Stories at the Park 4: inspired by Sorcha Tyles

Home Sheba Blitz Maxie Daviau Skinnynilla Terrygold

About Sorcha

Sorcha Tyles
Sorcha Tyles

I confess – much to my shame – to not having encountered Sorcha’s work until Skinnynilla pointed me in the direction of her Flickr stream.

I’m glad he did.

There is a deep, personal richness to Sorcha’s work which is almost overwhelming. She regards SL photography as perhaps her biggest addiction in Second Life, and looking at her work, one can not only see why, but also catch a glimpse of Sorcha herself. Her images gracefully combine landscapes with personal studies, producing a range of art that is bewitching in its breadth and intimate in its depth.

My thanks to skinny for introducing us, and to Sorcha for being a part of Art at the Par

Stories and Poems

Whoopi – R. Crap Mariner

Inspired by A Painter’s Link

A Painter's Link
A Painter’s Link

Whoopi Goldberg said that she’d leave the country if Donald Trump won. Then, when Trump won, she said it was only a joke.

Eventually, her agent got her booked for a few gigs in Europe. But when she tried to come home, her passport was declared invalid.

“Sorry,” said the embassy’s passport control officer. “Your passport was revoked. You’ll need to apply for a new one. Fill out this form, provide two forms of identification, a photo, and the fee.”

She waited four weeks, and then another four weeks after she explained why her driver’s license said Caryn Elaine Johnson.

Saying “Goodbye” – Caledonia Skytower

Inspired by Goodbye Nordenrey

The squeak of those ridiculous tires over the sand, every afternoon for an entire summer. Hours of lunatic games in the sand: laughing like children, reckless, carefree.

Happy times in the snap of salt water, splashing, flinging, inconsiderate of time, and utterly alive.

Quiet moments tracing the pattern woven in the blanket, contemplating each others eyes, and pitting the timbre of our voices against the sea wind.

Now the hills beyond have adorned themselves with the amber of sunset, and that squeak is quieted.  “Carefree” has given way to morning frosts, composition books, and responsibility.

Saying “Goodbye” is cold comfort.

Goodbye Norderney
Goodbye Norderney

Kite – R. Crap Mariner

Inspired by Goodbye Nordenrey

Every summer at the beach, Dad and I would assemble a box kite, and fly it over the dunes.

Just as his dad did with him.

And I do with my kids.

And my kids will do with theirs.

When the kite is too worn or damaged to fly, a new one is assembled.

When the father is too worn or damaged, the staff try to repair him, blowing sand from his gears.

And if they can’t, a new one is assembled.

Same with the kids.

The tourists take photos with their smartphones.

And buy box kites, and fly them.

Portrait – Caledonia Skytower

Inspired by Say Something

A spattering
soft like raindrops across fields
that rise, fall, and curve
without restraint.

Deep chestnut
fine-spun and abundant,
subject to every whim
of the playful breezes.

Wings compressed
a moment neither expressing
nor revealing,

Pools deep-set
guarded from the elements
while almost brimming
with the unspoken.

A face is like a landscape:
masking, exposing, populating,
crafting a singular journey’s tale
into one portrait visage of
love, sorrow, anger, grief, and joy.

Good Morning Maria – R. Crap Mariner

Inspired by Sorcha’s Profile Image

Maria turned off the water in the shower, slipped, fell, and broke her neck.

“Good morning,” said the mirror. “I’ve selected an outfit for you today.” Robots pulled the proper bins from the basement up to her bedroom closet.

“I’ve determined the best hairstyle to go with it.” The groomer system dried and styled her hair into place.

Finally, the mirror suggested a make-up look that would complement that outfit. An applicator came out of the wall, and covered her face.

“Close your eyes,” said the mirror.

The mirror repeated its request for hours before it called Maintenance for assistance.

Gorgon R. Crap Mariner


Inspired by Pieces

We bring slaves and prisoners to the Gorgon’s island.

They chew the petals of the bliss flower, and fall into a dreamy stupor. So many pretty colours and sounds and spells. Follow them! Chase them!

They wander the island, laughing and smiling and then…

The Gorgon awakens, and crawls out of her cave. One by one, she finds the intruders, gazing into their eyes, and turning them to stone.

Gorgon pulls some weeds from the ground, chews them, and crawls back to her cave.

We drag the statues back to the boat and set sail.

The king will pay handsomely.

Pieces by Robjin – English

Inspired by Pieces

I’ll hold you, I said.
I’ll carry you in my arms.
I’ll carry you around.
I’ll caress you with my lips, every square inch of your skin.
I’ll let you, you said.
I’ll be your loving weight.
I’ll be close to you forever.
I’ll love your kisses, their wetness on my skin.
How hard it is to wake up to reality.
To feel harsh gravity pull us, down to the ground.
Down on my knees, these painfully hurting knees.
Down in my mind, that wrecking state of mind.
She’s gone to pieces, and never ever will she be whole again.

Pieces by Robjin – Dutch

Ik heb je vast, zei ik
Ik draag je in mijn armen
Ik draag je overal rond
Ik geef je kusjes op elk plekje van je vel
Ik laat je doen, zei jij
Ik ben je lieve last
Ik blijf voor altijd dicht bij jou
Ik geniet zo van die natte kusjes op mijn vel
Dan is daar terug de harde realiteit
Trekt de wrede zwaartekracht mij naar de grond
Neer op mijn knieen, die steken van de pijn
Neer in mijn hoofd, mijn zintuigen gesloopt
Ze brak in stukken, en nooit, nooit meer wordt ze weer zoals ze was

Sunrise – Aoife Lorefield

Inspired by Sunset at Norderney

At the edge of sense and memory
lies the dawn
pearled colours of shell and stone
past the feathered grasses
over the lip of the dune
light is spilling into day
night gathers her scattered stars
turns her dark shoulder
and rolls beyond the horizon
a wind shifts particles of sand
a tern dives beneath a wave
we begin again

Home Sheba Blitz Maxie Daviau Skinnynilla Terrygold