Pick of the day

Breakfast of an optimist

As an optimist, morning is my favourite time of the day; especially at weekends when I can ease into the world at my leisure.  But my first words always reveal me as a little tongue-tied.  They stumble out of my mouth greeting recipients with aural chaos.   Read more

Story of the week

Flare

 
The headlights picked out individual snowflakes, quivering cotton drops spliced from the gauzy storm and suspended in their yellow orbs.
'You have to pull over,' he muttered, fidgeting. 'I don't know where the fuck - '
'Etteridge, or something,' she snapped, 'that's what you said last.'
Windscreen wipers scudded flowering white maps aside with irate, rubbery yelps.
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Poem of the week

The Shady House

The Shady House

In a shady house by Bangor Pier,
you are forever picking up dust.
On a diet of tobacco, herbs and beer,
you live as you know you must.

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Features

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Story and Poem of the Week and Inspiration Point

This week from Philip Sidney:

Another bumper crop of fabulous pieces this week.  Celticman's, 'Grimms', goes from strength to strength and Skinner_Jennifer has a cracking love story in four episodes called, 'Sir There's a Waiter in my Wine.'

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Story and Poem of the Week and Inspiration Point

Spoilt for choice this week! A very big special mention to celticman whose novel-in-the-making I caught up with this morning. If you haven't read it yet, I thoroughly recommend that you do - it's called Grimms and it's turning into something very spectacular.

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Poetry Monthly

Thank you to Catherine Poarch for her brief on Creation last month. Seeing as it's February I feel drawn towards expressing my die-hard romantic nature in lyrical form.

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Bee's Journey

Picks of the Month

Breeder of Black Cats

Opal pads across the back of the couch, leaps down onto the arm, and over to Emmalynn. She rubs her soft black head against Emmalynn's hip, seeking affection, seeking approval. She was the runt of this litter, but now she's long and sleek, with the pale, gleaming eyes to which she owes her name.

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Bristol Blue Glass

When I saw the missed calls, I fed my dread with sugar

Bracing myself with gulps of vanilla milkshake and chocolate wafers

Although I should have known what was coming

Because I’ve known it for years.

You didn’t know

With your half-finished crossword

Your broken bowl of cereal spilling on the floor,

And people will call that a mercy.

 

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