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iBreast
iBreast my bra flies parachutes when thrown at your head you catch it howzat! smell the cups for the ghosts of my breasts there was a time when i...
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- 328 reads
to Saffron
you enchant me you’ve left me and properly should be past tense but you still enchant me I wish I knew why I am chuckling at you filling our pond...
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- 1 comment
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- 328 reads
still life
still life walking an empty pathway filling poignant silences with nervy nonsenses in a pool of darkness between two lampposts’ yellow light Rebekah...
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- 220 reads
Salterhebble
Light at the end of lockdown tunnel
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- 1 comment
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- 583 reads
Leech of the World, Chapter 5, Part 2
It was about time this enigmatic enemy made its appearance as trees fell and the stomping was getting louder and louder. A shiver went through her...
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- 282 reads
Shadowlands
My shadow, weight bearer (Own image)
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- 1 comment
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- 653 reads
Still The Same
. Still The Same By Paul McCann Today I thought of you and the things we used to do , what ever happened to all those people that we knew , in my...
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- 4 comments
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- 702 reads
Sugar and Spice
Once upon a time, I had a massive crush on Danelaw Smith. I was twelve, and he must have been about twenty-something. And he wasn’t exactly all that...
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- 1 comment
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- 518 reads
coming of age in Oxford
February gives way to March slinking off with withered memories of childhood fun, schoolboy ambitions, hope-fuelled dreams adulthood lurks at the...
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- 296 reads
Yikes
A tadpole is size ‘very small’ yet large enough to be seen by predators. One wiggled his way into liberated living away from his school-friends...
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- 4 comments
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- 1084 reads
Under the Redwoods...
My hand upon it; I feel its warmth; its rough bark is pliant under my hand. I feel the breeze as the branches above move with the wind. I look up and...
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- 10 comments
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- 2904 reads
Crazy Diamond
If only my parents could see me now: a pint of lager, a packet of ten Sovereign, the Pokemon-stickered guitar, the old NYC baseball cap still glued...
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- 10 comments
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- 1865 reads
Black Beauty
Black Beauty Cherish I still my childhood thrill when a tale I tell when a poem I spell then the applause despite the flaws. much of it I owe to the...
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- 2 comments
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- 790 reads
A Runaway Writer
. A Runaway Writer By Paul McCann I’m becoming invisible , watch me disappear , I can drift off into a world of my own where there’s nothing to fear...
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- 4 comments
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- 885 reads
Recycling. Upcycling. Part Three..
My name is Mrs Red Capped-Robin and my neighbour is called Mrs Jones. She’s a lovely Bird, small and not like me who like to have the latest fad, and...
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- 4 comments
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- 1008 reads
Recycling. Upcycling. Part Two.
I stood back to look at my handiwork, it was good but there was something missing. As I pondered what it was, something below caught my eye. It was a...
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- 2 comments
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- 870 reads
Hetha in the kirk
The Gore tex rustle fades, the hikers leave and I have the place to myself Me and the tattered shards of the Christ god The thick walls holding back...
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- 1 comment
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- 588 reads
hello goodbye
hello goodbye I saw her from the window of my signal-stalled train stranded beside the bay she wore a soft green hat a bright red scarf dungarees she...
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- 3 comments
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- 579 reads
Dead Sand: Part 2-Buzzard Creek: Section 1
Hello, everyone! Here's the second part to Dead Sand. It's got to be divided a bit differntly, due to word restriction here on ABCtales. But anyway,...
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- 294 reads