Thursday, 26 February 2015

Untold Stories



The hours that make a Saturday
- or a Sunday, can stretch,
if you don’t try too hard,
into years.

I wanted to see a ridge of hills
spread out against a washed out sky.
Walk in a Paul Nash landscape.
Something of this
was achieved.

A lonely business, trekking
through silvery grass, sheep
like fat clouds penned in
between my present space
and the mid-horizon.

If only I knew, as I should do by now,
how to read this landscape,
its ridges, hills and hollows
I could tell you something
of its story.

Instead, I stand here watching
a sheet of rusted iron tied to a post
flap in the wind, tongue-tied,
illiterate: only my thoughts
to tell.

A whorl of pearl in the grass
and a trench that might have
been a part of an ancient war.
A tree twisted at a crazy angle
yet still thriving.

Fortunately, no flowers grow here
and I never did get around
to saying just exactly
what it was
I meant.

Wednesday, 25 February 2015

The World Turned Upside Down



The Box Brownie
red portal
spy hole

shoots Frida Khalo

her face

cartwheels
on the wind

               another artist
turning the world
on its heels.

Sunday, 22 February 2015

The Intruder (Final Part)



Enough of this, enough of this messing around - scared now, Albert took the mobile phone from his dressing gown pocket.


‘Mind if I take a look in the garden, son?’

Albert followed the policeman.

There was, of course, no man in the garden. The policeman picked his way through the entanglements on the lawn.

‘Hmm, you need to do something to make your garden more secure. There have been a lot of shed break ins lately.’

Albert thanked the policeman and watched him get into his car.

The policeman’s shiny black boots had collected a serious amount of chicken manure from the garden. Albert decided that there wasn’t a good way to tell him.

Half way back to the station the policeman felt that something smelt very bad about this latest case.

Friday, 20 February 2015

The Intruder (Part Four)



Albert kept in the shadows, hardly daring to breathe. Meanwhile, the intruder continued to survey the bewildering garden casually as if he owned the place. It was a complete role reversal.

Maybe Albert should have done something to reveal his presence: perhaps open an upstairs window or turn the lights on. Anything to let this ape in the garden know that the house wasn’t empty. Instead, he decided to go upstairs to see if he could get a better view of what was going on.

Half way up the stairs he remembered the axe in the chopping block.

Thursday, 19 February 2015

The Intruder (Part Three)



The previous night had brought a gale. A fence panel lay like a dead soldier on the lawn. A mess of wild entanglements made up of brambles and branches and escaped black bin liners made access through the garden hazardous. Chickens scratched their way around the flower beds and there were at least three bicycles in various states of disrepair and a green wheel barrow carrying a load of brown rainwater. The barrow had a flat tyre of course. The shed in the far corner had a door that was propped shut with an old paint pot.

It was obvious that there was nothing here for even the most desperate thief who had ever cased a joint. But still the man didn’t move. Perhaps he was simply too stunned by the state of the garden.

Did honest law abiding citizens really live like this?

Pages

Morlock Oil

Morlock Oil
A new collection of stories available now . Click on image for details.

The Quest Of Great Celtic Mystery

The Quest Of Great Celtic Mystery
New Chapbook Available (email rockinahill@gmail.com for details)

Furrow

Furrow
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