Title: Overlap; Or The Many Deaths Of
Words: 3461
Status: Slightly proofread, unedited
Author's Notes: I stumbled across this story in my writing folder about half an hour ago. It's a little something I started in late 2009, left for ages and finished in 2010. So it's 3/4 years old, and probably very crap. But I'm quite proud of it simply because ( Read more... )

A/N: Because I've been horrifically negligent both in my journal and in posting any actual writing, here: have a short story I wrote from a prompt posted on Writeworld.

( Sixty-five years ago today. The sun's disc hanging low in a weak yellow sky, the smell of heather soft, fragrant in the air. I remember it so well... )

They say if you travel down 367 miles from the northernmost point of the M1 on a windy April the first night, with a particular cloud arrangement in the sky (my knowledge on this is hazy but I'm quite sure one must be shaped like a crocodile), stop off on the field to your left and then cry to the heavens that your toenails are ingrowing, you'll ( Read more... )

As soon as Kevin strode out into the classroom and disrobed himself, he saw the same expressions of bafflement cross the faces of the art students, one by one. Not bafflement as in 'what a horrible looking creature; his elbows are positively vile!' - he hoped - but more one of genuine confusion. These looks said 'why is he there?', 'why are we here ( Read more... )

And floating through darkness, the faint sound of a clarinet. Gemini lifted her head for just a moment, listening to the ephemeral notes dance around the sounds of the night. In her state of half-waking it was simply a strange composition to her; probably Atlas having a late night rehearsal. She didn't put it down as unusual, although it was. Her ( Read more... )

Ah! to be a Cat
and not have to worry about
money; a loan unpaid
and nonsense like that.
A sleek cat who trips the fence fantastic
by the oboe's trill;
a Jazz Cat
jumping

down
down
down

into the Kingdom of Garden.
A chic Cat,
cool and penniless
and chasing birds
to win my fame.
A neat Cat,
impeccable.
But to be a Cat would be
to have no music
no ( Read more... )

I wrote this on the bus to Belfast this morning. It's my attempt at improving on the two villanelles I'd written earlier, in which I chose my rhyme scheme and repeating lines, then built a poem around it. It's not perfect, but I feel it's a hell of a lot better. It's biographical in nature and won't take a genius to figure out! As for my other two ( Read more... )

“First”
Wasn't in that day
stranded broke in Portadown
wrote one anyway
(14:05)

“Unexpected Winds”
Winds snatch hat away
she pursues and picks it up
keeps calm and carries on
(15:12)

“In Belfast Rain”
In Belfast rain
girl writes haiku in the street
paint stained hidden poet
(15:14)

“Death of the Machine”
On Loughview sliproad
three seven zero ( Read more... )

11:05, and as the wild guitar tears through us you suggest we should go. Unthinkable; there's a song yet and you, concert virgin, are enjoying yourself. I know you are. The bass pounds us into the music while the keyboard carries us up and away to 1969. Ghosts of classic rock giants in a world not ready to let go. We are this moment, and each tick ( Read more... )

As a point of interest, this was the first draft of my English Language media piece; a radio script about blogs. Our media piece was intended as a companion to our language investigation coursework - those of you who've been here a few years will remember that I analysed the language of blogs - and the media piece was a way of presenting our ( Read more... )