Cherrypicked stories

1 New moon, face-down, drowning or crescent: an arthritic knotted finger, furiously wagging or full: a scream for the sun's remote fire , Munch's envy in limbo. 2 in the dead of the night I wake in a nightmare

A not very me poem.

Under 500 ~~~ The once clear varnish has turned the colour of toenails, chalky and yellowed. And if she were to open it, tugging on the shiny black cap that is stuck and extract the brush moulded into an eyelash, it would hang, suspended in an infinite tear. She doesn't pick it up, but she knows if she did, slipping it carelessly into her palm, it would leave behind a perfect circle in the dust.

poem

200 words

I need 8 prawns from the nets -

There is such magic in stopping trying to make things happen. It's the only way to, well, make things happen.

Yellow, Ralph and I are yellow; not the strip-light yellow of past mistakes, but early morning yellow, crisp and true. My son and I are green, spring leaf green; so I knew, even before he started talking that we would never stop. My daughter and I are blue, cornflower blue, I bite my tongue and wonder if we will ever become friends. My sister and I are indigo; the less said about that the better.

Thesedays, I appreciate jumble sales for what they are to me and many others I've discovered. Jumble sales are memory graveyards. In and amongst the surface junk, every sale has items that come engulfed in the memory of something now gone. Whilst we never seek to forget our best memories, our difficult ones try to ensure we never forget them. They tie us to places, sounds, words and objects like a dog to a lead.