Lying in the Grass
Going out to dinner On the other side Of town At some fancy Crowded restaurant Drinking bitter Overpriced wine Never really Interested me
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- 4229 reads
Work Makes Man...
Work for me started in a shiny forecourt where a hundred men’s aspirations were crafted into a new BMW 7 Series.
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- 1192 reads
I'm Not A Poet
The news is full of it. A poem has burst right out of a man’s stomach and several passersby have been struck. This is the tenth time in as many days and the panic is setting in.
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- 543 reads
'Goodbye' She Wrote
“The moving finger writes and having writ moves on..." Omar Khayyam
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- 6865 reads
the artist walks alone
a life of ravaged relationships and forgotten names once held dear, a life of conflict and a life of fear... forging a small new world against the grain, always against the grain
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- 586 reads
The Midnight Baker
I was once nicknamed The Midnight Baker for obvious reasons. An unpredictable, sticky urge to beat and whip and craft and blast in heat which occurred only in the mild oven
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- 1192 reads
Kipling's Anonymous (2008)
Cough. Hello, everybody. My name is Paddy and I have a problem. It all started around two months ago, I suppose there’s this co-op, right right next to our house
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- 704 reads
Bastille Day in Brookwood
The ukulele in his right hand was rebellion enough for one Bastille Day, he decided. The Revolution didn’t happen overnight, as he kept reminding his ten-year-old son.
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- 751 reads