D. J. Reddall

Joined June 2022

929 stories

Bio

I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.

Achievements (23)

Stories (929)

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Lethal Luxury
"In a banqueting-room with a reversible ceiling he once buried his guests in violets and other flowers, so that some were actually smothered to death, being unable to crawl out to the top." -- Scriptores Historiae Augustae, “The Life of Elagabalus,” in Historia Augusta
By D. J. Reddall2 years ago in Poets
Peerless Persephone
Daughter of Demeter and Hades’ bride To a winter wearied world, you bring spring By snow and ice have our spirits been tried;
By D. J. Reddall2 years ago in Poets
User Feedback. Top Story - March 2024.
Where is it written That we must be grateful for What we must accept?
By D. J. Reddall2 years ago in Poets
Daughter of The Dagda
No flame is as bright and warm as your eye Music envies your laugh’s flashing charm Your mind is as clear and vast as the sky
By D. J. Reddall2 years ago in Poets
The Clown Prince
The silly, mad fraud Loves himself and knows nothing He’s so authentic!
By D. J. Reddall2 years ago in Poets
The Rite of Recollection
“The work of mourning seeks neither to save from death nor deny it, but to save from a ‘worse than death.’”—Jacques Derrida, The Work of Mourning, 2001.
By D. J. Reddall2 years ago in Poets
A Song for Oshun
Oshun, radiant goddess of rivers First mortal woman named Ìyálóde With your gentle blessing, each womb quivers Your will makes ready new life’s small abode
By D. J. Reddall2 years ago in Poets
A Song for Idunn
Idunn, rejuvenator of the gods Beautiful goddess of youth and vigor Wife of Bragi, whose eloquence shifts odds Your magic fruit turns winter to summer
By D. J. Reddall2 years ago in Poets
The Ninth Day
Eight bright and bowing dawns were just for me This rich, green island was my glad garden No prince or priest or bearded knight could see
By D. J. Reddall2 years ago in Poets
Digital Learning
The conflation of recollection and cogitation Learning to think like machines, as it were While we create machines that seem to think like we used to think
By D. J. Reddall2 years ago in Poets
The Beloved Boulder
“The struggle itself towards the heights is enough to fill a man’s heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy.”--Albert Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus
By D. J. Reddall2 years ago in Poets
We Remember. Runner-Up in Whispering Woods Challenge. Top Story - March 2024.
She is uneasy. I can smell it. The grey one is talking to her softly in the shrinking light. We will move soon, not away from the strange trees, but into them. This seems bad to me. They are older than the other trees and smell angry and strong. There is ample food, clean and rapid water, and there is a friendly bitch in a hut close to the ravine I would like to get to know. We do not need to go in order to live.
By D. J. Reddall2 years ago in Fiction