There is a definite grey area surrounding the issue of character creation. I once attempted a piece dealing with racism in 1960’s South America. My feedback warned me that “The old age ‘write about what you know’ is often worth bearing in mind when selecting a subject matter” and “when dealing with historical subject matter, that of other cultures in particular, one has to proceed … Continue reading I Will Write You

As writers we are lucky. We can write virtually anything, whether it’s hot on the literary scene, or not. We are free to delve into a huge range of different subjects, even though some may be more unpleasant to deal with than others. However, these topics are usually the most insightful, meaning that it raises big questions that we should be discussing as a society. … Continue reading Mental Health in Literature

Though hail would hiss to quell late August’s sun, the apple bloom was beckoned by its glow. Their limbs would stretch to grasp another one; at each elbow a glassy batch would grow. With rosy eyes I’d gather mighty crops of golden spheres with luscious blood-rich stains. But you’d save fruit too shameful for the tops- your hands like fading leaves with wilting veins. For … Continue reading Apple Picking

Your humble face was beautifully bland, yet every pore was carved for my delight. The sun of spring would cast its warmth on land, but beam on only us to make Earth bright. I could not brag of tenderness we shared, for I watched you as others watched it setting, its striking rays were little when compared to all the times which I am now … Continue reading My Humble Love

There is a house, bleak and retired where poppies align in close order. Beyond the glassy armour, disguised by quilts of silt the frozen air is deafening. The floorboards lie in an unsettled slumber with hourly knells to conquer the quiet. For hours I sit between cans and potatoes checking the use-by-date and breathing in the void. Continue reading Grandad’s House

The Sunday morning daybreak in the town I call my own, is warmer than this house despite its charring fire. I remember Sunday mornings when embers would flicker in my contended eyes. But here nobody tends to them, so I let the water run. I let the water smother them. On this early Sunday morning I long to be at home, but home is this … Continue reading Sunday Morning

I long to stay consumed in your safe care; I bargain with the clock’s incessant beat. The striking force of summer’s mighty flare is but a breeze with you; so strong, but sweet. I drown beneath the tide of your soft sigh and crave a place in which our souls entwine. Within this sacred hour of time’s harsh tie your beautiful entirety is mine. And … Continue reading Stay Longer

Touch me now. I will not let you leave me alone beneath this barricade of white sheets. I am a prisoner to the gold that freckles your eyes. I owe my sleepless nights to your heat, your scent, your taste, that summons my neck hairs to stand to attention. From your canyon voice I will forget nothing about you. Your touch will sit with me … Continue reading Prisoner

My hands, a cage, retain a scream, they blot my aching eyes and paints contentment on my face, concealing grief with lies.   It knots despair around my neck then pushes me to smile. I yearn to speak your stolen name, to hold you for a while.   Memories are its sweetest song, that it ceaselessly hums. Your face is scolded in my mind until … Continue reading 23/04/17

They bind together, holding hands and hurry through the dimming night. Their blistered feet make graceful tracks, while tiptoeing in perfect time with rain that spits like bitter crowds and reverend beams now set their stage.   One craves her life before the stage; before ambition stained her hands. When thoughts of loathing did not crowd her mind, like fog that fills the night. Her … Continue reading The Chassé Home