Poetry – The Brokedown Pamphlet

WEIRD MASK 25

Weird Mask 25 is a book of collected works from the original Zines. I am pleased to say that I have a story and a poem included. My thanks to Editor and Pulp Fiction Aficianado Matt Wall. More information can be found by clicking on the link: http://www.weirdmask.com

CRESCENT

There is no Oak Tree On Oak Crescent Which is not a crescent But a stretch of road If you walk along This road Beyond where the houses end It connects with another A place where you can turn And change direction

PUBLICATION: ‘THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS’

Christine and I have work included in the above publication alongside many excellent contributors. We would like to thank Candice Louisa Daquin for her encouragement always. More information about Indie Blue Publishing here: https://indieblu.net

GUEST POST – ‘SONG BIRDS’ by H C BROADWAY

Image by Christine Renney Listening to the most beautiful Song Birds I’ve ever heard Two suns shining on me When I hear their voices, My mind is free as if I Were riding in the sky Alongside my Song Birds The answer to my prayers Their voices lift me up From the Dark Abyss of Life Continue reading “GUEST POST – ‘SONG BIRDS’ by H C BROADWAY”

THE MAYOR

Image by Christine Renney

RIOT

Image by Christine Renney Chance sways from ropeFrayed by theseThe hungry mobThe angry childNarcissists with fake skin telling lies The arrow they wouldn’t letThe star they wouldn’t letThe flame they wouldn’t let Fill in the blanksBleat about fateBut someone must pay

SOMETHING TO MEND

Image by Christine Renney It’s in the gutPacingThe postponementAnd when it seesAnd it hearsIt fades It’s not nowThat awful anticipationIt’s full blownAnd not at allRegular It’s in an unexampled actionThe methodical destructionOf handAnd bookcaseBlood smeared splintersAnd skin in the carpet Something to mend andTo clean andTo rebuildLike a lovebiteA bruiseSomething to hide

THROUGH THE SLOTS

Image by Christine Renney There’s shelter on the wharf inside the arcadebut you can stand at the end of the pierand look out to the life through the slotsthe old, craving for quiet nights with a glassand the young, drawn to the lightsardent high spiritsall on the same pathpassing the gaps whereold newspapers and cardboardContinue reading “THROUGH THE SLOTS”