Category: SSS
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8 February: Not Forever but Something Still
This week’s Six Sentence Story (SSS), which calls for 6 sentences including the word game, is written in a poetic form called a Cadralor. It’s a poem of 5, unrelated, numbered stanzaic images, each of which can stand alone as a poem (in this case prose) of fewer than 10 lines, and optionally constrains all…
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24 January: Six Sentence Sunday
Diffused ‘The light is a different colour here…’ she says as if speaking to herself. She’s standing on a balcony that’s just large enough for two pairs of feet, two chairs and an iron café table that’s slowly corroding in the Côte d’Azur air. They’re sharing the view from their hotel room, sharing a bit…
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8 January: For Six Sentence Story
Careful. There’s that word again; meant to pull you up and stop you in your tracks; take stock; change your ways; a word to the wise or the unwise as the case might be. And he says, “Good god, it’s dreary outside. And I’m standing beside him at the window, taking in this man I…
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1 January: SSS “Task”
Nothing Much A few red bricks from the demolished chimney, and the curve of the driveway is all that’s left to show that a house stood here once, where every December Christmas lights hung in scallops from the iron guttering, blinking on and off all night until one of the neighbours complained that it set…
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13 December: Sunday’s Six Sentence Story
My gran had a small farm with a garden, small enough to keep a winter pantry supplied, large enough to keep her friends alive, and she had 2 goats, unnamed because as she put it, Would you name a rug or a chair – Well, no, so why would I name a goat – to…
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4 December: Sunday’s Six Sentence
The Witches of Arundel Side by side bones of two women,blurred and buffed by earth’s shiftand rewritten by centuries of ink –their plainness hardly drew an eye. Memory of that day at Tumulus Copseis lost, a faint scrap hint of a footpathpasses a flat grey stone, the treesalways bone-riddled with bird song. Pentagrams regularly knottedto…
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19 November: She Without Name
She Without Name You know that time between dreaming and waking, when you roll over and your dyne starts for floor, but there’s still enough covering your legs to keep yourself on the side of being covered … Well, that’s when she arrived. She’s white as northern new snow that sparkles like laughing stars, and…
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