Time passes differently in the still of the mind. Space and resonance shudder and reverberate and my head drops forward;…
Poem: In the dark of the tunnel
As the last glimpse of light behind faded with none yet risen before, The tunnel closed in about them Thick…
Poem: Plastic and Glass
Greeted by a man and a woman; hands turn to plastic and glass. She and he are as stiff, as…
Mr Morrison
‘He was never under any illusion that he could fix all of the world’s problems, or even those of the tiny world he had inhabited for over three decades, alongside criminals, degenerates, low-lifes and innocents of all descripts.’
Poem: On the edge of a nerve
I set out, and started, slowly. Suddenly, we were afforded the luxuries of a bursting life, Seeping from our seams,…
Poem: Disorder – a series of Haiku
Sold Quietly married around the world, solemnly Sadness followed them.
Poem: This Tree
Yes! The tree: we were there, sat between roots that crawled underground for hundreds of years.
Boys like them
‘They all started walking back to where we’d been about ten minutes before, but I didn’t move. I had this horrible taste in my mouth, so I spat on the floor, and realised they were all still walking away.’
Poem: I am grown weary
I am grown weary of stock images flashing and flitting across the dark and clear glass of my eye.
Review: Bring up the bodies, by Hilary Mantel
‘Hilary Mantel’s successes lay as much in the depth of character she presents in her main protagonist, as in her unique handling of such famous narrative.’
Poem: Beyond this place
Graffiti strewn alley walls miss the fingers of hands, on stretched out arms, Just. Dark cobbles glint deep below heavy…
Minutes, months and years
‘He fidgeted in his seat and realised he wasn’t wearing his seatbelt. Wouldn’t that be the thing, he thought as he plugged it in and considered being launched through a windscreen in some horrendous head on collision.’
What happened?
‘What happened? You’re buried, and your arms are stuck. OK. What about your legs. OK, OK. Yes, you can move your leg, and your foot. Not that leg though, not that leg – that’s bad, that’s bad. ‘
Review: Stoner, by John Williams
‘I didn’t like him at first. John Williams that is, not William Stoner.’
Poem: Candles in a power cut
The metallic thunk of the lights going off, the page disappearing beneath my eye held still tight in my hand. “Bloody hell,…
Book of Pye 