel…

©Blue Carrisole

White sheets and Blue ink

You’re dancing on white sheets,

Dancing in black ink

You’re bold,

Italic and spiraling.


I’m written in blue

Plain, spiritless blue

My letters hold no curves, nor edges

I’m not cursive like the pretty fonts authors painted.


Yet our stories bind us,

On different coloured pages

With different plots, many themes and same stages.


We’re wildcraft and poetic statements

With every word, I hold my breath

Is the end near? And why does this feel like death?


As you dance on your white sheets

Dancing in bold, black ink

And I am written in blue

Plain, spiritless blue

Will your letters no longer miss my phrases?

Will my voice still echo your stanzas?

Or are we never to run out of ink?

©Blue Carrisole