Natasha Miren
Welcome to this little treasury of my favourite creations. I’ve got music here (songs, and solo piano too). A few comics, plus animations which are my real labour of love. You can also read some poems I’ve written.If you would like a copy of anything here, just get in touch and I’ll be happy to share.
This site will be updated with more soon.
Happy browsing!
photo by @ricservini
My solo piano track Northern Lights was released in November 2025.
Below are the most recent songs I have recorded — Summer & Forests.
Live at The Slaughtered Lamb:
Miscellaneous Doodles
These are animated soundbites, mostly of my friends talking. Nothing is funnier to me than real life. I draw them frame by frame on my iPad. It takes a long time, but I’m chuckling myself the whole way through. You can see many more on my toon Instagram: @toonsbytash.
30The world breathes and you are a shadow. This requires breath —
these colours, this space, this gravel.
You skate and trip and the skin comes off your palm,
but you pick yourself up because you’re young.
And too bad you can’t see how the world holds you
and sun lightly touches your cheeks.
That are at once tear- and whisky-stained.
From the dive bar where the guy told you about
things you’ll never remember, cus of the cheap bourbon haze.
And you played a song on the jukebox at noon
and it felt like midnight, head in your glass,
eating the hotdog, just one of them, the old crusty dudes —
oh hell, you were so young — you asshole. Stop moping.
Look in the mirror and feel as good as you are.
Look people in the eyes and let ‘em see your face.
Brush the hair out of it. Stand up straight like Mom said.
And smile even when you are sober.
Then leave behind the pool tables, the bottles.
Step into the sun again amidst two tall palms that hold you,
the ones that say, the world has missed you.
Forest at 2amImpulsive and against conscience,
with you in spite of me.
My canopy was ink above —
mine for stumbling along this path previously,
and declaring them my trees.
Tonight, though, they are ebony.
And so this void is alien, and as its
pioneers, belongs to you and me.
You know as well as I what the dark conceals,
and where the fork leads.
And blind I may as well be,
hurtling through space.
We are not in this galaxy.
I tremor, face to face —
you hold me as I seize.
And no one has done this to me;
I am out of character.
For once, I overheat.
So why so shivery?
Collapsed on soil, dirty but indifferent,
dumb, voiceless, inarticulate —
and just when quakes subside, we touch fingertips.
Shudders resume, would that I could speak,
but you seemed content to humour me,
to sit in silence and smile, and all
in spite of me.
You lie with me.
ThisI’ve loved you in lifetimes past.
The day by the bush, staring at its berries,
While I followed the sun’s arc
Inching away from the shade,
I loved you then.
That day sitting on my couch
Enveloped in grey space,
The whiteness of a house unlived in,
The hum of the fridge,
I loved you then.
You were the tiniest movement
Of the breeze
And the allness of a boring day
And I loved you,
Every inch.
That was you.
August SkyIt is still light — the horizon at nine.
The coral sky and its lavender, lapping waves —
you would have loved to see it.
I would gladly pass on my eyes.
Planes through pastel like seraphim, butterflies.
Where is the pink born?
Who lets it spill
on those billowed cliffs?
You are near dead.
Your soul may have left.
I hope you are flying through
this painting of paradise.
Hiking RestI wonder what you would say,
sitting next to me on this stump.
Everything is dead but the birds and the wind.
Your breathing would be louder than all that is alive,
nestled in my ear, cool on my back.
Whatever you chose to say,
it would be perfect
for staring into dry brush
at nothing.