Monthly Archives: June 2011

Off the Rails

You have so many friends that

succour you in good times

console you in bad and they

need no wining and dining

no endless chats on the phone, no

complex web of meetings and

rendezvous, but hang quietly

shrouded on the rails in your room

waiting to adorn and adore.


Jet Stream

Midsummer mocks us with

bluster and chill more fitting our

scorching April and we

shrill of climate change while the

Jet Stream goeth

where it listeth

shrieking west to east to

simmer Summer somewhere.

A Celebratory Lunch

Don’t bring misery to the table:

there is no place set for it amidst the

wine and well-wishers and it goes with

neither meat nor fish, it

grates with cheese, curdles dessert,

sours faces, makes the vase of

love-in-idleness wilt as we all

consult our watches and wish we

could be elsewhere,

crumbling bread not breaking it as your

black mood unearths our own like a

corpse from a shallow grave.


It was raining the day they were to

shoot her scenes and Dirk just

shrugged the way he did and

studied the crossword.

It wasn’t a big part—the

wronged wife in a

merry-go-round of infidelity

amidst the upper-middle class.

The script was by Pinter and a

tad pretentious but it was

work and she didn’t want it

to go to waste, so she

found the oilskin and the

sou’wester and went without

shoes on the wet grass despite the

sparks’ cables snaking nearby.

She thought she might seem silly,

not thinking how erotic she looked—

a barefoot English rose in a

mackintosh, all wet.


At night, the wall of trees looks like a

great dark wave caught mid-crash,

a tidal-wave freeze-framed

too immense to outrun.


The problem with pictures is persistence,

the visual intensity of the shoot

seeping into the rest of my life so that

talking with my wife in our

narrow kitchen I’m thinking

how do I get the reverse angle,

do I need the chippie to remove the door or

do I need to ask her to move

so she will be in the shot?

Dead Air

I love the absolute silence of a Sound Stage

before 7 when I have to

stumble to find the working lights,

open my script and see pictures,

people moving in space, stories

unrolling like Sinbad’s carpet,

thoughts popping, feeding on the

dead air and the faint smell of

old movies.

Atropa Belladonna Von Coup

reader , writer , poet , person .

Diana Marin

Fine Art Photography & Poetry.

Rusted Honey

Poetry, haiku, tanka, and micropoetry

Turning the Lights Off

Random musings inside my head no matter how hard I try to shut the damn lights off

Southern Georgia Bunny

Adventures of an Southern Bunny everything from dating, sex, life and shake your head moments.

Secret Dates Diary

Secret Dates Diary of Anne Regina

Hannah likes dirty words

Writing, extracts, pleas to buy my books, the odd essay.

word and silence

Poetry, History, Mythology

The Cat's Write

Milly Schmidt


New content every Sunday

Love Hate Sex Cake

Musings on a Libidinous Life