Poet Introduction I compare poetry to painting, believing that I lack any drawing/painting skills but believing my imagination and training in writing has enabled me to transfer my love of visual art to the written word
The woman with silver hair wore a cream cardigan and sunglasses. Pushing a small suitcase along the ground, she approached the ticket office.
Dawn thought there was something familiar about the woman, but she couldn’t identify what. The voice. West Country. The accent reminded her of wild flowers and of an afternoon in a garden many years ago. An untidy garden in Devon with autumn leaves and a pond and clumps of damp earth.
I lie in bed unable to sleep My grandmother died yesterday and I’m estranged from my Community
My thoughts travel back to Salford 7 where my grandmother had lived The damp-looking leafy streets The trees The ultra-religious Jewish boys with tzitzits hanging out from their shirts, the sides of their hair arranged in peyot
The local *Cheder I’d got expelled from The cold and the dark of the streets The smell of autumn evenings Bonfire night and childish mischief
Finally I succumb to an exhausted sleep, waking a...
She glanced at the time on her phone. Her shift would begin in a while. She inhaled hard on the cigarette until stars danced before her eyes and her chest hurt. She shut her eyes. The cigarette was making her dizzy and sick.
Horrible, stinky town.
Even the House looked totally different. A team of builders had ripped out the interior and rebuilt the structure, eradicating all traces of Mum and Dad.
Footsteps outside her front gate on the night of the storm. The shifting shadows darkening the pathway on the walk back to the cottage. The timer switch adjusting position in the early hours of yesterday morning. The call from the woman objecting to her living in the town.
The thick rural darkness. Dead silence.
Rolling onto her side, she reaches for the pillow and presses the cool fabric against her face.
For a long time, she lies like this, listening to the steady rhythm of her breathing, longing for sleep, yet dreading it in case she...
Orchard House caught fire twice and lots of people died. I know because I was there. I saw the foggy smoke gathering on the landing just before Orchard House tumbled down. I got out somehow, but I don’t remember anything else.
I sat on a bench near a rock garden, listening to seagulls in the distance, plaintive and minute. The air tasted of salt and sand and the freshness of approaching autumn, The tide was out, leaving a carpet of sand. The sea appeared calm, all ripples of blue and grey and green.
You wake up in hospital. The police came soon after your mate Simon alerted them and found you lying on the ground. The gorgeous woman had fled and the door was unlocked, so they didn’t need to force entry. So what exactly happened during those few days of madness? Once you recovered, you gave a police statement. The case went to trial and a judge ordered a Hospital Order. That’s when you discovered a little more about the events of those few days following the party.
First, the gorgeous woman had recently left psychiatric care and was staying with an aunt who...
You wake up late on Tuesday morning, groggy and disorientated. For a long time, you remain on the sofa bed, still and silent as you catch your thoughts and weigh up the situation. ‘What happened yesterday?’ you say, finally. ‘Yesterday?’ The gorgeous woman says. ‘I didn’t know you were awake.’ As usual, she’s sitting at the table, smiling as she texts away. ‘Are you feeling better? A bit sleepy, I expect. Those painkillers are potent, aren’t they?’ ‘Which painkillers?’ ‘The tablets you were prescribed by the doctor. Don’t you remember?’ ‘When did I see a...
You come to late on Monday morning with a vice-like headache and a metallic taste in your mouth. The gorgeous woman’s sitting at your table, smiling as she texts on her phone. ‘You’re awake,’ she says. ‘Yeah,’ you mutter. ‘You don’t look well at all. We might have to consider finding a walk-in clinic if there’s no improvement by tomorrow. I’ll need to do a bit of legal research, though. It could be that we don’t have to disclose the reason for the blow to the head if you are not presenting as an emergency.’ That’s when memories of yesterday trickle back. The party...
The numbness begins to wear off. A man is dead, a man you met for the first time at a mate’s party last night. What should you do about it? Is it possible to brush it aside and move on with your life? After all, that bloke could have killed you. The gorgeous woman makes herself a sandwich and texts a friend. She’s advised you not to visit any news or social media websites connected with the crime in case investigating officers detect an unhealthy interest in the matter and decide to talk to you at a later stage. But you want to find out more about the fight and what happened...