Here you will find a selection of stories, poems and books. I hope you find some enjoyment and reflection among these offerings. Please feel free to leave comments or send me your feedback via the Info / Contact page.
Welcome to a selection of my creative writings.
Clara and Al
Clara caught a train down a line she hadn’t travelled in years. She was on her way to meet a blacksmith, to design a new screen for her living room fireplace. As she watched the suburbs go by, memories from long ago swam into of her mind. Suddenly she sat up, pressed her face against the window, and gawked at the back of a derelict building as the train whooshed past. Something caught her eye; something that couldn’t possibly still be there.
Groin, meet knee. Oomph! Tough luck lover; You treasure spent, Ex marks the spot. Fare thee well.
© David McKenzie August 2020
Crap on your life issues
Crap on your life issues, new sentiments spewing Adjectives in my face, staining my t-shirt with carrots, Orange, pieces of your insides, dripping putrid essence Like your mind, a cesspit of debauchery where you Tell me you like me for no other reason than that you like me; What a disgusting turn of events. And to think I gave you My time and my attention and my nude selfies. Crap. © David McKenzie June 2020
Rrrrrrred. Mmmmmm, soft. Shhhhhh, the little pucker and a finger touching yourself, showing me where to lay one on you. When you smile they’re smooth; when you blow me one I see all the creases and divots filled with that matt rrrrrrred. Mmmmmm, to run my tongue across that sunrise, burnt, the inside of coals. I close my eyes against the heat and open wide. I glimpse myself a bit of time later and am blessed with remnants of rrrrrrred, on my lips. © David McKenzie June 2020
Claudio entered his home lost in thought. He walked past his grandmother without acknowledging her and went straight to his bedroom. Could this be true? Was Brad really confined to a wheelchair? Could this actually be the end of the torment Claudio had suffered for the past five years? Could this year be the one year of high school Claudio could enjoy?
There once was a man I loved, I think?
I wrote a poem about you, then threw it away, it didn’t reflect what I wanted to say; it was obtuse, with too many mixed metaphors, like a blocked drain or acne clogged pores. That poem I wrote is in the garbage now, but that is not a reflection of how I see you or what you mean to me, just a place of where poor writing be. I’ll write a new poem about you one day, Made of pleasant things I want to say, how you’re generous and treat me fine and like a glass or two (or three) of wine; I’ll say you’re handsome and urbane, and the only one of us who’s sane; that you rock me like a god in bed, although I still give better head. I’ll write that poem when I have time And just for you I’ll make it rhyme, But right now, I have so much work I can’t spare a thought for you, you jerk. © David McKenzie May 2020
The lamb and the wolf
Katie smoothed down her blue, satin cocktail dress with one hand, as she looked around the room at her neighbours. Katie let them think she was weak and vulnerable, with her elfin looks and petite stature. It worked to her advantage. She was not here to socialise. She was on the hunt.
He stood near the gates, beneath a dying chestnut tree. His hands rested on the guns at his hips. The handle of a cross-bow poked over his head. His Stetson was always pulled forward, keeping his eyes in shadow, making it difficult for anyone to read him.
Turn, Ugly Truth (part 2)
Robbie lay on the chic, sunshine-yellow, hotel bedspread and stared at the ceiling. He appeared lost in thought, but he really wasn’t. He was drained. His mind was barely functioning; his body was limp and heavy; his heart was broken. He didn’t know what to do next.
Who put this plank in my eye? I could see quite fine IMHO before this thing, this catastrophe?, happened to me; I could see the faults in the world, in others - (too many immigrants, I heard); I could see where to correct the direction of my life - (get a better paid job, I heard); My eyes were open to injustice, the downtrodden, the oppressors - (the unions are rabid, I heard); I saw ways I could help make it all better, IMHO - (get private health insurance, I heard); I have 20:20 political and social vision, so I ask you, how did this plank get in my eye? (I didn't see that coming!) © David McKenzie 2020
Mai Lin shuffled up the incline of the city street, immune to the throng of people rushing past her in all directions. No one noticed her.
As no-one can
It was a weekday – maybe Wednesday? – just like any other, Preparing dinner side by side, dancing round one another. Over food, over wine, we spoke of things the week ahead, Then to silly, witty banter as the heat of more wine spread. And then you said: ‘There was a man from Timbuktu...’ And made me laugh as no-one can, only you. Our mirth was interrupted by the summons of your mobile, ‘Hello?’ you gasped out from your giggles and your smile. Your rosy cheeks from wine and laughter paled to my dread; I raised an eyebrow, asking - Is someone injured? Someone dead? I placed a hand on your shoulder in comfort and support; You shrugged me off and walked away - a withering retort. In the night-time window-mirror I saw the pain in your frown And it tore into my body as my fears came crashing down. It was the sky with no stars, no Milky Way across its breadth, No moon, no sun, no clouds – an empty void stripped of depth. That’s what I saw when I looked into your shadowy reflection – An empty space where you once were, cut from our connection. You left the room - I went to bed, awake through moments, aching, Until you crept in beside me and we both lie there, faking. Pushing out of my mind I pressed my hand into your hair, You moved against me, pulled me closer, let me know you were there. And then you said: ‘Just remember, I love you.’ And made me real as no-one can, only you. © David McKenzie 2019
Turn, Ugly Truth – part 1
The doorbell boomed at her, ricocheting off her conscience, into her memory, and landing in her swell of emotions. It’s him! she thought as the bile ran up and down her throat.
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