An audible woody creak and a resigned velvety wheeze were forcibly squeezed from Lady Monica's favourite chaise longue.

We are the gods you do not worship. We do not condemn, we do not absolve. We have no church, no synagogue, no mosque. You do not pray to us, fast for us, war for us.

Lincoln House shivered under its thick blanket of nervous angst ..... the familiar laughter had long since seeped into the cool night air.

What if I could give you more of myself than you already possess? Would you take it?

In my dreams, I am walking alone through a field of poppies.

Molded clay Has taken form From ages past To be reborn From greater hands It finds a way To stumble, fall In disarray Then up again To fall apart Be it live? Or work of art?