Below, in the teeming market square, a bald-headed man looked up, as the fruit hit his head. He located his granddaughter in the high thick tree, and smiled. He raised a hand in greeting, and watched as she slid down the tree, landing in a heap on the ground in front of him.
“Hello Briannis.”
“Hi Granddad.” She smiled sweetly at him. “I hope it didn’t hurt.”
“Honestly, you and your fruit will be the death of me. One day, you’ll hit someone who isn’t as kind and forgiving as me, and then you’ll be sorry.” But he smiled to show that he was joking. Besides, they both knew that she would never hit someone else. At 16, she was probably the youngest member of the King’s Trained Bowmen, and also one of the better ones. Everybody was expecting her to become one of the King’s Elite when her 18th birthday rolled around. For herself, she was proud of her achievements, but never so much that she would boast.
She smiled at him, and he remembered the time that he had first held her, soft and warm, just two days old. She had smiled just like that. She recognized the dreamy look he put on when he was reminiscing, and poked him. He jerked into the now.
“What did you do that for?”
“To stop you dreaming of when I was a baby, and think of me now!”
“Okay…” He put on a ridiculous ‘thinking’ expression that made her laugh, which made him laugh, until they were both almost in tears.
A market trader, having given up for the day, barged past, knocking Briannis to the ground. She got up, her fit of giggles forgotten, only prevented from marching after the trader and returning the favor by her grandfather’s soft hand on her shoulders.
“This is a market, Brianna, and he does need to get home. He probably has a wife and kids to feed, and maybe parents like me, who can’t be bothered to find their own home.”
“She smiled a muted smile, and turned round.
“I know,” She sighed, “I just can’t stand the rudeness of some people.”
“We can’t all be as perfect as you are.” Her grandfather countered, his eyes twinkling. She stuck her tongue out at him.

This isn’t quite finished yet, but until I figure out more about their home, I’m not going to be able to do much more. It’s in a good place to pause anyway, so you can have it early.

“Hello!”
HELLO
ELLOH
LLOHE
LOHEL
OHELL
“O Hell!!”

Walking into a room and seeing your family, your friends and your neighbours.
Then seeing your walls covered in paint.

I was playing about with words and writing out phrases like this, when I noticed that the end of ‘Hello’ came out as ‘ohell’.

Step, Step,
Walk, Run,
Jump, Leap,
FLY!

This page is left intentionally blank.

Blank as when it was created,
Untouched by destructive pen.

Blank, uncluttered,
An empty space,
Ready to be filled with new ideas.

Blank as if it were a blackboard,
Freshly wiped,
In preparation for the lesson.

Blank, free,
Open for anything.
A celebration of beginnings.

This poem is what it says it is; a celebration of beginnings. I came up with the title while reading the GCSE 2009 exam poetry anthology. A poem had been removed from the anthology because it was about knives, and in its place was the peculiar heading: ‘This page is left deliberately blank’. And I thought ‘What a good poem that would make’, and this poem followed.

A large fireball hung in the air, bright in the murky gloom of the small stone room. A strand of it fell, like rope, and fell onto the boy’s outstretched hand. The boy whispered, and it expanded, and twisted round the child’s small hand.
Two Nissá looked on, faces showing no hint of reaction. For a moment, all three were motionless, as if captured together as a still image. Then one of the Nissá spoke:
Do you think you could do that using your Water abilities?”The child nodded, nervously. He waved his flame-free hand over its partner, and the fire died down. Slowly a trickle of water started to flow from the open palm, flowing from nowhere, going to nowhere. The flow seemed to cling to the hand, covering it like the flame did.
“Very good child. No, can we see you manipulate the Wind?”
Nodding nervously again, the boy flicked both of his hands. A rushing sound filled the small room. The boys long, flowing hair started to spin around his head – testament to the powere of the wind that he had created.
“And, finally, can we see you use the Earth?”
The child didn’t even nod this time. He knelt on both knees, and waved his hands over the cold, hard stone that covered the floor. Slowly, ripples began to form, until the stones were moving as though they were made from water. The boy looked up hopefully at his two examiners.
“Very good,” The Nissá smiled. He gestured towards the door, and the boy obediantly moved off into the outer courtyard.

The two examining Níssa had gone through to the main school hub. Lessons had restarted after the exams, and now the hall was silent. It was vast – the beams that supported the enourmous roof had had to be cut from the largest trees in the land. It was a masterpiece of engineering, design, and it was the home of the Níssa of Gúrran.
The Níssa were a race of mages who believed in the trinity of the world. They viewed life as the middle of the Triad of life – preceded by absolute evil, and succeeded by absolute goodness. As a peoples, they were generally tall, dark-skinned, and quiet. They rarely traveled out of their cities, and, were it not for the bravery of a small few, would have thought that they were totally alone in the world. As such, they had limited contact with the tribe of Erelings in the forest that bordered one of the larger Níssan cities. The two peoples would meet, once every four of five years, to discuss the state of their respective homelands. These discussions were mostly for show, as neither party had any particular interest in the other. It was just a tradition.

Once I knew you,
But I don’t now.

It’s funny how people change,
Like a shifting tide, on a lonely beach.
What you thought would be solid,
has gone.
The sandcastle,
Washed away.

Did you ever know me?
Were you ever aware?
Or were you just thinking,
Of another step,
Up an imaginary ladder.
The hierarchy of society.

What would happen,
if that wasn’t there?
If everyone really was equal.
Not like the politicians tell you.

And what would happen,
If – when – you reach the top?
Like a king,
Lord of all you survey.
You aren’t a trend-setter.

Imagine,
If there was a storm,
And the ladder broke.
Would you be the first to put it up?
Or would you rejoice,
In freedom?

Once I knew you,
But I don’t now.

I wrote this about a friend of mine. He used to be a very good friend of mine, until he found better people. You may find it a bit confusing – sometimes it talks about the ‘ladder of hierarchy’ and other times it talks about the loss of my friend. I think I started it with my complaint, and the answer came out.

Please give me feedback…

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