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A Few Hours with Joe Bonamassa
Where music lives not just in the ears, but in the bones—sometimes shattering boundaries to write new stories within. Joe Bonamassa — Brighton Centre (27 April/25) Second row; first two seats on the left of the centre block—we’re close enough to see a trickle of sweat. The lights search the room, then settle on the…
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28.04: Threshgold- The Liturgy
3 of 27: Threshgold – a Colour once felt, not seen—the terror just before hope 3 of 27: Threshgold – the terror just before hope I. The Threshgold Threshgold is not the leap—it’s the foot hoveringabove the abyss,the heartbeat where fallingand flyingstill wear the same face. You’ll find it in the pausebefore the pistol shot,before…
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28.04: The Old Woman With No Cat
The Old Woman and Aleph in the Garden My mother’s name is Aleph—a swallowed alphabet,the dirt’s own first vowel. The robin cocks its head.“Explain the worm, then.” The old woman with no catsinks her spade again—bites clay, bites air, bites centuries.“Aleph,” she mutters,“is the shape a worm writes—a letter no god can read.” The robin…
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27.04: The Old Woman With No Cat
The Old Woman and the Quantum Lawn Gnome The gnome both is and isn’t—Schrödinger’s kitsch, grinning sideways through time,one foot tangled in the chives,one foot hovering in the seventh dimension,tracking mud across both. The old woman squints, pokes it with a rake:“You’re technically trespassing.” The gnome winks.(Or doesn’t. Or winks in thirteen simultaneous realities.) Bells…
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26.04: Poem-a-Day Challenge
A Hermit Crab Poem: On the Back of a Receipt 1 bottle full-fat milk(life is too short for skimming anything)3 overripe avocados(they bruise faster than first loves)1 jar of honey(thicker than apologies at 2 AM)2 donuts(the baker knows my name.asks, “where’ve you been?”I say, “somewhere warmer.”he nods like a priest absolving an absentee.) 1 bouquet…
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26.04: The Old Woman With No Cat
The Old Woman and the Second-Hand Spellbook – (Domestic Maleficia) the old woman drags home the tome—its spine cracked like a bad omen,its margins scribbled with “TRY THIS :)”in what might be bloodor very committed raspberry jam. the neighbour’s cat(now a black market bibliomancer)sniffs a page and sneezes:“ah. cursed. discounted. perfect.” the dead woman flips…
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26.04: Poem-a-Day Challenge
The Dark with Gold i save your voice in a jam jar—it hums when shaken.your laugh—a fireflyi release at dusk,stitching the dark with gold. the fridge still holdsyour half of the brownie—fossil-sweet,still waiting, some losses don’t grow lighter,only wider—like a treeforgiving its own roots. only 4 more days of too many poems a day 🤣…
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Felreil: The Liturgy – The Book of 27
Author’s Note – A Presence, Not a Story You’ve already met him. Felreil appears in every Six Sentence Story in the Book of 27. He is the stillness in the doorway—the witness behind the Colour. This is his name, his silence, his breath. (You may never see the stories the same way again after reading…
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25.04: Ten Things of Thankful
In no particular order: 1) I’m thankful for the brilliant spring display from the tulips and daffodils this spring. The break in their colour is caused by a virus, which made them highly prized during the 17th, causing Dutch tulip mania. The virus is spread by aphids, and settles in the bulb. 2) The grapevines…
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25.04 The Old Woman With No Cat
Part III. AN ELEGY FOR THE BLUE AND WHITE VASE(a sonnet-that’s-not for Grandmother’s shattered treasure) I. THE FALL it fell—not as a failureof hands,but as the last noteof a songher grandmotherleft unfinishedin this world. the blue and white shardsbloomed on the floor—porcelain hydrangeasplantedin sudden soil. II. THE JOURNEY’S END it was time.the vase had grownheavy…
It's Still Life 