The Photograph

Every morning, your photo sits with me at my desk.

I see you every time I look up from my writing; it focuses me more.

The whole essence of the photographxnovel is centred on you and how your future entwines with me. The block is gone and I now keep writing.

Events from the past fall in to build the backstory as you reminisce the currency of your new being. The phantom fox extends this into extended possibilities as you are chased across the pages. Nothing is clear until the turn and your true personality explodes into driving new chapters. I couldn’t see this before, but now the photo takes me onwards.

In the evening, the photograph is bathed by the side light.

I watch it as the darkness fills my room and colours my words. The pages develop into where we should be, where we should end, but the means is lacking somewhat and I am at a loss.

The writing stops and I look at you glowing from the photo and colouring my study brown. I have difficulty thinking on, as the world is brown. My heavy eyes see little, so I rest.

The coffee is bitter as it descends my oesophagus to the sharp pains of my continued affliction. I sip some more and suffer in the pause.

The flaming fire burns at me as I huddle closer, peering into the flames that flicker scenes and characters across the coals. The fleeting glimpses miss my mind as they play like clouds on a summer’s day, but do not rest long enough to form enough thought.

I look back at the desk and your photo still stares at me, haunting me across the room.

The ending waits as I finish my coffee and take a stiff one from the decanter. The pain jabs me as it goes down; like a stabbing dagger landing in my gut.

I see you cutting there. I see you jabbing over a lifetime of indiscretions as the cuts afirere felt. There is only one way to go and I see it happening to the end. I take the photo from the frame and throw it in the fire and for a time you look back at me as the edges smoulder and burn. The image lasts for what seems an age until you are gone and I poke you into the coal and dust.

I lift my pen and you are again there; driving me.

You take me to the last chapter. The building is on fire and you rescue all from the inferno, but leave me stuck in the study, grinding out the final words of the story. I look up and see you in the doorway fighting to get in, screaming at me. I grimace and hold my stomach. A falling beam crashes down and pins me to the floor and forever my pain disappears. No words are left to give.

 

Anything You Want

 

Sale Picture

All over the shop window were plastered notices proclaiming the Shoe Sale. Bob hesitated for a moment then joined the bustling throng within.

Bob moved on into the area for men’s’ shoes and gazed at the array before him. He didn’t know where to start. Soon he was cornered by a shop assistant.

“What can I help you with?” said the assistant.

“Well….” said Bob.

“Colour?” said the assistant.

“Well.…” said Bob.

“Black or Brown?”

“Any,” said Bob.

“What style suits?”

“Well, any,” said Bob.

“Any particular size?”

 

 

calling up

Aug2017

can you hear me Gordoran?

I’m inside a two way window

they dumped me on a sofa

all around is disarranged

I need a better offer

over

 

do you get the scene Gordoran?

Harvey Nichols is on a square

where trees and kiosks mix

strangers look in and stare

Yea, I’m really in a fix

over.

 

Insan, Insan, I hear your call

you’ll have to wait for now

the glass stops beam forming

you need you to move outside

then we’ll be back preforming

over

 

I hear you Gordoran

I’ll be beside the ragged man

who likes to sleep out there

he may change over with me

you think the shop might care?

over

 

Insan, Insan, we’ll get you

ok about your ragged man

it’s a good idea to swap

then all their people can see

that it’s anybody’s shop

out

 

 

Loud Poets

 

Loud Poets talking words in rhythm

Purposeful and deep meaning

With lots of stinging vibrancy

Sharp to the cutting point

Bringing out the hidden

Stimulating our covered truth

Feeling emergence as we hear

Not for profit, never worry

Drawing on our fears

Some descending into tears

As they lure you with their intrigue

Transfixing with all they say

Band support rings the tune

Mind of Dire Straits to me

With violin chamfering the edge

And drummer tapping at the beat

Loud voices live, turn on turn

Group outstanding at the end

Good to be there; appreciate