he's here by chris hall lunasonline

All alone in the

big brass bed

you wait.


You’re late, my love!


Your body craves,

shivers, aches

with unfulfilled desires.


Where are you, my love?


A door bangs

A shutter creaks

He has come.


You are the moon

He is the night

You shine in his darkness


Engulfed by his touch,

slave to the rhythm

of his dance.


Later, in the empty bed

You wonder:

Was he really here?


Two ruby red droplets

on your pillow.

The legacy of his love.



The Pull of the Ocean

the pull of the ocean by chris hall lunasonline

The sun begins its descent, radiating its last rays, before

slipping behind the mountain.

The ebb and flow of the tide, which waits for no man,

or woman.

Like time, running out.

Running freely, like the grains of sand.


I walk out.


Until the sea 

and I






Before it’s too late

Detail from Hanover and Tennant Street, District Six by Solly Gutman
Detail from ‘Hanover and Tennant Streets’ by Solly Gutman

Come sit with me
here on the stoep
and tell me your stories.

Tell me about
when you were a girl
with a flower in your hair
on the first day of spring.

Tell me about
the games you played,
the friends you made
and the songs you sang.

Tell me about
the parades and parties,
the festivals and dances
and the secret stolen kisses.

Tell me about
the man you married,
the children you had
and the plans that you made.

What were your hopes?
What were your dreams?
Who was the woman you wanted to be?

Come sit with me
and sip your tea, and
tell me your stories.


I miss you

Where you ever there by Chris Hall lunasonline

You were there when I arrived
You nodded in my direction
And I felt the warmth of your smile.

Your wit lit up the room
Your laughter sparkled
Your stories enlivened, inspired
Touched a heart; a nerve.

And then you left.

And it was as if
You’d never been there.



Without you

Without You by Chris Hall lunasonline

On the blank screen
the cursor blinks


Like a heartbeat?
A countdown?

Close your eyes
Listen and look

Who’s there?
What are they doing?

Write it down
Quickly! Quickly!

Be nice to them
Nurture them

Or one day they
your characters, might run away.

And then where would you be?

The last of his kind

Velociraptor by Alex CF

He was the last of his kind.
Wearily he lay down,
waiting for the end.
He’d sensed it coming.

The heavens darkened,
flames filled the sky.
The celestial destructor bore down
upon his Mother Earth.

Would she survive?
Would others come after?
No answer came.

His body crisped to dust.


This wonderful piece of artwork was posted by Jason H. Abbott last week, as part of his science fiction art series. This was what I was moved to write.

Here’s the link to Jason’s original post:



The Door

The Door by Chris Hall lunasonline

Light, white-blinding, unable to move.  
Where am I?
Try to remember.

The Door.
I came through The Door.
I remember now.

Flying, over the earth, outside my body,
Outside everything.

Looking down upon myself
at the whiteness of the sheet
covering me.

No need for wine or water.
No need for bread or meat.
I have entered through The Door.

Seeing through the glass darkly,
the way ahead unclear,
but my mind (my soul?) is moving on.

No need for the corporeal,
Set adrift, cast aside,

On the other side of The Door.