BrolGemmer's profile

This night in quiet air my thoughts have gentle company: Cristina's voice next door floats silvery clear and high, she's speaking to her child. And without moving even slightly, or opening my eyes, I see the sight: a long body bending down. A pale late-summer sunset-orange halo floats round a joy-flushed face, and fine-drawn fingers softly stroke gauzy hair and milky cheek. The air is stiller yet, no sound of even breath, my ears detect no hint of her. She's stepped inside the door, I know, t...

At a Quarter till One Oh Vanya in your flower skirt I compose you on a bed of words as I storm across the city towards paper, pen and fixity Your voice is fine and light your smile so full tonight but I can sense the reticence a small resistance to my hands Oh Vanya with your Russian skin porcelain pale and without sin the singer of a secret song - the road away from you is long

Separate Ways Breezeway sounds so innocent. This church's modern architecture was the rage in 1969. Some glass, so much concrete and a slender tower, terminating at a bold angle. Grey, flat, even planes everywhere. But back to this breezeway between parish house and where the pious be pious. Already the day slips from consciousness. It's the halfway point where the schoolbag grows heavy. There are enough boys up ahead to give me an unease about it. I don't expect hello or a clap on the should...