Cherrypicked stories
The Staines Moor Horror
Something nasty lurks beneath the Coln.
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- 3879 reads
Thursday 26th October 2006
I think of that Tolstoy line, "If she goes to her cousin first...she'll be my wife It's wise, in such moments, to remember that the next line is "What rubbish sometimes enters one's head!"
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- 898 reads
In at the Deep End
'Extra strong. Try one ' you won't regret it.'
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- 954 reads
Found
'Found 'ee in the road, y'say?' 'Yes. Just lying there, unable to get up.' I saw again in my mind the absurdly oversized gull ' still speckled from youth ' squatting in the narrow street, panting its distress as cars edged around as best they could and sped away.
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- 3504 reads
Venus Of Willendorf
She embraces courtship at my flank, With sails so broad she could never become seaworthy,
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- 1289 reads
21. Moving on...
After much soul-searching, Lemon finally decided he'd lived in his bed-sit above the Pink Pagoda Take-Away for long enough.
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- 906 reads
Don't Stop
Don't stop being exasperated by stubborn computers, cupboard shortages, forgtten errands. When your cheeks rise scarlet from the bone it looks like passion. Don't stop questioning my social white lies, that left unchecked
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- 956 reads
Torn
"Hello?" I say, the vocal epitome of cool, because I'm sure as hell not cool physically right now.
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- 791 reads
Lipstick
A poem. About why I dislike lipstick. An seminar excercise.
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- 1209 reads
Overcomplicating Tea
Overcomplicating Tea She tells me that poetry overcomplicates itself. I grip my teacup harder, lean into the plastic sheen of the table. You wouldn't understand, I say ' wouldn't stir for the flame's grumble or its dance
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- 1100 reads
The Swans Absent Colour
The Swans Absent Colour
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- 873 reads
Tiny burgers at the Penguin bash
They had the plasma screen showing Huw from the BBC news with the sound down. It looked like the world was teetering because the footage was of missiles by grey-scale night vision. And then it was a map and North Korea glowing like a big red button. And we all felt a bit awkward or angry or distant and Hari Kunzru was there and Simon Armitage was drunk
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- 1452 reads
Mist Wraiths
Mist Wraiths At night clouds escape the bonds of wind whose magnetic charm and white gloved hand kept them dancing in rosy shoes twirled in silver grey and mauve tulle skirts and lacy stoles flying cirrus
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- 2580 reads
Real Life Wears Slippers
Real Life Wears Slippers I started out just like everybody else. I averaged out: height, weight, shoe size. Everything you could think of. I was going through life not leaving a mark, the faceless passer-by of newspaper quotes, an every and nothing man. But then I started to change.
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- 753 reads
Boots
Boots was far from happy with the situation. He was breaking one of his own golden rules: if it didn't feel right, walk away. He stood under a 'Buses Only' sign, his hands in his Parka pockets, the hood shielding his face from the drizzle. He was wet and cold. He had been standing in exactly the same spot for about half an hour and still couldn't get the timings right. Green for about a minute and red for ' how long? Sometimes four minutes, sometimes four and a half. Such inconsistency was irksome ' and thirty seconds could be the difference between success and failure.
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- 2007 reads
Sleepbolt
Whatever is there evades your mark, goes under cover, lives - for tonight.
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- 833 reads
Bunting
The fountains have been turned on for the first time since Mandella
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- 1508 reads
Secret River
Writing is a secret river Spawning salmon-words Trust. Stumbling upon it, hot and confused, there is no option. And nothing so inviting as the sweet, shocking, slow-motion jump Into it's crystal clarity.
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- 1250 reads