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


Image by Christine Renney Looking downWearied Another ceremonyJetlag Another awardRush hour traffic Far from homeHe felt oldWhy? Another audienceUnfamiliar sights Red busesTottering precariously Busy people with destinationsJobs to do Rain turned to redWet black concreteTo blind white dust Objective facesTo anger People mourningAppalled, astounded His audience thenA man with a dreamMurdered Pulling himself fromThe windowContinue reading “MEMPHIS ’68”


Image by Christine Renney ‘If, in the First Act, you have hung a pistol on the wall, then in the following one it should be fired. Otherwise, don’t put it there’ – Anton Chekhov Since the disappearance Carter hadn’t ventured into his son’s room, not properly. He had stepped across the threshold, yes, but mostlyContinue reading “ADJOINING ROOMS”


Image by Christine Renney The sun was directly overhead and it beat down on them. Tom squinted at it and craved the cool of his room. It was early, just twelve, midday, the halfway mark and he couldn’t pretend any longer that his hopes for today were not lost and he wondered how long heContinue reading “THE PICK OF THE SWIMS”


Image by Christine Renney My poetry is the DAILY MAIL HEADLINE And a BIGOT‘S RANT, making me angry. My poetry is wanting to answer. My poetry is feeling how I feel When I can’t. My poetry IT DON‘T KNOW NO GRAMMAR. My poetry is a passenger in me van. My poetry is too short andContinue reading “MY POETRY IS IN PIECES”