Poem: Windows

The moonbeam probes the arrow slit. Searches the ruined keep to find Nothing within – Not even a ghost. The squadron of fish, in close order drill, Flits to the right in perfect formation Indifferent to the porthole Of the sunken troopship. Graffiti scrawled, the whitewash Obscures the window of the empty shop And the […]

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Prose: The Wound

The peons cross themselves as they pass my door; the men grabbing the sombrero from their head, the women, in the high crowned black hats of the region, take the cigar from their mouths to mumble Aves. They look at me and then, invariably, their eyes turn to the big wooden cross that stands between […]

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Prose: The Tough One

THE TOUGH ONE I should have guessed when I heard that E was in Kakadu and M had flown to Sydney and that people seemed very thin on the ground in the centre. “It shouldn’t be TOO hard.” said the intake worker (who insists on anonymity), “Though it is a bit unusual.” A Male – […]

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Prose: The Shadow

I succumbed at first sight. There are people like that; people who are universally appealing. Admittedly all of us a vulnerable to a certain combination of features. But it is usually an individual matter. Perhaps the shape of a nose, an eye colouring, even a gesture that evokes a childhood memory can trigger a feeling […]

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Prose: The Place

I am back again, but I don’t know for how long. The pencil and paper are here as promised so I will begin. Maybe this time I will succeed. God knows I hope so. My mind is quite clear and I remember everything. It is insidious, this New Age stuff. As a philosopher I should […]

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Prose: The Photo

Ah yes! This were a photo of my cousin Jack. That jacket he’m wearin’ it ‘ad pockets deep enough to ‘ide a rabbit, or even an ‘are. And on the right side, a long pocket for the gun. ‘E were proud of that gun, were Jack. The barrel and stock were shortened, but it were […]

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Prose: The Lino Cut

THE LINO CUT. Her sharp blade slipped, castrating him – once again! And the ruined lino-cut joined the others in the bin. She tried once more; tracing the preliminary sketches afresh onto the lino square. She felt a vague disquiet. Why, always at this point, and why, for heaven’s sake, a lino-cut? Why not just […]

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Prose: The Cuckoo Clock

As her fingers fumbled with the wrapping she was conscious of his face, his kind stupid English face. It was filled with a delighted anticipation as he watched her unwrap his Christmas gift to her. “I hope you like it, Eva,” he said. “I had a devil of a time getting the genuine article but […]

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