Observe if you will the subject, the glass across her shows, a clear-cut image of the creature inside, the gluttonous stone-cold toad. See how it sits in the darkness, concealed in the subjects gut, with limbs of purple and emerald green, with eyes sewed firmly shut. You'll note from its mouth emerges, two protuberances of… Continue reading Stone Cold Toad
For every writing problem you have, there is an answer. Not necessarily an easy answer that involves lamps and Genies but an answer nevertheless. Here are four common roadblocks that stop you from writing - and four ways to steamroll them flat. 1) I don't have time to write When I was younger, there was a… Continue reading 4 Roadblocks to your Writing – And 4 ways to Steamroll them!
You write so that when you fall, your descent will be arrested, by a silver net of words tied in knots onto the walls. And you ask, are they strong enough, tough enough, tall enough, what if they just break so that you crash into the floor? So you write and on you tie them… Continue reading An Explanation of the Continuous Necessity
Today I felt a moment of sadness flicked in from nothing a moment given for the mourning of those who have no other I wondered whose loss I had been assigned who they had been before the trap closed whether they were always anonymous born and died with the light touch flying with dragging feet… Continue reading Today
If you're wandering around the Isle of Wight, you could end up stumbling upon Farringford, the home of Lord Tennyson. Lord Tennyson was a prolific writer and Poet Laureate of Great Britain during most of Queen Victoria's reign. His famous works include 'The Charge of the Light Brigade' and 'The Lady of Shallot'. He lived at… Continue reading A Visit to Lord Tennysons House, Isle of Wight, UK
You know I wouldn't go anywhere without saying goodbye. And I'm not. I'm here aren't I? There's no need to cry. I know you got scared, I'm sorry but leaving you is the last thing on my mind. I know I've been distant lately, work is just crazy. They've got me running all over the… Continue reading Who told you I was leaving?
(Written at 13, re-written at 20 and found in the archives at 30-and-a-bit) Aged thirteen and late in bed, I realised that one day I’d be dead. My stomach gave a sudden jolt, and in me found a strange revolt, against the idea of ever ending, and I wondered about bending, time around me so… Continue reading Aged Thirteen and Late in Bed
You were full of promise, you were heavy with burden. The expectation of a nation, sat in every fold of your gross exaggeration You were filled with blood, you were kept in stone. In the killing wild, the precious child, laid the path for your bold body to be deified. You were ample for their needs,… Continue reading Gaea
We open up on Wolfies's wife, and her sad, string-tugging tale, of her fine, old husband cut stone dead, of babes to feed and bills in the mail. And Wide-mouthed Jack catches all those tears, counting the figures on his glinting fingers, while the watchers wait impatiently, talking about trash and half-done singers. Enter now the Little… Continue reading Wide-Mouthed Jack
He said; get rid of your diaries, they only speak of pain. I said; I wrote because I felt. And it was better than punching someone I think.