Tail-Ends of Conversations

Dear Readers,

I know I’ve been gone a while. Here’s a little something to show for it. Hope you like.

Paper and ink,
I always think,
Are never to be left alone.

Tail-Ends of Conversations

Whimsical Dining Room Ceiling


Tiny Bobblehead

It’s happened more than once;
My gaze turns strange
And a face shrinks
Till it looks miles away
In an expanding room.

I half-expect
Time to freeze
But you keep bobbing.


Limited Freedom

And to be fair
I’ll let your candid spirit set me free
Beyond the oceans and the graves
But only for a minute;
I never pretended to be brave
Like you.


Never Change

So, you found something
Something you didn’t know
Not an earth shaker
But, it kept you up all night?

In this day and age
You’d rather wonder
Than Google;
How precious, I say
Eyes full of smiley tears.



It’s a pixelated world
With people to match
Bored, lonely and caring,
Much like the other world,
And riddled with scamsters
Who prey on the new
And the gullible.



It’s the box;
It holds
A giant watchful eye.
It reads my soul
And swallows me whole;
It tells me what I’ll like,

Where have you been all my life?



Should I be surprised
To find calling cards
Scattered on the floor
Of a casino parking lot?
Which flavour of beauty would you like?



The counting of thoughts;
It bothers me.
More of the same;
Add it to the bundle.
Just another,
Just another;
I’m being crushed.


A Simple Life

Passed and forgotten,
Remembered and missed,
Crudely denied,
Sorely suppressed.

A life lived.
Yet twisted
In a million ways.


Familiar Footsteps

‘Tharump’ ‘Tharump’
‘Tharump’ ‘Tharump’
Scrunching my nose;
Don’t like this path
Beaten it one too many times
Reached the point of doubt:
What was the initial pull?

Left a sticky mark on me
When I should’ve left
After leaving mine.


Summer Braids and Serenades

Summer braids and serenades,
Start the mint train
With the dainty wheels
That treat the pavement right.
An old friend knows why
I can’t climb a bicycle
Without thinking of tea leaves and rain.


Yours whimsically,
Anna Nymus




After three hours of trekking, Kassie reached the Stepping Stone. She had not used any of her magic to travel, saving it for an impending moment that might all but deplete her source. Looking at her watch, she saw that it was any minute now. Somewhere, in a cloaked tower, the Synchroniser was looking at her and around four thousand other witches and wizards who had been chosen from those who volunteered. She drew her wand and stepped onto the tiny platform now pulsating with the energy that she would need to channel the spell.

Lifting her arm and spirit skywards, she whispered, “Yadot espylacopa on”. An amber stream of light erupted from her wand. She could sense an opposing force almost immediately and struggled as she fought against it, holding on to the knowledge that there were others who were fighting the same fight. The tide was beginning to turn in their favour, though, and she could barely contain her exhilaration as the stream of light suddenly burst forth unrestrained, sending intermittent sparks of red, green and violet into the evening air.

The unknowing human population went about business as usual, many saying “I never expected anything to happen, anyway”, while the fanatics found other reasons to explain the lack of the apocalypse.

The magical volunteers didn’t need a thank you. They had saved themselves and their close ones as much as the rest of the living souls on the planet, and that was more than enough. Even if all that the others had caught a glimpse of were fireworks.



The Record Keeper

Because Art is One Part Chance and Two Parts Chaos

glitter in the airhttp://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2012/12/09/picture-it-and-write-4/

I fished out another tube of wrapping paper, hoping to salvage my Christmas project. I had given up on the idea of creating perfect personalised pamphlets of memories for everyone, but I still had the idea of a single masterpiece in mind.

Looking back at the mess I had made around the pictures and snippets of poetry, I was frustrated with the tangled stripes of colours that stared defiantly back at me. I felt like an amateur diplomat who couldn’t convince them to work with each other.

Fine.” I murmured through clenched teeth. “You had your chance.”

I stripped the coloured paper in order of annoyance until I was left with just the photos and their captions. Mulling over my next move, I sent the papers through the shredder.

The ribbons at hand earned their place beautifully twined along the edges. The still dominant bald spots begged me to cover them up with stickers, but I couldn’t overdo it. I absent-mindedly placed tiny drops of glue in the cracks and admired the way they caught the light.

I was expecting a drastic change, but the whole thing still looked like a mess. It just looked like one that was trying too hard.

Inspiration dawned as I caught the shredded bits of wrapping paper glinting cheekily. Gleeful with anticipation, I filled my palms and held them over the project like over-saturated clouds. I knew that even if I didn’t like the puddles, I always enjoyed the rain.

The mess morphed into musical chaos as I let the glitter fall.



Occasionally Artistic

Dear Dreams,

Dear Dreams,

I live a different life when I’m with you.

When I go through periods of seeing you vividly it’s easy to question which life I walk in matters more.

When, in one, I can fly across endless grassy fields and fondly familiar places; when ease and intensity is the order every night, there is nothing I can compare it to. During such times, I am left with one unwavering thought. Life is as beautiful as you are. No more, no less.

When I think about how one would not exist without the other, it gets more complicated.

It gets worse when I come crashing down, into the wasteland of my own neglect. When I begin to hate reality with an undeserved bitterness, and I have to face the unreliable side of my little slice of heaven, there is nothing I want more than to loop the time we had together. Wipe my mind every time the cycle repeats itself, so you don’t lose your vitality and newness. And I can keep the danger of losing you at bay.

Some things are out of my control. You can be such an elusive creature at times. I admit, that’s part of your charm. But, the moment has come to bid adieu. I know a lot of people have missed you while you’ve spent the time with me.

This doesn’t mean I won’t see you every now and again. It just means I won’t depend on your promises and the hope you inspire. I don’t expect anything. And I promise to be surprised with every visit.

P.S- I have met no one like you in my universe.


Awoken Anna

Dear Early Morning Freshness,








Dear early morning freshness

That sweeps past me as I rush to class,

Trying to slow time,

But it never ceases to pass.

It’s some comfort to know I won’t be the last,

Just one of many

Always in a hurry

Living a life that only grows more fleeting and fast.


I do so enjoy when you visit my dreams,

Mind you, not when you break them up

By their delicate faerie-winged seams.


Oh, early morning freshness

That I never greet as an equal,

Why do I feel better and more myself when you leave?

When in the day can I just watch you be?


But, enough of silly questions

When the answers are in your name.

Your failing to greet me

Will no longer bring me shame.

You see, holidays are a wonderful thing

Even if they’re meant for studying.


Goodbye, early morning freshness,

I’ve found another oxymoron.


Hello, study holidays,

Let’s have some fun.



Grumpy-morning-faced Anna