Category Archives: Stories and poems

Third Novel ‘Update’ + Seasonal Micro-Fiction! :-)

Can you believe it’s already December?! Where has the time gone? Well, a good deal of that time (along with lovelight!) has found its way into the final novel of our Lazuli Portals Trilogy … the book currently known (to you, at least!) as LP3.

We do have a title for the book … and, for the first time, for each of its chapters, too! For now (when Jo’s health and Ron’s ‘free time’ permit) we are still working with our beta readers, and on editing and polishing. Then will come formatting, proofreading, and preparing the book for its Kindle and paperback homes.

The artist who designed the beautiful covers for The Cordello Quest and Mosaic of Light (the fabulous Stuart Cooper) is keen to work with us again, but is not available until after the New Year. Designing and creating a cover from scratch – one which clearly represents the essence of the story – takes a lot of time and dedication! So please, stay hopeful that he will be able to create another fabulous cover for us!

What we can tell you now is that the book’s title is three words long. Just like The Cordello Quest and Mosaic of Light. Three books, each with a three-word title. 3 3 3. Hmm, strange coincidence … or is it synchronicity?! Those repetitive triple numbers rear their head again, something Keira finally learns more about in LP3!

  

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So with the newsy bit out of the way, we have some micro fiction to offer you, little stories of fewer than 250 words each which we’ve crafted in response to the snowy image below. (Believe it or not, despite their similarities, Ron and I wrote these stories independently of one another!) We hope you enjoy them!

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[Image © www.Copyright-free-photos.org.uk]

The Evening Before
As the last of the sun’s offerings tinkle the settled snowy branches, the air stills and silence falls over the ancient walkway. Looking up, the new moon sits there trying to make its own mark on a perfect winter’s scene created by the earlier snowfall. The wonder of this quiet solo walk is lifting the dread of tomorrow, which had pervaded my mind all day.

A wave of extreme cold suddenly shoots through me, hitting my back and exiting my chest, prickling the hairs. Wide-eyed I look around. Nothing has moved. Snow sits securely on the firs around me.
Along the pristine snow path in front of me a series of footprints rapidly appear. Nothing visible to make them. They shoot on around the bend.
I stand in shock. No movement.  No sound.
The light is fading. Nervously I look over my shoulder from the direction I had walked. Nothing.
Wait… Where are my footprints? The path is covered with unmarked snow.

My shoes hold traces of the snow kicked up by my steps and are sitting with snow all around them. As I look down, snow replaces my feet and a warmth spreads up my legs as they disappear. I can not move but do not feel ill at ease as my lower body is lost from view.
The footprints in front of me are disappearing as they retrace themselves.

Tomorrow has come early. I am off to my past again.

[242 words © Ron C. Dickerson]

Cold and Crystalline
The only sound is that of my boots squeaking along the snow-covered forest path, and the soft whoosh of my breath where it puffs into a cloud just in front of me. The freezing air is ice on my tongue, tasting of purity and newness.

I stop walking and hold my breath, listening to the cold, crystalline silence. Right here, right now, it’s just me and this white world.

Behind me, my footprints track my past. Ahead lies a path of unbroken snow: pure possibility. I wait, poised, at the fulcrum of time, glad of this stillness, this pause. I gather it in with all my senses, exploring the shape and texture of it, wishing I could commit it to memory.

But memory is the past, and this precise moment will not be experienced again, for even memory is not a perfect replication. In any case, if I spend time back there, then I miss what is happening now. And look, the moment is already changing, a twig cracking somewhere ahead, followed by a russet blur scampering up the shadowed spine of a tree.

Even here, nothing remains the same. Even here, each moment is impermanent.

Releasing my breath, I resume my walk. My Boxing Day afternoon awaits: young nieces and nephews will arrive soon, faces flushed and eyes bright with excitement, their high voices a tumult. Now, my spirit rested and serene, I am ready to return home and immerse myself in the happy hubbub.

[246 words © Joanna Gawn]

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If you would like to share this blog post, then you are very welcome to do so! The words on this page have been infused with lovelight. Any action you take to share The Lazuli Portals with the wider world is helpful, and a way to offer more love and light!

Also, please feel free to comment below! We love to hear from people who’ve enjoyed what we write. 🙂

With lovelight blessings for a beautiful December, and a New Year full of hope, possibility, and love,

Joanna and Ron | The Lazuli Portals

~ fiction for the awakening ~

 

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Micro-Fiction: ‘Hiding from the World’

Hiding From The World

The grass fringing the lake is my sanctuary. It offers me stillness, isolation from the noise and busyness of the world. For now, that is how I want it to be. Just me, the forest, the mountain, the waders and birds of prey … and the lake. Even the sky is my friend today, its cloud leaking onto the higher reaches of the mountain. I feel it reinforcing my separation from everything else.

I have left the electronic world behind, turned my back on its insistence, its urgency, its pleading. I cannot be found. I cannot be called back. This is where I need to be. Before it is too late.

Here, I can breathe, and my lungs expand with ease. The mirror in my cabin reminded me this morning that I haven’t shaved for three days. But despite the stubble, the face looking back at me seemed younger. The V of lines on my forehead had vanished, and my shoulders seemed lower and looser. It had taken me a while to figure out what else was missing … then I realised it was the haunted look in my eyes, the pain I’d carried with me for ten years absent for the first time. Instead, I saw a clarity, a brightness, a hope.

I will have to go back sometime; the boat passing by with its chattering teens illustrates that quite clearly. This is not my own paradise. This cannot last forever. I will have to go back soon.

But not today.

***

Words © Joanna Gawn

Image: FreeDigitalPhotos.Net

‘Illusion’ and ‘Tick Tock’: Two Haiku

Illusion

Time is illusion

Your Future slips into Now

Your Now is soon gone

 

Tick, Tock

Tick, tock, never stops

Measure of life passing by

Each second treasured

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Words © Joanna Gawn

Image from FreeDigitalPhotos.Net (please see blog post of 5 May for direct link)

Micro-Fiction: Countdown to Three O’Clock

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six……Why do seconds take so long when you are waiting?  She said she would be here at three o’clock.  Just a few seconds more.

My dream, my angel.  

Well, yes actually; both.  An angel that appears in my dreams.  Her last visit was only a few hours ago in my waking-dream time and she said she would return when I was fully awake – now! at three this afternoon.

Warm air drifts past my neck and the hairs rise on my arms.  I am sweating and my eyes start peering around, popping out of the sockets.  Nothing except the feeling and expectation of more.

I feel a touch where no one except me has touched before. I see no one.  Nothing. But I feel the presence.   

Close my eyes, focus internally, back to dreamtime.

The touch becomes firmer, almost a grasp, and I am responding.  I smile and squint through tight lids.  

A golden aura, crimson and silver wings from the clean uncluttered shoulder line. Blond hair falling around the neck.  Blue eyes looking directly into mine. The lips, oh those lips. I lean forward to meet them and the draft of air increases to a breeze.  I am drifting before it with no power of my own, losing all. Feeling the lips. A sigh behind draws my attention and I glance back seeing my own image.

 The breeze increases.  I am gone.

***

Words © Ron Dickerson

Image from domdeen at FreeDigitalPhotos.Net (we will use it again later, for some haiku by Jo!)

The Rudolph Promise + Festive Fun Frolics: Two poems for December!

As is traditional for us at this time of year, we are sharing with you a couple of short pieces – both poems, this time – of a ‘seasonal nature’. We hope you like them! They’re just a bit of fun, not meant to be taken too seriously!

Joanna’s poem: THE RUDOLPH PROMISE

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My Rudolph jumper (made by Mum) is splitting at the seams!

I’ve been trying to ignore it – but I do know what this means:

Too many mince pies eaten (and some custard creams)

I’m even seeing Christmas cake dancing in my dreams!

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So once this week is over, I shall have to make amends.

A diet will be needed, or this gift from Mum will rend!

It’s just so very difficult when all my lovely friends

agree that on those sweeter foods our happiness depends!

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But this cannot go on – there’s no way I can deny

that my clothes are getting tighter, and more I’ll need to buy.

So to save my pennies and my health, I will resist that pie,

even though I’m leaving now to have a little cry…

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Ron’s poem: FESTIVE FUN FROLICS

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Festive fun frequents

Frightfully funny fellows.

Faces fixed focus

Fone fingers flicking.

Fretting following failure

Form further features.

Formulating future facts,

Forever feeling fortunate.

Fabulous famous followers,

Feathers fluttering frantically,

Frolic furtively forlorn.

Falsely farming favour.

Fostering frugal fondles.

Fruitful foreplay fragments,

Flounders foundation fidgets,

Fighting fiddly fidelity.

Flags flakey fingers,

Freezing Friday fortunes.

Fateful fake familiarity

Finally feelings freefall.


We both very much hope that you have a wonderful Yuletide and hugely enjoy any celebrations you are part of. We both celebrate Christmas so will be taking some time off with our families – and to recharge our creative batteries. But we’ll be back in early January. Have a magical New Year!

With lovelight blessings,
Joanna and Ron | The Lazuli Portals

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(1) The Faceless Door and (2) Masks and Barriers: Haiku

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The Faceless Door

What hides behind you?
Secrets and lies, hopes and dreams?
Your story untold

–o–

Masks and Barriers

Step inside, softly
Find my reason, search my soul
Accept the real me


Words © Joanna Gawn, inspired by image by bigjom via www.freedigitalphotos.net

Stains: a micro-fiction piece by Ron

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Stains

Through this closed window is the way to see it all. The lives of those past who left their mark inside.  The rabble who now infest the home of generations.  And, if you look closely, you may see the many futures open to each inhabitant.  

Those there must choose as their ancestors did before. Will their dreams materialise, if dream they still do!  Yet the action each takes, be it Sonic or homework; which food or which wine; to smoke or to not; to leave or to stay, can create a new world in which they then exist.  Though each can then change and move another way.  

The vibration they leave remains as a stain.  Each choice that is made sends ripples around.  Each swell, big or small, will move all it encounters.  Be it little or huge nothing is ever constant. Reactions may be the same: to be buoyed or deflect; to go under or to swim; bob around waiting or speed off under power; look to horizon or to the depths.

The choices they make can drown in the tide of others’ actions.

Where will the rabble be in ten years, or an hour?

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Words © Ron C. Dickerson, inspired by image, by bigjom via www.freedigitalphotos.net

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We’ll be using this image again soon, as Joanna has written a couple of haikus using this picture as her focus. 🙂