Cherrypicked stories
Dadd
Richard Dadd; infamous Scottish painter who stabbed his father to death through the eye.
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- 622 reads
I had an idea
A conversation about too many ideas
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- 1024 reads
Fingers
(i) Something snaps Some thing Snaps Behind me In a chair Behind me Snapping And it is some Thing only Undefined Without shape or Colour or control...
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- 629 reads
Lost Blackbird
Unhappy Relationship
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- 584 reads
Nan
recalling my bedside vigil with my dying grandmother
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- 521 reads
A Nice Man
Ever met anyone with an ego problem...&;#063;
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- 871 reads
A word of advice son
Boyhood memory
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- 735 reads
Hidden
I watch him almost everyday. I watch him now, through the reflection in his bedroom window. See the expression on his face, the deep lines of...
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- 598 reads
Found
I found what I was looking for At least what I wished to find What anyone wants to find Is what I already found You helped me find it To find what I...
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- 497 reads
Memory of Omagh
Soft rolling under moist palm a ball of hate that was pliable to the touch it was thrown by grey time and caught off guard in an unwrapped era that...
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- 1470 reads
I am...
I am the message bleeping on your phone That irritates while you drive I am your favourite song on cassette the stereo chewed while playing I am the...
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- 1097 reads
Mess
I never throw anything away. Pictures from playgroup dumped in the backs of cupboards hoarded felt-like rumples crossed with greasy crayon marks. I...
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- 773 reads
When I Dream Of Home
When I dream of home, it's of that flat where we lived till I was 16, with its not quite smooth brown wood doors whispering across the carpet, each...
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- 540 reads
ALL THE PEOPLE IN CHINA (The China Bomb)
If everyone in China was to jump in the air at the same time
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- 1009 reads
Colours I saw, walking
The sky overhead is lilac; bright lapiz lazuli swirled higher. Through bare twigs of beech a band of pale copper spreads above the curves and grooves...
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- 870 reads
Yours Truly
Not quite happy with this one ..any thoughts&;#063;
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- 591 reads
War
Ask me why each morning I get up and put on the gloves And ask me again, why each morning I get up and fight the sun. Then ask me why even when He...
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- 604 reads
White-knuckle ride
another poem of love and loss
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- 733 reads