FAREWELL
D8 is now
Wednesday 20 March 2013
Monday 18 March 2013
My Legs Lack Substance (Theft by E)
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Saturday 16 March 2013
Wednesday 13 March 2013
Monday 11 March 2013
Sunday 10 March 2013
Monday 4 March 2013
Sunday 3 March 2013
Thursday 28 February 2013
Love Lane
It’s such a saucy number,
It always makes me laugh when I hear it said.
Innocuous in itself
Allowing the mind to wander where it will.
“Where do you live” I asked.
“Sixty nine” she replied
“Really?” I replied grinning
Her blushes made me feel uncomfortable
But the double entendre worked,
Sort of.
She smiled having heard the joke before,
So I shuffled away from her front door.
Sixty nine is such a saucy number
Especially
when you live in Love Lane.
Wednesday 27 February 2013
Stint of Fish
1001 books you must read before you die, 19th century, 20th century, a. a. milne, ackroyd, action, adventure, africa, african literature, alan moore, alternate history, american, american literature, animals, arthur conan doyle, atheism, aubrey/maturin, autobiography, aviation history, beatles, biggles, biography, biology, british, british fiction, british history, british lit, british literature, bronte, buddhism, c.s. lewis, charles dickens, chicklit, childrens literature, classic, classic fiction, classic lit, classic literature, classic sci-fi, comedy, comics, coming of age, conspiracy, contemporary, contemporary fiction, dan brown, daniel clowes, dark tower series, darwin, david nicholls, dystopia, edward marston, elvis cole, england, english, english literature, erotic romance, erotica, espionage, essays, evolution, fantasy, fiction, fictional biography, football, foundation series, frank miller, friendship, g.k. chesterton, george orwell, graphic novel, green mile, his dark materials, historical fiction, history, horror, humor, humour, isaac asimov, j.g. ballard, james bond, james herriot, jeeves and wooster, jeffrey archer, jilly cooper, john wyndham, london, magical realism, mark twain, memoir, music, mystery, neil gaiman, nick hornby, non-fiction, pat barker, patrick o'brian, peter ackroyd, philip pullman, poetry, raymond chandler, relationships, richard adams, richard dawkins, robert crais, romance, sandman, sarah waters, science, science fiction, sherlock holmes, short stories, social commentary, stephen king, supernatural, suspense, thomas hardy, thriller, utility fish, vampires, victorian, w. somerset maugham, w.e. johns, w.e.johns, world war 1
Tuesday 26 February 2013
Prose Poem - Final
In giving herself to hate she committed to an emotion more powerful
than she thought possible; more consuming than love, greater than despair. In
so doing she effectively became the tool of the thing she unleashed - no longer
its master but its slave.
Time is passing. It is a constant cascade of seconds tumbling into
minutes that free-fall into hours. Days pass dragging weeks then months behind
as seasons follow with the budding of blooms then the falling of leaves.
Life is for the living – an exercise in the present as the future
takes care of itself whilst the past dresses in a filigree of nostalgia. The
gift of life comes bearing responsibility to those we share existence with.
Her venom spilt into the stream poisoning its waters and all around
it. The onlookers stared speechless, unable to conceive how such a thing could have
happened.
Sunday 24 February 2013
Sunday 17 February 2013
Last Line First
So
Will words break silence,
Voices raised?
Between the windows of shattered dreams-
Who am I to reappear
Bearing bullets
Argently?
(Break the continuum
Use the sound;
All the world bent
Double down)
Not numbered, not listed, not remembered,
Do we exist?
Said the vase to the chipping chalice.
One unsung verse laid on barren walls-
Tonight the words are brought back home.
I'm not an artist.
Will words break silence,
Voices raised?
Between the windows of shattered dreams-
Who am I to reappear
Bearing bullets
Argently?
(Break the continuum
Use the sound;
All the world bent
Double down)
Not numbered, not listed, not remembered,
Do we exist?
Said the vase to the chipping chalice.
One unsung verse laid on barren walls-
Tonight the words are brought back home.
I'm not an artist.
Friday 15 February 2013
Tuesday 12 February 2013
Monday 11 February 2013
Saturday 9 February 2013
Thursday 7 February 2013
Tuesday 5 February 2013
Monday 4 February 2013
Saturday 2 February 2013
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