40 Remembrance Day

Remembrance Day: A Poem

I wrote this poem in the days following Remembrance Sunday, which this year fell on 12th November.


Remembrance Day

November morning, near one hundred years since it all fell quiet

The city centre occupied by tourists, shoppers, poppy-wearers

Cold air invades hats, scarves, coats.  Shops offer warmth from overhead heaters.

The threat of Christmas is tangible now.


The department store speakers make their announcement close to the hour

Shoppers, entrenched in aisles, finger handbags, gift sets.  Buyers shuffle in the queue.

The radio switches to the BBC.  A presenter speaks the Queen’s English

As the bells begin to chime.


Silence falls.

Hats are removed and held like prayers.  Eyes cast to the floor.

Somewhere, a phone dings, apologetic.  Then quiet.  Somewhere else, the rustle of clothes hangers.  Voices outside raise and fall as their owners pass the door.

After a minute (and with a minute still to go), the checkout bleeps again, bleeps again, like radar.


Then the radio resumes its crackling Queen’s.  Shoppers reprise their plans for the season.

The silence is observed.  The remembrance is forgotten.

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10 Depths- A Short Story

Depths: A Short Story

I wrote this short story a few years back and, after reading a fair bit of H. P. Lovecraft’s work this week, realised there was a fair bit in common between the two. After digging the tale out, I polished it up and tweaked it in keeping with my current style. There’s a definite metaphor at work in it; I’d love to know if anyone else interprets the story in the way I do.

It had been three days since Joshua had left the port.
He was alone but for the vessel he was steering through the ocean. As he had left the land behind he had seen the blurred outline of cliffs wane slowly in his vision, and heard the cries of gulls and sea birds grow less frequent and excited. On the first day of his journey he had seen new smudges of land to the north and some to the south. He was heading west. Explore further…

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01 One Night in England

One Night In England (A Fragment)

This October, my girlfriend and I challenged one another to write a scary story for Halloween. I began to write mine based on an idea I’d had a few months prior, but my imagination took the story and crammed it full of even more ideas, and I decided it was too long for our Halloween competition. The full tale is still a work in progress but it has a convenient prologue, which I post here for anyone who wishes to read it. The story begins in…

Rain splattered the beaten track, the aural canvas in turn painted with the clatter of horse’s hooves and the rumble of the carriage. Now and then the sky flashed with lightning, and after long seconds the growl of thunder rose all around, like the roar of seas.
The driver’s face was lit by the yellow glow of the lantern swinging at his side. Water pried at the glass casing, unable to reach within and snuff out the tiny flame no matter how it tried. The coachman’s eyes were narrowed, both in concentration and against the thrash of the rain. Every now and then he would cast the whip across the rump of his charges, but he doubted they could even feel it. His arse was numb from cold; so too would theirs be. Another crack of lightning, another toll of thunder. The gap between light and sound narrowed: the storm was getting closer.

<em>Continue reading the tale…</em>

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