You can pluck the world from its tree. Twist it and squeeze to see if there is any juice left: Short Stories, Poems, Scripts and Sketches. Anything that feels right...enjoy! Check out my YOUTUBE channel and subscribe: https://youtube.com/channel/UCXPXtxOMTwnqc36mXrAYByw
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It Brings You Together There once was a donkey who guarded a thistle – it’s true – nurtured purple, bruised blue, clopping daily from her barn to the Sky Glass widescreen – rating all crime dramas ever seen, ‘I feel depressed, distressed; there ain’t one of these I’ve missed.’ He nods; clears away the mess. In another place not far away which abutted, they had a power-out. Is that actually a…
Only the Strong Take weeds – no, take mosquitos, nipping at your heels; your ankles – how often you feel them kissing hairs just above – ah, it must have been love but it’s over now and even though you dealt her a death blow there’s snowdrifts more coming through. Once a flea thought he was not a flea at all, and jumped, maybe 150 times his relative size but, alas, he was not king all he surveyed.…
Moving On Up Some songs sting more than most, but not for those reasons: not love, not hate, never the changing of the seasons or the guard - the rennet’s set them hard - coagulated whatever stirred. Some songs sting because they’re heard. I speak not of loss but something’s lost: they’ve done us wrong, moving on out, your time is up – some bland playlist drops, Falconer and Garraway rap something…
Slow Boat to Flushing ‘You disappeared from view.’ And – on cue – Mylor Harbour fading out like Layla, and other assorted love songs ‘And we were worried about you – but, moving on…’ Simon’s got the helm, steady as she goes - you could trail your hand and stroke the mirrorlon below, break blue borders, to send ripples to shore’s far corners imperceptible by the time they make landfall and comb the…
Coming Round Again Belts and braces – literally – let’s not try metaphor, hide meaning, instead, let’s feed on feelings either eat or be consumed because sometimes they take teaspoons, tap your head, crack you open like an egg. It’s coming round again, tonguing your belly like fire, moving up through guts to heart and we all have guilt. For a start, your sending him to school in trousers tied…
I Travel Chacewater garden centre, plants its mark on visitors, who are mostly old. Sipping tea, chewing scones of gritty currants, dollop of cream, jam – cherry, maybe more likely raspberry, excavated from the wholesale tin. Spit seeds from gapped teeth where they lodge like squatters, dab tissues on dribbles like blotters. Some have a partner oppositting, perhaps there’s a little talking –…
Butcher’s Choice There’s only one apostrophe. On the wrapping. Quite clear, signifying singular: ‘Butcher’s Choice’ it assures us, slapped on the thin plastic packet which some sleeving machine took no time at all to wrap it in. Purporting to be sausages, high quality product, these porkers - a year before a walker as Squeeze would have it in reverse – appropriate, you’d think, but fry them, they…
Teatime Tygers It’s written as a cautionary tale, obviously, one you can’t fail to spot. Even a retired mallet, gone to seed and having cracked his fair share of heads would leap out of his deathbed for this one. Devised by a hack with a nought degree, ECE, probably – into barrel-bottoming with a major in crayoning, fuzzy felt and tummy time. Couldn’t cut it as a teacher, throws on a dog collar to…
Sorcha Why do two truths flower on one face? Maybe you’ll see traces at first – like how pinks streak a warning sky before melting into blues – perhaps a cry – Shock? Surprise? Something you’ll recognise. Smoke signals that always have been there, lofting skywards – calling both to dare to read, pore over the hieroglyphs once obscure but becoming obvious: and now the flames are fanned, she’ll…
Living Testament And Will. There he is, rubbing shoulders with Gareth Gates. jewel case to jewel case with nothing rare or precious about it – except attitude. Some remember the blubbering, and all that stammers becoming stripped of glamour that no longer gleams, but not many of you, it seems - given the grime that collects under my fingernails should I handle these rejects. Dido, thank you for…
