Brooke Forbes

An isolated, midnight-blue glass ink bottle sitting on the wet sand just where the waves reach, its stopper removed, a thin rivulet of dark ink mingling with seawater and forming branching, calligraphic patterns. Around it, the receding tide leaves mirror-like patches reflecting a star-filled night sky and a faint crescent moon. Bioluminescent specks shimmer near the ink’s edge, blending reality with the surreal. The scene is illuminated by cool moonlight and the subtle glow of the bioluminescence, creating silver highlights and deep, velvety shadows. Shot from a low, close-up angle in photographic realism, with a shallow depth of field, the mood is mystical and poetic, suggesting stories and verses dissolving into the greater ocean of collective imagination.

Brooke Forbes Poetry

A curated hub for fiction poetry, where each line echoes a collective ocean.

Poems by Brooke

  • A disorganized wooden desk overflowing with stacks of binders, papers, and tangled electronic cables.
    Desktop Clutter
    by Brooke Forbes
    I’m moving old files across my desktop – Pixelated, info-laden, time capsules; catapulting me back to a time when writing was effortless fun. To a time before textbooks heavy with the law. To a time when dreams soared across blank screens as quickly as my night-fever-inspired fingers could type. What secrets can I find, in… Read more: Desktop Clutter
  • Desert Rain
    by Brooke Forbes
    Red dust settles, thick with rain drops; moisture meeting the great dry with poise and purpose. A building crescendo rattles through Mparntwe; drops on aching roads, drops on empty school yards, drops on suburban tin sheds. The animals respond: birds are shirking with half joy, half surprise, moths are dodging the crystal drops and camp… Read more: Desert Rain
  • Three children in colorful snowsuits play and throw snow in a winter field.
    On the White Below
    by Brooke Forbes
    On the white below children gather around the frost-licked play equipment.  You can see a few pull on the swing chains and stand at the base of slides, and a few hover around the playground’s edge, squat in half-slush and mould balls from ice wads. One boy uses a wipe of his finger to reveal the… Read more: On the White Below
  • Chipped floral teacup with cracks sitting on a rustic wooden table in sunlight.
    Peace and Justice
    by Brooke Forbes
    I hold space for peace and justice in tiny places. Like cracks in old tea cups,Like empty jars once full of jam,Like between the folds of freshly pressed sheets,Like secret cupboards, long forgotten, gathering dust. I have hidden it here, hoping, one day, we can find them and pull them out. I’ve been hoping this… Read more: Peace and Justice
  • Painting Herself Again
    by Brooke Forbes
    A woman is painting herself again. She is sitting in her chair, hand stretched to the canvas, connecting artistry to medium. She is choosing her colour pallet, her lights, her darks, her attempts to mimic the ever-shing essence of being. Can she capture the turn of her hips when she wants to dance? Can she… Read more: Painting Herself Again
  • Red Dirt
    by Brooke Forbes
    Red dirt it hurts, through your teeth, having breathed it in, unknowingly, when surveying the lands of Mparntwe. The residue gathers and lines the edge of your teeth, and like little castles they start to crumble. Shifting sands, you think, will be my both my beginning and my end. And these sands are sparse and… Read more: Red Dirt