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Showing posts with label R. Rushworth. Show all posts
Showing posts with label R. Rushworth. Show all posts

Thursday, 20 October 2011

Run of the mill

An angle of the kitchen marked off by a brown-grey blur.
A streak ends under the cooker.
An omen of broken-backed death in mouse-traps.

© R. Rushworth
All rights reserved

Sunday, 11 September 2011

Willem Dafoe wakes up

Does it take him long to remember that he's not:
a sergeant in Vietnam
Max Schreck
the Green Goblin
a Jewish boxer in Auschwitz
T. S. Eliot
the English patient's victim
Jesus
?


© R. Rushworth
All rights reserved

Tuesday, 23 August 2011

Treyarnon Bay

The clifftop is one whole field away from the campsite, but at night
it sounds nearer. My granny said that once a boy playing with friends
leapt over a low wall to hide, and fell down into nothing. My mum
said, there are cliffs where you can’t see them.

© R. Rushworth
All rights reserved

Monday, 13 June 2011

Interpretive dance

We applauded the eldritch beings politely, but after that midsummer's night we were always careful to keep the fridge pushed well back against the wall.

© R. Rushworth 
All rights reserved

Monday, 23 May 2011

Riddle

Question 3. See figure 2. Train A leaves station X at 8:45 travelling westward. Train B leaves station Y at 9:20 travelling eastward on the same track. Given that the standard speed on the line is 60 mph, at what time will they collide? Take into account the following factors: the driver of train A had three cups of coffee this morning and enjoys the hillside views; the driver of train B fell in love last night; the signal keeper at point Z got new binoculars for his birthday.

© R. Rushforth
All rights reserved

Friday, 15 April 2011

You Mean It’s Not Your Gun?

So by this point we'd all had a bit to
drink. With Sukie's father away we had
the whole house to ourselves. We ran
about exploring like children, the earlier
rows forgotten. In the library Rafe found
an old camera and we hammed it up,
striking poses, pulling faces. Then Topsy
opened an unlocked drawer and crowed
with laughter. "Go on, do James Bond!"
she said as she handed it to me. And
that's why my fingerprints were on the
gun, Your Honour.


© R. Rushforth
All rights reserved

Tuesday, 29 March 2011

Hell is...

In the night we had drifted away from the other lifeboats.  "Now it's just the four of us," says the dark-haired man, the one with the knife.  I don't know his name.  We all hold our breaths and try not to meet his eyes.

© R. Rushforth
All rights reserved