Reminder of Life

That crab made of stone
that's watching him from the shoreless desert
probably thinks he's crazy.

Fractals

and whenever you call me I hear a bell,
and whenever you touch me I lose a year,
and whenever you kiss me I see a flame,
and whenever you fuck me I cry a prayer,
and whenever you leave me I break a bone,
and whenever you shun me I leave a scar,
and whenever you need me it starts again,

Marian's Hobby

Marian held shears in her left hand, and the glass-eyed body of a mallard in her right. The mallard was mournful. Its downy wings were rigid and its stiff beak was open in one silent endless quack.

Marian stood, holding these things, in front of her workbench. Her workbench was very useful. It held a sewing kit with needles and strong thread; a plush, fluffy mallard with a smile on its decapitated face; and a storybook about a duck who was happy all day long.

Testing Twitterfeed: A Haiku

I have never found
that a new technology
works without a test.

I'm attempting to bend Twitterfeed to my will so that it'll automatically link this blog's entries on my Twitter and Facebook page. I do believe that it's all set up, so all I have to do now is cross my fingers and wait.

Then again, technology hates me and wants me to suffer, so it might not go as smoothly as all that.

News: Interview with Elizabeth Jane, winner of the 2009 Bristol Short Story Prize

This one isn't a poem, folks, and it isn't posted on some obscure student blog. This is fame at last.

So there's a rather fascinating woman by the name of Elizabeth Jane, who blogs here. She recently won the Bristol Short Story Prize with her snapshot of a girl's experiences during the Second World War. The people behind the competition were looking for someone to interview her. I was the person who jumped up and down yelling "pick me!".

Was I nervous? Very. Was I going to let an opportunity like that go flying past? Aw hell naw.

So here is the article in all its glory! First thing of mine that's been published since that poetry contest when I was in secondary school. My pride is tangible. You should imagine this whole post said in the tone of a father showing off his newborn baby.

The title ("Elizabeth Jane talks about...") kind of looks like it's the first paragraph, not sure what happened there. Note to self: to avoid confusion, make titles shorter than paragraphs...