Lunch time musings

Blue sky thinking. Soaring planes and white footprint trails Puncturing clouds on their descent Away from here. Squealing breaks on the rubbish dump truck and black sacks that leak peelings from family dinners. Hands raw from the cold air hold plastic boxes filled with pasta Dry cement sits between bricks stacked knee high in squares…

Smack That, Rhiannon Faith.

Written in response to a show I saw last year. Trawling through the docs on my laptop, and opened it up. Wondering what more we can do.   Fruit cider from paper cups and popcorn handed out in cardboard cones. Teeth furry from a rhubarb and custard sweet, unwrapped within seconds. Champagne or punch they…

Rule breaker

A friend of mine recently asked me ‘What are the rules?’ – A question I’d never given much thought to. Now I’m remembering the importance of asking these questions, of prompting one another to remember. I’m also trying to be braver with my writing – to get it out of the never ending notes on my…

An exchange.

And so it begins, as always, with a conversation. An old housemate, a friend. Sharing a love for ink on the page, words spilling out in unexpected places, at unexpected times. Let’s do this together, we decided. I’ll ask, and you respond. So the exchange begun. At a table for 2 on the second floor…

Aware of it all.

The notes on my phone are cluttered with these – bursts of thought, all spilling out on the tube home. Tuesday, August 20th. Annoyed for not making it in – For not stopping to peer through the window of the cafe that promised words and the girl who reached out. Felt – And not for…

Moving on

I’ve recently moved house – Things weren’t quite what they seemed. I wrote this on Friday evening, eyes wide from wine on board the Northern line home. Then feels different to now. It’s Sunday – a flame flickers and vanilla fills the air. Pass a bottle of wine sings from my speakers and pink lillies…

Ritchie Street

Teenagers smoke under twenty storey flats, whilst the swings of their youth sit patiently waiting for the wind to move them along – like the good old days. Grey looms ahead whilst drops skim my cheeks. The lights are on in a window three floors up and a bottle of red stands alone looking out at…

Petal,

A daffodil head hangs over the side of the bin where I shut it accidentally. I push down on the pedestal and it moves upwards. Alive – just. But not for long I suspect. Lack of water, a dent in the stem. Trying and failing to live her brightest life.

The Flicker

Greeted by 4 discarded chicken bones on board the w3 bus. Clusters of battered crumb sit on the rounded edges – a borrowers weight training for the evening ahead. Nestled in a polystyrene box and I’m reminded how much I hate the sound of these boxes being closed shut making my spine shiver. A lot like…

Day 28 – Patti Smith

‘It’s not so easy writing about nothing’ remarks Patti Smith on the first page of M-Train – a book I’ve just borrowed from Tom. Strands of my hair stick to my face mask and I reach for the nearest pen to hand – a purple felt tip pen which now scratches against the paper as…

Day 31 – Made it.

This marks the final day of my challenge to myself – to write every day in January (although I’ll admit, I forgot this was the last one) so it might not have the ‘finesse’ that a final piece often demands – the expectation that we must end on a good note, to tie off the…