Contender
The guy is Zoot suited and Chelsea booted. He is drinking a South African red of a bad year that had traveled via Oslo on waves as tall as the barman's tales.
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- 1 comment
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- 1575 reads
Poetry By Numbers
Terrible, you can count on that...
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- 1076 reads
Lingua Franca (edit)
mind your language....
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- 962 reads
Side-Effects
‘His first words were me-like, do you remember, dear? Two syllables for a first word.’ ‘Like ma-ma, or da-da.’
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- 287 reads
Volcan de Taburiente
from the dock, Volcan de Taburiente opens her jaw for toy cars to load all along The Portside Road
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- 4 comments
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- 3169 reads
Oh I am hungry
What I need to do is eat something small, something forgettable, like a plum. But I’m way too hungry for that.
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- 3 comments
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- 2499 reads
CORDELIA'S TOYS (replayed)
Cordelia was a quiet girl. Always darkly in a corner she would listen to her own silence …
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- 1 comment
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- 1206 reads
Morning in Calais
Infact I never saw her again.
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- 1338 reads
Sonnet 3
Wrap me in cotton wool: don’t let me touch You lying there in your matchbox disused - Where your sting’s curled in tight to your belly And your hands are balled in to your heart.
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- 451 reads