Creative writing

Margo Page

Our thin wandering trails of experiences
Stretch back beyond the horizon

Criss-crossing each other
Forming the landscape
On which I stand

Looking into transparent water
At feet on top of sand

The world pushes on my arches
To the tip of my head

Where I wonder
Whether the space separating me
From the furthest star

Is more significant
Than the space separating me
From the earth


The Single Dimension of Time

The Single Dimension of Time
Margo Page

Bleary-eyed but bravely
Leaving what was
Because we can’t live a million
Perfect moments at once

Ready to embrace the changes
And welcome our unclear futures
Because choice is an illusion
But perspective is limitless

If sorrow deepens feeling
And feeling enhances beauty
Then life designs itself
More beautifully than we ever would


Margo Page

Atmosphere sharpened blue
Piercing the distance
Of this comprehensible dimension

Perspicacious ideas
Cutting while drifting
Evolving views

Pointed boulder’s ridge
Edging into soles
Holding fast against demise

Carving whips of breeze
Raising hairs on cases made of skin
Gifting lashes of palpable beauty

Abstract photography:


Margo Page

The right light
Hints what I can do

The right verse
Tells my partial reasoning

The right time
Opens a corner of my thoughts

Shades of what I say
Outline a recess of my mind

Morbid Love Affair


Morbid Love Affair
Margo Page

From the topmost branch the owl bore witness over the years to everything she touched turning to dust. Occasionally a foreign wind would bestow the desolate landscape with a new seed. But she could not resist caressing any sprout that dared show it’s pinprick head. Their vitality provided her a few moments of ecstasy before mutating into ash.

A life surrounded by death only fueled her longing for love. For three long days she had watched a cat play in the trees until she could no longer resist the urge to hold him. She continued to embrace his lifeless body for it was all she had. Desperately believing it was still incarnated with his soul, she hung it from the tree so he could continue to enjoy the view from the branches.

An elated mood turned up the corners of her mouth as she slipped her best dress onto her bony frame. With feedback from her imagination alone, she felt beautiful for her date with a man who had met his fate traveling by and naively shaking her hand. Her vestigial blood was still in denial of her barrenness, and she wore it proudly as her only adornment, evidence of her near humanness. She whistled an airy accompaniment to the creaking tree corpses and began to dance with his remains. She spun, and his skinless hand fell off into her own. She seemed flattered and told him he was sweet.