Cigarettes, Beer and Love

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952 reads

#1000Snowflakes

By ralph on Wed, 19 Dec 2012

‘It's coming on Christmas They're cutting down trees They're putting up reindeer And singing songs of joy and peace Oh I wish I had a river I could skate away on.’ (Joni Mitchell)

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523 reads

A Kendal Mint Cake Crisis

By ralph on Wed, 02 Dec 2009

The best of Nick Drake, spinning like a coin. The northern sky, just out of reach.

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799 reads

Alex

By ralph on Mon, 20 Aug 2007

Waistcoats. Red kissing the blue. Brandy coughing snifters, of a 40 a day obsessive. The killer black, to the top left pocket. With a little bit of screw. Sheffield steel. Shamrock luck?

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1643 reads

Alex

By ralph on Sat, 24 Jul 2010

Waistcoats. Red kissing the blue. Brandy coughing snifters, of a 40 a day obsessive. The killer black, to the top left pocket. With a little bit of screw. Sheffield steel. Shamrock luck?

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1008 reads

At Whipps Cross

By ralph on Sun, 23 Sep 2007

Hung over like a broken bridge, in this florescent rectangle. I’m gazing at a ceiling, designed by a minimalist My head screams, my eyes drip. The caffeine addicts,

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1146 reads

Blood Meridian

By ralph on Mon, 12 Nov 2007

I know these things today. They take years to heal, to unravel. Most afflictions, are a ticking clock. As a child, in the beginning, he was my hero. He could make me laugh,

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1172 reads

Chocolate Digestives and Everything: Part 1

By ralph on Sat, 29 Sep 2007

Good evening everybody and welcome to the first of these Tuesday night newcomers meeting of Cocaine Anonymous in Stepney.

Certificate 15

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1181 reads

The First Bliss

By ralph on Sat, 19 May 2007

January 1987. And the number one song in heaven. 'Reet Petite' by Jackie Wilson. The radios of Berwick Street market, chiming crackled soul. And do you remember? it was the worst for years.

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1183 reads

Snap

By ralph on Thu, 21 Jun 2007

Brace yourself my dear. It’s a holiday in Cumbria. Cut short. The market place. A Kendal mint cake crisis. Paperbacks. bric a brac. frisbee cd, a cup of tea. Silly old me.

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1080 reads

The View From Here

By ralph on Sat, 21 Jul 2007

Flaked, muddy window. Aerial wired rooftops. That I cannot afford, to frame anymore. Lightning phrases the sky, thunder applauses. Spotlighting me back, an era of smiles.

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995 reads

Disco

By ralph on Sat, 04 Aug 2007

I stole you from him, at the college disco, under a neon moon. It was the crime of the century, come Monday morning. The bee's knees of Basildon, the peroxide princess. Taken by the Ra Ra.

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1057 reads

Swimmer

By ralph on Tue, 21 Aug 2007

For Frances Lawrence He bled an ocean deep. Filling your rock pools, with rage. But it's not your fault, the tragic demise. It was to the bad hands, of generation. The unloved boy,

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1255 reads

Last Thought To Pimlico

By ralph on Mon, 03 Sep 2007

To her. He was one of those days. An unpaid bill. Spilling blood on his sold life. He took the wrong turning, into her chocolate coated eyes. She melts away now. He sucks her wrapper.

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1087 reads

The Death Of Jackson Plude

By ralph on Tue, 04 Sep 2007

In the town of Kleek, from the county of Blaise. The kiss of the only girl, Whistling him gone. The splutter, then rattle. The dying minstrel, born Jackson Plude. His silver eyes set,

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1083 reads

Deep Soul Treasure

By ralph on Sat, 08 Sep 2007

A friend said today. That I have to split love. Between, a reason, a season, or forever. I'd never heard that before. But it makes a sense. Although it's still raw. I think of her,

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1059 reads

Pursuit

By ralph on Tue, 25 Sep 2007

Hunted, by you, all over town, like debt collection was savage. Your hair. Your legs. Underpinned by wine, in overdraft bars. Name dropping, like breathing. Insecurity, laid bare.

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1132 reads

Of Peasoup and Piracy: (Butlers Wharf Winter 1962)

By ralph on Thu, 27 Sep 2007

I have investment here. Over the knots of a century. It’s bound around the fraying years, on a cold cleat of memory. So loosen time and pull boys. Flex the sinews, let’s heave away.

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1084 reads

Embelton

By ralph on Thu, 03 Jan 2008

The wind wraps me into you. And I can stand this. For I am swept again. This isn't melancholy, crashing a wave, a lost riptide. I am clear on that. All of that.

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1009 reads

Gig

By ralph on Sun, 06 Apr 2008

Sitting at the bar, waiting for the band to play. Two-tone drink in hand. The DJ playing late Clash. Pork pie hats enter the room. Then a face that he once knew, loved beyond reasonable doubt.

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946 reads

Return to Wild Wood

By ralph on Sat, 07 Jun 2008

This England. High sky, mid-afternoon. Its early summertime, and a light rain falls. Here we both are. Standing. Hand in hand, amongst trees, bees, butterflies.

The New Breed

By ralph on Mon, 09 Jun 2008

The net curtains twitch. Mondays itch, as I walk by. Yeah. I’m this pure driven boy. Walking your streets. Hear me now! Because. I can cut you down, or make you sing.

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1076 reads

Latitude

By ralph on Wed, 13 Aug 2008

I think of us fading. In that old house. Sometimes, listening to music, through silence. Van Morrison for me. A Prince for you. Tea, cigarettes. The occasional flicker.

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1692 reads

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On George Street

By ralph on Fri, 22 Aug 2008

Earlier, and now. Inside, then outside, of this Edinburgh festival. In the steaming rain. You are my sunshine. The only sunshine. I’ll tell you this. Again and again.

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854 reads

Return of the Sausage Roll Kid: Excerpt

By ralph on Tue, 02 Sep 2008

The odd things that flutter into the wild and dyslexic mind of Jamie Spence in the intense seconds before he wakes. They always cause terror, sometimes genuine wonderment.

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1260 reads

Jimmy

By ralph on Tue, 02 Sep 2008

Inspiration Point:First Kiss

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1588 reads

The Red Rose of Palookaville

By ralph on Thu, 04 Sep 2008

It’s raining blood on a Bleaker Street bedlam. Nothing but dead horses, broken carts. Every phone box has become a mad motel, for the gin soaked, screaming hearts.

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1191 reads

The Red Rose of Palookaville (re-edited)

By ralph on Fri, 05 Sep 2008

Re-edited because of some kind and helpful comments. he origanal version is at http://www.abctales.com/story/ralph/red-rose-palookaville-0 Interested in views.

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1601 reads

The Ukulele Lady (re-strung)

By ralph on Wed, 01 Oct 2008

In Burnley. In the county of Lancashire. In the country of England. It’s a wet, Friday afternoon. There’s an October slate sky, and the car park is full. Kerbed on a backstreet,

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963 reads

You Got The Floor by Arthur Adams

By ralph on Thu, 09 Oct 2008

White shoes, White socks. Under the palm tree. Waiting to spin. Monday nights, are my night. Homework skipped, for higher ground. When it comes, this record. I’m free. Flying.

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1308 reads

The Loveless

By ralph on Tue, 14 Oct 2008

In my room of books. Warm radio noise. Yorkshire tea. Across the landing. The bath runs. She’ll enter it soon, and the soapsuds will sigh. From this chair. October drizzle presses,

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790 reads

Leaving London

By ralph on Wed, 15 Oct 2008

They are burning good books for warmth. Eating cats and dogs for tea. Chewing, laughing, and screaming. I can see them in our street. They are talking rabies on the radio.

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1109 reads

Delia's How to Cook. Book 1

By ralph on Sun, 02 Nov 2008

In the bookshop. In Basildon. We bonded. You with your cookbooks. Me behind the till. You asked me around. For tea. Pie and cream. I accepted. There and then.

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968 reads

Mexico 1970

By ralph on Sun, 02 Nov 2008

There were rumours, of decimalisation. A new decade in modernism, at Manor House Junior school. It was the summer of 1970. Of Esso World Cup coins. Fools gold for heroes.

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1021 reads

Undressed

By ralph on Tue, 09 Dec 2008

My ex wife sitting naked on the bare stone floor, smoking my cigarettes, listening to the songs of Leonard Cohen. It’s the coolest thing that I’ve ever seen. There has been no sex.

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1179 reads

The Palindrome

By ralph on Mon, 26 Oct 2009

I was at home on the phone talking to Eve my missus. There were no long distance kisses because we were having a row. I called her a cow and then a silly little madam. She said.

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866 reads

The Loveless

By ralph on Thu, 29 Oct 2009

In my room of books. Warm radio noise. A northern cup of tea. And from this chair. The October drizzle mourns, the death of the sweet pea, and my breath to a memory. One exhale chokes.

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858 reads

Radio Day

By ralph on Fri, 06 Nov 2009

A Love Supreme. John Coltrane.

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690 reads

Fugitive

By ralph on Thu, 19 Nov 2009

Down the hill, tea time darkness. Headphones in. eyes down.

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866 reads

The Mercy on Silver Street

By ralph on Fri, 27 Nov 2009

I remember the exact moment that you and I fell in love. The Italians have a word or saying for it, something about a thunderbolt.

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954 reads

There may be a good blossom

By ralph on Thu, 06 May 2010

We have wounds. I tell myself this as I finger the scar on my cheek, wince at the film of it in the mirror. Memories are blood.

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876 reads

The Sunday Morning Goalkeeper

By ralph on Sun, 09 Mar 2014

He’s a Sunday morning goalkeeper, goes by the nickname of BNP Griff. On Saturday nights he downs a crate of lager, a couple of grams of sniff. He’s...

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581 reads

On Turning 50

By ralph on Thu, 13 Mar 2014

This morning I am 50 and I wait for new blossom at the kitchen window. There are signs. Emergent pink wings that flesh skeleton trees. And I’m still...

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849 reads

1 likes

A Kendal Mint Cake Crisis

By ralph on Thu, 20 Mar 2014

Brace yourself my dear. It’s a holiday in Cumbria. Cut short. A Kendal mint cake crisis. Market Square psychosis. Paperbacks, bric a brac. a holy cd...

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617 reads

Insider

By ralph on Sun, 23 Mar 2014

With you inside this bed undressed. And the radio humming. We fit each other as if new socks. Tight, taut. Our eyes, a trip, coaxed by feel. We are...

Certificate PG

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587 reads

Passing Tinsley Tower (for Joe Kriss)

By ralph on Wed, 23 Apr 2014

I remember it. The day I came. My joked flat cap on. We passed Tinsley Tower in the rain. And you rolled the windows down. Made me scream, 'HOW MUCH...

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510 reads

The Comer Inner

By ralph on Wed, 23 Apr 2014

January at Bretton with our hats on you look at me warmly. 'That one's by Gormley', you say. 'I adore Moore', I reply. 'Stop trying so hard'. You...

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831 reads

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45RPM at Thirty Three and a Third

By ralph on Sun, 11 May 2014

I was six years old. My dad got me a prize For scoring an offside goal. The Gospel truth A record player. Made by Bush. The levers clunked and its...

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401 reads

Chemistry

By ralph on Wed, 18 Jun 2014

A chemist in Hackney. I had acne. You, a yeast infection. Oh how we laughed! Ha ha ha.. On reflection I shouldn’t have mentioned that political...

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413 reads

Soho Monday 8am

By ralph on Tue, 05 Aug 2014

January 1987. 'Reet Petite' by Jackie Wilson. The radios of Berwick Street market, chiming crackled soul. And do you remember? it was the worst for...