Image by Christine Renney They have always wanted to take them from us. I don’t understand why. Perhaps it is because they can’t and this is also why they have never stopped trying. They could have cut out our tongues and rendered us insensate. The mutilation would have been quick and easy but it wouldn’tContinue reading “THE FORUM”


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”


The bird landed on the window ledge and began tapping with its beak against the glass. From inside the room I could hear but couldn’t see it. I moved closer and was strangely unperturbed by the fact that it was invisible. I was surprised, yes, but it was fleeting at best and I was muchContinue reading “THE GIFT”


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”


I am about to settle in yet another doorway, to turn and sit and watch the passers-by. But I hesitate. Others have lingered here. There are empty beer cans at my feet and fast-food wrappers and there is writing on the doors. Somebody has set to work with a black marker, covering them from topContinue reading “GHOST LETTER 15”