The Ceroc Years - Number Nine
Apologies to Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792 - 1822)
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- 1018 reads
Sparrows
Along the rooftops congregate the tiny community, boisterous and noisy, brown-capped busy-bodies passing on news of the new day, meeting with mates, proclaiming
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- 614 reads
Rebooting
In the caffeine-screened trance of three thirty am the airport population wait or sleep, slouched half-dead in seats, across the floor with their bags for pillows,
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- 531 reads
Unison
Who invented this? This meshing of flesh, this tangling of tongues, waking and embracing setting flame to skin, dancing vitriolic on torsos, a strange war dance all of our own.
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- 829 reads
Monday Socks
A tale of an unmatched sock... :-(
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- 2084 reads
She moves through the fair
You know I was never sure if Sis planned it all; I asked her few times but she’d never give me a straight answer. Okay, so you’re wondering what I’m babbling on about?
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- 1825 reads
Chapter 2C
There isn't a great deal that I can actually tell DC Green about Richard...
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- 573 reads
Chapter 2B
The dreams are back again as they have been virtually every night, but with a new and rather scary clarity...
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- 544 reads
Chapter 2A
I wake up around lunchtime with my head pounding like a pneumatic hammer... then it suddenly comes back to me that Richard's dead.
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- 515 reads
Thoughts on a Summer Evening
A Summer soliloquy
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- 1181 reads