Teresa Renton
Bio
Inhaling life, exhaling stories, poetry, prose, flash or fusions. An imperfect perfectionist who writes and recycles words. I write because I love how it feels to make ink patterns & form words, like pictures, on a page.
Achievements (11)
Stories (104)
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Winter Kisses
Breath-weaved air collides leaving icy lips melting into kiss
By Teresa Rentonabout 22 hours ago in Poets
Hunted
Owl hoots a warning In darkness I freeze, breathstopped Leaf crunches nearby ***** Teresa Renton has a first-class degree in English Linguistics and Language Creativity. Her work has previously been published or is forthcoming in Ink in Thirds, Flash Fiction Magazine, Across the Margin, Stick Figure Poetry, 101 Words, and elsewhere. She has recently been a finalist in Women on Writing’s Autumn ‘25 flash fiction competition.
By Teresa Renton3 months ago in Poets
The Devil Invades
It crawls in my brain; Satan spins his slick poison. Now I bow, possessed. ***** Other reads: Teresa Renton has a first-class degree in English Linguistics and Language Creativity. Her work has previously been published or is forthcoming in Good Printed Things Poetry Anthology:Food Memories, Ink in Thirds, Flash Fiction Magazine, Across the Margin, and elsewhere. She has recently been a finalist in Women on Writing’s Autumn ‘25 flash fiction competition.
By Teresa Renton3 months ago in Poets
A Letter from the Third State
Dear Teresa Whatever you do—don't look behind you! I know you won't. Sorry, I've probably scared you, but all you need to know is that I love you. Really love you, like the wind loves space. Ah space. I'll come back to that, but for now, just remember my touch. Didn't I always envelop you in my arms and say I'd never let you go? Your tears of joy at those times gripped me with immeasurable emotion. And desire. I know it's difficult for you now.
By Teresa Renton3 months ago in Fiction
I Hate Lamplight
I hate lamplight. I hate the way it distorts objects I view from a distance, objects that slap me with clarity as I approach. I hate the way it highlights what I don’t want to see, and the way it narrates your thoughts without you uttering a word. I hate that it witnesses my devastation when you whiplash my heart, and how it betrays my grief—every distortion of my facial contours, the ugly droop of my gaping mouth, and how it spotlights the tears rolling down my cheeks. I hate how it illuminates my wail like it was mist
By Teresa Renton3 months ago in Poets
Mask of a Suburban Woman. Winner in Masks We Wear Challenge.
In Mesoamerican folk religion, a nagual (pronounced [na'wal]) or nahual (both from the Nahuat word năhualli [na waxli]) is a human being who has the power to shapeshift... into their tonal animal counterpart.
By Teresa Renton3 months ago in Poets
Little School of Horrors
Knock, knock knock! No one had knocked on my door for eight years. Now, the rapping is loud, insistent. Its echo stirs my desolate corridors. I used to hear laughter. And shouting, and whispers too. I comforted occasional weeping in a quiet corner, and I sheltered little people from rain. I was their ship that sailed them to a future of letters, numbers, creativity; I was a conduit for friendships, connections, and finished projects.
By Teresa Renton3 months ago in Fiction
