Comments Posted By Issie Kay

Displaying 1 To 23 Of 23 Comments


Tides abide in the
smooth riding of ostentatious hulls
it flows true that
we all sit tranquil
or brew bar-wrecking banality
or condone innate/battle/war cries (from within or
independent of us)
It’s all an undulating whisper felt across
the globe of navigating apex lux-displays

» Posted By Issie Kay On 08.30.2018 @ 11:58 pm


The word ‘companion’ is all-functional and rings a hefty C-bomb of relative terms. Sentient beings like us thrive on: Companionship. Camaraderie. Closeness. Comradeship. Contentment. It cans isolation. It cuts close to procreation. Yet, in certain things, we must walk alone for the life we have yet to create.

» Posted By Issie Kay On 08.26.2018 @ 8:21 pm


He liked the way his feet dangled precariously over the terracotta tiles of his favourite all-you-can-eat station, the underside of his knees glued to the edge of the cushioned seat with wooden arms that transported him to a fantasy of being in an ’80s luxury bed n’ breakfast, a continental meal after a swingin’ time at the bar the night before. The clouds were about to roll in (his utensils at the ready), and the impending storm would make a sound distraction (upon his belly).

» Posted By Issie Kay On 08.21.2018 @ 1:12 am


The golden streaks on his head occasionally revealed hints of silver. The receding hairline was apparent. It was testament to his time on earth, and also a physical connect to his father he had respected deeply. His banana farm he had once toiled over and lost countless years of his life from, was now his shining beacon of joy and prosperity.

» Posted By Issie Kay On 08.19.2018 @ 2:58 am


There was little doubt seeping from the intensity of her upturned, crafty smile. She’d been on the receiving end of her world scrupulously ravaged, and it was finally time to turn the tables on the chauvinist chaps. There might be stronger terms, but she would rather save them for when it came to the chopping block, figuratively.

» Posted By Issie Kay On 08.15.2018 @ 10:47 pm


Atrium, an addendum for a gathering,
A meeting of minds for ex-change
A connection grasped, interests and niches to be shared
Annotations and savvy intros
Well-rehearsed, in kind.

» Posted By Issie Kay On 08.09.2018 @ 10:43 pm


Railroad, why so often do abandoned railroads become a place for
moments captured in time
Does it stem from the magic of transportation
where it once gave man beauty of prospect in commerce
and perhaps entertainment
Yet it also ferried others to the worst

» Posted By Issie Kay On 08.02.2018 @ 10:15 am


It sat on the only bare patch of grass, its corners splintered at its decades of service, its perimeter might have been well-varnished then, but had long suffered the effects of the beating sun. It might have once carted goods for a peddler, transported villagers to a nearby town, or even ferried a ragtag
bunch of thieves and other rotten eggs for their reckoning. This wagon was a history in its making and operation – she would have to bid at least 10 grand for it!

» Posted By Issie Kay On 07.29.2018 @ 4:10 pm


Everything that she uttered was all wrong. It did not come in the soft dulcet tones she was used to. She couldn’t feel the vibrations in her throat as she opened her mouth and spoke. It came just as a whisper, one raspy breath followed the other, but she could barely feel those either. Nothing came, she might have her ears checked, instead.

» Posted By Issie Kay On 07.23.2018 @ 1:25 am


Here in the ‘hood, everyone considers each other a fellow hoodie – their comrade, common conspirator, co-sapiens. It was them against the ‘world’ – the outliers, the common collaborators that wrecked harmful policies that brought their world down – on their seniors, progeny and helplessly unemployed. The hoodies gathered one night for their next season of revolt planning.

» Posted By Issie Kay On 07.21.2018 @ 3:16 am


It was just herself and her trusty trick bike. She’s been warned numerous times by her friends and family, but there was nothing left standing between her vigour for life’s spectrum to its tail end, the extremities which left her breathless yet a renewed fiery intensity each time she completed the moves. She positioned herself across from the ramp, only about a metre wide, but would subsequently thin out by half to the edges of the roof, only barricaded by a low railing and the precarious ledge.

» Posted By Issie Kay On 07.17.2018 @ 8:07 pm


First, a screeching. A loud thump. He was in full investigator (PI) gear. The DSLR thunked clumsily, but silently about his chest (and his snaps taken just as surreptitiously); his shoes a lightweight soft-soled, yet with a polished sheen about it; his attire also black, a polyester that ran with little interference about his skin. Shades were a given. A baseball cap of his most treasured possessions – and here he was, chasing in the dark of night, in the dingy and poorly-lit multi-storey carpark, his lead and subject’s newest sexual possession.

» Posted By Issie Kay On 07.15.2018 @ 11:53 pm


The words came in a deluge of high tones, deep baritones between stanzas:
A gon’round, a leavened knell of
Them in knee-highs and whispered tells
Thumbs forward, in some limbic resonance
Un momento, afore an edge on Vladimir the One n’All

» Posted By Issie Kay On 07.15.2018 @ 8:15 am


It was obvious to any one he passed on the cobbled streets. Nevertheless, he took a little more effort to grab for his shades that would mask the rings stinging of utter procrastination, body’s contempt, a shadow ridge raging forth. He knew, they wouldn’t deflate anytime soon. The moon did not appear that night in midst of a lightless sky.

» Posted By Issie Kay On 07.13.2018 @ 2:27 am


Clickety, clack. Clickety, clack. There was no sound more endearing, rhythmic, a contagious longing towards the consistency and culmination of thoughts and ideas laid forth into the fervour of one’s fingers. It rang like the bells of a morning prayer service of a mosque, the deep, intermittently long peals emanating from Notre Dame Cathedral before evening mass. Between the footsteps felt around, an earthly ringing of bells, one felt just about at home, poised to write some more.

» Posted By Issie Kay On 07.11.2018 @ 11:09 pm


It felt a million threads of doubt, contempt, self-assurance, positivity (in the smallest dosage), utter dissenting voices radiating, emanating sharply in her mind. Nothing ever comes easy. She would have to endure her first gruelling Whipple operation, all it took were eight-nine hours to remove the tumour from the pancreatic cancer-stricken patient who was admitted in the wee hours. Metastases (mets) were not found, and they promptly relayed him to surgical ops. She was only an attending, but the repercussions were real. Her feet silently ached in anticipation.

» Posted By Issie Kay On 07.10.2018 @ 3:37 am


Sweltering, simmering, nay not a pot of
Gold fever, the swell of life’s mid-
Uncertainties. Ingots naught,
an autumn and winter’s everlasting.

» Posted By Issie Kay On 07.09.2018 @ 12:18 am


What lies beneath the cusp of our tongue? When do we have the next lie lined up – white lie, fabricated tale, exaggerated comment, time-chased decision to make someone satisfied, placated, happy, broken, or to finally realise the truth of the matter? How do we stop ‘lying’ to ourselves? Mostly, decisions that hurt the worst.

» Posted By Issie Kay On 07.03.2018 @ 9:48 pm


The plate was abundant with greens: a home-made grilled cheese sandwich layered with alfalfa sprouts, sharp spinach leaves, and fresh vine tomatoes. Fresh out of her very own garden, for the very first time. The local county’s been a pain with the ass, what with regulations on aestheticism of the standard American front lawn that was far from the disambiguation they proclaim, effectively rendering her garden by the front porch unlawful. It was as they called it – and after uprooting and re-homing her garden to the corner, and months more after needless waiting, sprouts returned. What else could she have done, really?

» Posted By Issie Kay On 07.02.2018 @ 11:57 pm


She had no other choice – no Devil’s Advocate, no St. Peter, not even a god-damn representation of a bat-winged, red-tipped cartoon devil to egg her either which way of what might be the worst mistake of her life, or one that would set her free, finally.

» Posted By Issie Kay On 06.29.2018 @ 12:49 am


There was the ring, she had it all in the reassuring smooth stretch of her Spandex. She twirled her lucky charm ’round her fingers, a set of two keys she had – one from reaching adulthood at 21, another a keepsake from one memorable travel to a gaol house in Australia. She was about to liberate herself once more, tonight. A full circle.

» Posted By Issie Kay On 06.20.2018 @ 9:28 pm


Verdant favours, these were what she owed. There were a few more days left in summer, so she would have to be particularly strategic where she could and would tackle. It just took a little more oil on her own personal mower.

» Posted By Issie Kay On 06.18.2018 @ 10:25 am


Nothing but the dreaded glass ceiling, and if she stared hard enough, shards of contemptuous indifference would drop and cut each side of her jawline. She will then be rendered speechless, perhaps, for good. It was where they resided, and also where she never would be.

» Posted By Issie Kay On 06.17.2018 @ 12:48 am

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