Literary Vegan

There is nothing new under the sun. Even death has been done before, in vinegar thorns and mourning for the confused. All that we don't know, He knew — stepping through Hades barefoot to become shepherd of the unshadow. What you think can't be held, He holds — loneliness turned to stone  when He joined hands  of the impossible. LJ Ireton 

Gossamer slips between my fingers, hovers over a mirroring grey-white froth on the sea.  I think of the sleeping stones; unsettling, unsettling their secrets. I let mine fly — the sunrise eats the veil of them and day feels so desperately  different  and the flowers untinted. Inspired by 'The Knight and the Moth' C. LJ Ireton 2026

eye to the lense  landscape fades irrelevant  at your obsidian eyes to mine, a dusk-white, glass wild moment; like you waited, stone serious for me to carry that heavy look away.  C. LJ Ireton, 2026

like a liminal Cinderella, between two masks; keeping one hand on the shoe  in my pocket and one on a flask of tea — those who don't watch the clock  could read me in seconds.  C. LJ Ireton, 2026

Used plates clink bright above, below; ceramic notes of a Xylophone  we are all playing. C. LJ Ireton, 2026.

A song is a skipping stone on a bone-still lake, roads deep dropping into the stomach  of the found. One hundred times a water kiss — the head tilt familiar naming something  for the city sunset hungry. Then the submerge — playing fish-scales  down as lonely bubbles and calling bells meet  in new and old voices.  LJ Ireton, March 2026.