Poetry
Young Frankenstein
The Young Frankenstein In the mist‑laden Vale of Frankenstein, Young Robert, son of the late great one, Trod the sands of a cursed dream Where fates and follies were in the same. The old manor,
Read more →Sin City
Sin City In the dying light of the desert, neon‑coloured ghosts rise, their sighs a bright insistence on the night‑spun air. All‑in against the wind, the street gleams like a slick, lost prize, a
Read more →Sling Blade
Sling Blade In the damp hush of a West‑Cottage lane, he trades the iron wire for a quiet whisper, the brush‑stroked soul of a town that never learns to mend the bruised heart that
Read more →Flood warning
Flood Warning The sky folds over the river‑bend, clouds like a tired violin, and in the hush of a damp morning the siren crackles—a low, deep long‑howl. Its warning is not a song but a
Read more →Remit
Remit In the dust‑laden post‑office of Southbridge street, I hand the cheque to a clerk who asks, “What’s the remittance, eh?” His fingers trace the faded stamp—BACS, CHAPS, a sailor’s beat, The pound sterling
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