I purr her name deliciously, but dare not turn the page to read the words, preferring to believe the past is present in the future. I heard her playing yesterday beneath the window, but the room, of course, was empty; not even the piano. * She walked among the flowers depicted on the wall. She … Continue reading The Glass.
Perched on a bough in a black alder tree, trench rot soaking his booted feet, armpits and groin and tunic unkempt, teeming, a pale airman watched two strangers beneath. They were stood in shirt and tie, pinstripe beneath mackintosh and tucked into black rubber boots, ankle-deep in the river he knew to be the Quaggy, … Continue reading A Pale Airman.
My piece 'Photocopy of a Snapshot in the Mirror Frame' (and two other prose/poetry pieces) are featured in this edition of the excellent Free Verse Revolution magazine. This piece, as with all my work to some or no small extent, is based on both a true story and a real photocopy of a snapshot in … Continue reading ‘Photocopy of a Snapshot in the Mirror Frame’ [published at Free Verse Revolution]
nickreeves 