Newest quotes & creative writing ideas


In this expanse of green there are more hues than anyone has ever named, yet here they are for any eye to see. The land rolls as it always has, as if it feels that time and space are one thing, that it rolls through the ages as much as to the horizon. Over it is laid a path, one that branches through the open landscape, and as I begin to walk there is a frisson of joy for all the choices to come, each one of them laden with discoveries.

Prison Cell

These walls cannot hold a prayer, nor a spirit. And so I call to the universe, I promise all the good things I will do when I am released, and at first it appears that nothing happens. Yet when she does, it'll be some random occurrence of happenstance, something I could never predict. So, though this wait is tough and I long for the sunshine and the grass, the passing is a little easier for knowing I have my invisible friend.


In that welcome amber glow the time of slower thoughts has arrived, those moments when with open eyes my brain becomes as a perfect empty horizon, seeing, yet content to sit. I feel the soothing breeze, become absorbed in the music of crickets, letting the gentle energy of nature wash in.


This house is my home, where the laughter happens and I can rest at the end of the day. From the street it is bricks and mortar topped with tile, the same as any other. Yet if you step inside you'll feel it's so different, a place where the lungs choose to fill a little deeper and the heart beat a little steadier.


My brain stutters for a moment and my eyes take in more light than I expected, every part of me goes on pause while my thoughts catch up. After a wash of cold I step from the shadows, feeling a new warmth to the day. I place one hand on Caleb's shoulder, "It'll be okay, it will."

a spooky house

The house lives as if under constant shadow, as if the sun keeps reaching for those walls that shrink away. And so its windows stay black without the rippling effect of the light, never knowing that the dust that clings, the dirt of years, could so easily be washed away. The walls are so cold to the touch, stealing the heat from these warm fingers, never caring if my own heart froze. That there are ghosts inside is a certainty, that they bluster around screaming is a fact, yet only the house can usher them out and wish for those rays to kiss it some warmth.
Until that then the paint will peel and the wood will rot, forever wishing for the warmth of a touch.


In that empty scream is the pain of the indifferent, of a monster who sold its soul for ease and instead found hell. It can wrap itself in beautiful skin or the rancid hide of the decaying creatures of the abyss, yet I see it regardless of disguise.


Mourn not the passing of a life well lived, yet celebrate. Count the times your souls smiled together, reached out so invisibly yet tangibly and touched. Death is only the end of a chapter, my friend. And so as this body makes ready to return to the soil, my spirit will watch over you and live in your heart. It will bring sadness as we transform to this new way of connecting, yet this is part of living.

Black eyes

I thank the universe every day for these black eyes, for there is beauty in the night, and when they reflect the light they make tiny stars. I think God knew that I would have so many colours inside, that my soul would show best through black. I am the rainbow, and the stars, can't you see?

angry customer

I see him as soon as he walks in, the angry customer, before he's even been triggered. There is a tension in his manner, a tightness in his face and his eyes move more robotically than others. Every move he makes is as if he's got some clock ticking in his head, perhaps that's the countdown to his next explosion. I doubt there is a thing in this world that can bring him joy, not a flower or a sunrise... the angry customer... forever in a world of grey. As he surveys the products, fingering them as if daring them to tempt him and taking a small yet pungent delight in rejecting them... a micro-power trip. He will select something soon and then, in the process of the purchase he will find a problem and the venting will start in front of the queue that is his audience. So though he is tall, to me, he is so very small.


"I can feel the pain that swirls in your brain, all the stories you keep telling as if they hold answers. They don't. People do things because their emotions are driving them that way... all those things that hurt you, baby, had nothing to do with you at all... and perhaps that's even worse. The thing is, if you practice 'mental hygiene,' if you clean out those thoughts, everything gets better so very quickly."


"If you're making decisions while tired, you're basically 'drunk driving' your life. So sleep, rest and decide nothing until you feel okay. That's really the best advice I can give you."


Find your inner peace first, my love, because feeling happy is a thing that comes afterwards. If you can feel as centred with your eyes open as you so when they are closed, you'll feel a sense of self. Embrace that sense of yourself in quiet moments, sit a while and be still. Let the joys of small things bring a soft happiness, a sense that is akin to gratitude and awe. Then, when you have won that steadiness of the soul, you can help others be happy too.


Where once were lawns, wild flowers grow - rainbow freckles to adorn the green. It started out as free honey when folks converted their grass to native species, anything to help the bees... but then it became a trend, a really good one.

Abandoned swing

In the storms I imagine a ghostly passenger ebbing back and forth on that old swing, forwards, backwards, forwards, backwards - one abandoned by matter, one forgotten in time. Yet in my daydreams I varnish that old seat and make it the smallest of benches in my flower garden, chains removed for good.


I loved you, but when a wolf came to our door you became another wolf... and there's only one way that can end.

Abandoned swing

Chilled gales caused the old swing to sway unsteadily. Rusted chains screamed for release. Rain pattered the tarnished rubber seat, slicking it with moisture. What little light shafted through the charcoal ether secured a home there.


Upon each tree born wand, naked from winter's rasp, come the buds of spring. Each tells of green leaves to come, or the sweet blossom within. Even as cold winds blow, they are such embryonic joy.

winter trees

Upon each tree born wand, naked from winter's rasp, come the buds of spring. Each tells of green leaves to come, or the sweet blossom within. Even as cold winds blow, they are such embryonic joy.


There's a certain level of tiredness that equates to insanity; for me it's when I'd like to temporarily dislocate my spirit from my body, as if I could ask God to take me out for just a short while, let my soul go wherever souls go to be zen. I'm a fairly brave person, I am, but sometimes I just don't wanna feel the process of recovery all over again. I know I'll wake up feeling okay in the morning, it's simply a level of worn-out-ness that hurts.