It's Still Life

The Fragility of Red Those week old cupped crimson tulips make me want to drink in its nectar. Sip through its long slender stemmed straw, drink in its chorus, its savage storm and scorched heart, as its red petals drop across the table, wilt and faint. AI Digital Art: created using Midjourney’s bot (v4b) Image…

A Cadralor: Bruised I. She has beginner’s legs. Ballet lessons. At the bar, each move and stretch is a foreign language. II. She feels bruised and battered. Unbalance. Pink tights and a purple tutu. She’s fallen. Upended. III. A boy is outside. Football. He practises scoring goals. Again and again. He runs, and kicks wildly…

The Gaps in Life A view between the blinds. Evergreens, so evergreen Against white birch whose Limbs, bared and tangled Pry open the snowy sky.  It’s a straight backed view, Ghostly pale, weather-beaten.  And down the hallway, a child coughs.  She wants a family photo. We stand. On the dock. You here. You there. You, too.In front of the Christmas tree.For this…

There’s a soft, ample-sized woman, who lives next to the old Norman church. She’s the landlady at the Frog’s Hole pub, where neighbours wage eternal war on Friday and Saturday nights.  Stop shovelling your snow on my roses, howls the recently widowed Joan, she’s leaning from her bedroom window. Shut up and go away, snaps the man next…

Breakfast at 2 Hours Past Noon Hash browns, white pepper, salt And ketchup, two bright-eyed eggs, Basted. Crispy bacon and Raisin toast with Blood red jam, and Cups of coffee, black and hot as Tallahassee nights. And there’s White noise From a wall-mounted TV That fills the middle ground with Conversation from a war-torn town.…