Swimming
Swimming out beyond the bobbers I said, and you agreed, that I don’t like to think about how deep the water is,
Silly poem
Walking out the coffee shop, is your gob sufficiently smacked, your flabber appropriately ghasted?
Arrogant poem
It is a serious thing to suggest, but perhaps there are times when Dylan Thomas is wrong.
David
David had never married. He wasn’t sure he’d ever had the opportunity, and it seemed rather too late now.
The Ballad of Mac & Jo
At the north end of Les Banques, on top of a scrappy little rise, there is a bench.
Outdrawn – Chapter 2
It’s taken a year, but I have finally extracted chapter 2 of the story from my reluctant imagination.
My Mother is Middle-sized
I wrote this for my mum last year but it seems somehow more poignant this year.
Outdrawn – Chapter 1
This is the first chapter of something that might become a longer piece. If I can keep the momentum going, who knows, we might even find out who done it!
Somewhere else
I’m not sure where this story came from. I know I owe its starting line to 99 Red Balloons, but frankly, the rest is a puzzle.
Kensington W8
This is a short story I wrote last year. It’s based on scraps of conversation I overhead while buying cushion covers in H&M…
Emma: a monologue
Emma Riley is the lead character from a longer piece that’s still in progress. As part of her development I wrote the following short monologue…
Running
Many years ago I had a bit of a panic while on a retreat… as a result I ended up setting off the burglar alarm, waking up 50 or so other attendees at about 1-o-clock in the morning.
At Menin Gate
I don’t consider myself a poet, but I wrote this very short piece of verse back in 2006 after experiencing the daily ‘silence’ at the Menin Gate in Ypres.
France 2009: Day 10
A long time ago, before my daughter was born, we decided to to take our campervan for a pootle around France. I kept a rough journal of our trip and have only recently started fleshing it out. This is day 10…
Now that it’s done
Christmas crept up slowly, but then rather exploded in our house. Like a sparkler it seemed to take a whole lot of effort and time to get lit, although the anticipation and the first sacred sparks were bliss.
Don Lowe 