Into The Light.

The dark public bar of the Eight Kings is daubed, this afternoon, with three broad strokes of sunlight pouring through the windows suffusing everything touched with honeyed shafts, crowning shadows. Reflected in the mirror behind the teak jump, among the faces gathered, the smoke, the bottles, the glasses, a caged and colourful fruit machine trills … Continue reading Into The Light.

The Night Was Teal.

Knott laid the hot bike down gently in the knee-high grass among the night shade of the trees, shy of the flood-lit garage forecourt. Dropped his helmet down. He rubbed his head vigorously, unzipped the jacket and took out the empty plastic bottle nested there, dropped that down, too. He straddled the five-bar gate & … Continue reading The Night Was Teal.

The Bristol Arm.

[I'm reposting this from a couple of years back as it's Bob Dylan's birthday today - keep on keeping on. Peace x]   Martin Kettle, formally of Stoneyclough but now resident of Penn Beacon, was stood on a table in the Eight Kings. He was taping the fourth corner of a large poster of Bob … Continue reading The Bristol Arm.

Guest post on Experiments In Fiction…

Hey, I am very happy this morning to have one of my pieces published on the rather excellent Experiments In Fiction site. Please give it - and the highly talented Ingrid at EIF - a nosey... you'll find some of her great fiction work, quarantine diaries, guest posts and meditative poetry.   Head on over … Continue reading Guest post on Experiments In Fiction…

Apricity.

One Guy Fawkes' Night - which will add only some vague, meagre and purely incidental, albeit handy, visual and historical, romantic poetics to this otherwise quite ordinary detailing of a boy, a girl, a guest, a cat and heroin addiction - I discovered a tiny shadow at the front door. It mouthed its black miaow, … Continue reading Apricity.