My poem, No justice is in Visual Verse today. You can read it here
or better still, start at the beginning of the issue and read all the entries so far. The title page is here.
The Grenfell Tower fire was a terrible tragedy, but you have to wonder if it would have happened if the residents had not been who they were. The BBC list of names and faces is revealing of the social makeup of the building.
Khadija Saye was a young talented artist, one of the 72 men, women and children who died because they were not wealthy enough for their safety to have been considered important.
This is the first poem I have had accepted in Visual Verse. You can read it here
I have a piece in this month’s Visual Verse. You can read it here.
I had one in the April edition too that passed me by since I was out of touch with the world. You can read that one here.
Thank you VV editors for enjoying what I write.
This was another visual prompt that at first sight, I assumed wasn’t going to get a second one. But a story came out despite the photo being, well, strange, and you can read it here.
Thanks to Visual Verse for publishing it!
In the first batch of publications this month. Thank you Visual Verse for selecting my prose piece.
You can read Sea of Sorrows here
This is January’s Visual Verse prompt image. The short piece I wrote wasn’t published, so I’ll post it here.
The portrait is arresting in its oddity. Who is she, the girl dressed in an indefinable fashion with her arms folded across her chest, not tightly, they’re slipping, unlocking as she wavers on the edge of sleep? Who is she, with her sad, sleepy, languid, drugged-looking eyes, not level, one lid heavier then the other, puffy? Has she been in a fight or just beaten, unresisting? And why has the artist, as an afterthought, stuck a great big spliff on her lower lip? Doesn’t he think she’s had enough, taken enough, seen enough? Not even the strength to inhale.
I wonder who she is, but she has no name, not one name. It changes depending on the country. The eyes, before they close, blink, abused and forgotten. Just sleep, she murmurs. I wonder who she is inside, if she remembers at all.
I don’t often send anything to Visual Verse, either the image inspires or it doesn’t. When I saw this month’s image it fell into the latter category…then fell out of it again. The beauty of it is exactly because it inspires nothing at all, and that’s how it led despite itself, to this piece of prose.
The blue bus
I have a piece in this month’s Visual Verse, another flash fiction, inspired by this image.
and the bonus is that I share a double page with a poem by Kerfe.
Thank you Visual Verse for posting my piece of flash inspired by this photo.
I participated in the Visual Verse anthology this month, slipping in a submission just under the wire. The photo prompt elicited a lot of Gilets Jaunes references. Living in Gilet Jaune heartland, while having a visceral sympathy with their calls for social justice, I don’t see them as revolutionary freedom fighters. You can read my more nuanced interpretation here.
Thank you to Visual Verse for publishing my story.