fiction, poetry and musings

by Laogeodritt

Words of Desert Bus 2022

They say history is written by the Video Strike Team — and they’re very good at it! But they’re not recording words. Like, in writing. Y’know, the way humanity first learnt to record History™; the way it ought to be recorded! So I’m here to fix that.

The Song of the Olive Trees

Their voices faded. They had probably retreated back into their apartment. And I was alone with my thoughts again. Alone with dark thoughts, and fear of death, and fear of the world’s end, and fear of being alone. Not that I wasn’t used to being confined alone — but there was a time when I might have friends visit. When I might go outside. When I wouldn’t be arrested taking a stroll around the neighbourhood, if not much farther.


And you’re there and I see you there and I hear you there
But that’s there.
You’re there, not here, and I’m here, not there
Because it is a worry.


Coloured little sticks in their little box…

pieces of gold

and I look up
to the leaves
gently upon the lively wind
pieces of gold

The rain is coming

The rain is coming
The rain is coming

I see the concrete darken
and glisten
I feel a gentle breeze
cool my skin
I smell that grassy smell
which heralds rain
I hear a pitter-patter

The words in his heart

The words are
even to say the simplest thing
(To express — to speak — to tell)
And yet
of infinite choices no one is equal.

The dragon flies

Wind upon my face, and in my ears
the roar
and my hands gripping a horn.
The air smells fresh and sweet
with notes of barbecue —
a scent from long ago.