1. I will remember. A rhyme yet to come. All is rhythm. Horn and drum. It was autumn. I will remember. 2. A rhyme yet to come. Glance her mirror. All is beauty. Glimpse and glimmer. It was November. A rhyme yet to come. 3. All is rhythm. Six bells chime. All is hum. Her … Continue reading Her Hymn In Waltz Time.
Yesterday, a photograph - acorns, on a table, jarred - appeared before me. Curiously, the reverse revealed a label, written; sinistral, spectral; snared within open quote marks, reckoning October, nineteen ninety-five. . Inclining from the past to present, the ink, faded and reminiscent of early morning light as this November beckons, reminding me that memory … Continue reading November Beckons
It is a great honour to announce that Barbara Harris Leonhard’s debut poetry collection, Three Penny Memories, A Poetic Memoir, will be published tomorrow. The book will be available to purchase via Amazon. If, for any reason, you do not have access to Amazon markets, please contact me via email (ingrid@experimentsinfiction.com) to discuss alternative purchase […] … Continue reading ‘Three-Penny Memories’ Barbara Harris Leonhard…
First time back out in a while at the cool 3 Tanners Bank in North Shields where I Was made most welcome by the crew and crowd. I Wonder where three years went... Many thanks to Experiments In Fiction for capturing the evening in words and film. Thank you. https://www.youtube.com/embed/A0-5hFBHMq8?version=3&rel=1&showsearch=0&showinfo=1&iv_load_policy=1&fs=1&hl=en&autohide=2&wmode=transparent Marking their post-pandemic return to … Continue reading Cassettes Live @ Three Tanners Bank — Experiments in Fiction
Beyond a blue-red, orange-grey sock peeking from beneath the duvet, the room appeared, to me, arranged by Vermeer, perhaps, or some old master. . The silent curtain partly drawn. . Within a still life lance of day- light, her slip, errant, her ribs, displayed, neat, plated, late season berries, the morning before Michaelmas; a young … Continue reading Vermeer.
Beneath an all night blanket blues, barefoot in the attic rooms, side one of Beggars Banquet blooms and, in the static hum, . summoning my Nicky Hopkins (juju, voodoo, déjà vu): my sole, rising, falling. The carpet drums. I woo the other Rolling Stones. . But someone seems to be missing. By the kettle in … Continue reading The Other Rolling Stones.
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