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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Loss
From a meadow nest Silver birch leaves sweep a sky, caress your cloud face. * * * * * Thank you for spending a moment with my words. If you like the way I play with letters from the alphabet, I would be honoured to have you as my guest, on my profile, where you can read whatever takes your fancy. If you’d like to read more haiku they’re all here:
By Teresa Rentonabout a year ago in Poets
Haiku & Senryu
If you’re a haiku fan, then I humbly offer you my experiments with this short yet addictive Japanese form. A senryu is similar in its length and syllabic structure, but moves away from nature as a subject. Instead, humour, and human foibles become the focus.
By Teresa Rentonabout a year ago in Poets
Subtle Shift of Shadow. Top Story - October 2024.
It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. The last time I saw a real face was about a month ago. Before that, it was twenty-two years ago when I was six months old—too young to remember anything. At six months, they seal your eyes with a veil, and virtual perfection becomes your reality. We lived in a curated world, allocated experiences, attributes, and education by the Custodian Congress. Our existence was blissful, devoid of crime, pain, and anxiety—a film set of beautiful Stepford people against lush landscapes.
By Teresa Rentonabout a year ago in Fiction
As Long As
I conjure up images of you as I walk through the woodland. I’m light like pollen, spun clouds in summer, a ghost. Everything you wanted me to be. Obedience was my blanket. An elderly man walks by and ignores me. His dog sees me though. Four-legged innocence waiting for validation. I smile; he wags his tail. A victory flag. I wonder whether dogs understand smiles the way people do? I had given up waiting for your approval. The elderly man whistles. Obedient dog. I need space you said. Where did obedience get me?
By Teresa Rentonabout a year ago in Poets
I Blame You, Moon
Empress of twilight and beyond, you’ve outstayed your welcome. Come alone, I asked you, yet you brought the night– libertine, fluid, and turbulent, swirling eddies through my voids, which were not for its blackness to fill. My silences were not your invitations.
By Teresa Renton2 years ago in Poets
